FOLKS OF INNSMOUTH

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Bootleg Dealer

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The dingy gen'ral store you'll surely find

Right off the littered Square on old Bates Street.

There in the back the bootleg dealer waits

Where even more distasteful people meet.

He's civil if you have the hefty price

To buy a flagon of his bottled goods.

He'll take your money but refuse to tell

You where he makes his whiskey in the woods.

He sneers at all the Prohibition laws

He daily violates with stubborn will.

The Rev'nue agents let him have his way;

Where liquor's made is his own secret still.

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Federal Officer

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Now then, climb upon my knee, Sonny Boy.

I'll tell you of the time so long ago

When other Federal officers and I

Torpedoed Devil Reef and all below.

We blasted those marine abysses good,

And then within the town we searched about.

With mercy shown to none who had the "look",

We went around and cleaned the vermin out.

We flushed out darkened cellars, attics, too,

Examined secret places large and small;

We probed in every place where they might hide;

And yet I'm sure we didn't get them all!

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Mortician

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I never quite precisely understood

Just why my business here is so danged slow.

I own the only mortuary that's

In Innsmouth-so where else could dead folks go?

A native told me that when death occurs

By mishap, violence, or suicide,

The body's seldom ever seen again,

And lacks interment such as I provide.

He said old folks were hardly ever seen;

They changed, became immortal, swam from shore;

And now they live forever 'neath the sea.

No wonder that my business is so poor!

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Bobby's Cousin Lawrence

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You think I'm crazy, but I'm really not.

My cousin, Robert Olmstead, he should know.

He rescued me from Canton's madhouse where

They held me and refused to let me go.

It's true I've changed a lot and now my looks

Are more repellant, lacking human frills.

The webbing 'tween my fingers is complete,

And on my neck are palpitating gills.

The froggy aspect of my face is worse;

The scales I have you'd probably think obscene.

My bulging eyes, now fit for water life,

Peer over wrinkled skin a slimy green.

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Casey

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Inspecting factories is what I do.

I'm good at it, most people would agree.

One day I went to Innsmouth for the job

Of checking on their old refinery.

Perhaps you'd like to know about that time

Although it happened several years ago.

'Twas then I spent the night at Gilman House,

And met the weirdest crowd you'll ever know.

Their foreign talk and strange unnatural ways

Convinced me I should not remove my clothes;

I stayed awake all night, too scared to sleep,

And fled that town the moment I arose!

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Children of Old Man Marsh

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The sons of Old Man Marsh no longer work

Their daily shift refining "pirate" gold,

Although from time to time they still stop in

To see how many ingots have been sold.

The daughters are no better than the sons,

Repellant and reptil'yan they appear.

They wear exotic jewelry 'round their necks,

And on their arms and fingers, too, I hear.

These grown up children shun the seaport streets;

They're seldom seen in public building lobbies.

The older that they get the worse they look,

As certain "changes" reconstruct their bodies.

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Real Estate Agent

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You say you want to buy a summer home?

In Innsmouth? I'm surprised that you'd inquire.

Of course, I have a multi-listing here

That you can look through 'long as you desire.

Not very many people live here now;

They're dying off or moving, more'en more.

You might like this one here with gambrel roof;

Or this crude hovel near the scummy shore.

Perhaps this mansion here on Fed'ral Street?

It leans a bit and that's why it won't sell.

Plus something's in the attic that won't leave;

Except for that, I think the house is swell.

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Gardner

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I pull the pesky weeds and mow the lawn

At Mr. Marsh's Mansion with great pride.

The huge estate, on Washington, is old;

The grounds, so neatly groomed, are deep and wide.

He has me plant the flowers in the spring,

And prune the trees and hedges in the fall.

I tend the garden vegetables he eats

And trim the vines that crawl along the wall.

At first, I thought the boss lived by himself,

And then I heard those croaking sounds inside.

From empty attic rooms and cellar vaults

Came proof that he had something there to hide!

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Gilman House Clerk

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Naw! Innsmouth is a nice town! Sure, it is!

Though I'm not native - didn't grow up here -

Still, I can swear those rumors are untrue;

There's nothin' that outsiders need to fear.

Oh, sure, some mighty scary looking gents

Stop by to spend the day or night with us.

And, yes, some harmless guests have disappeared;

But there's no need to make an awful fuss.

Just stay inside at night - don't prowl the streets.

Don't talk to folks who have a froggy stare.

Just be polite and mind your business, sir.

Stop by again to visit - if you dare !

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Lifeguard

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Hi! I'm the lifeguard here at Innsmouth beach!

Sure. Come on in for a dip. The water's brisk.

Oh, no, I wouldn't try to make the swim

Way out to Devil Reef--aint worth the risk.

More than a mile out there, it is. It's known

That sometimes careless swimmers disappear

Trying to reach that blasted rock. Why just

The other day we lost someone, I hear.

And even near the shore it aint quite safe;

You must be careful, sir, of things that bite.

When swimming in our harbor, be on guard.

If sharks don't grab you, then the Deep Ones might!

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Trash Collector

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You sure would be surprised at all the stuff

We pick up here while making weekly rounds.

I curse the tons of scales we have to haul,

And all that seaweed heaped in rotting mounds.

We trash collectors have to hold our nose

'Cause odors here are worse than we would wish.

Why, just the other day I tipped a bin,

And out came reeking parts of crabs and fish.

These natives toss away the oddest things,

Like chewed up shoes and wallets opened wide.

But most grotesque of all, at least to me,

Are countless bones that can't be classified.

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Stranger on the Street

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You plan to stay around the town awhile?

Well, then I guess the Gilman house is best.

But frightful things occur there late at night;

You might have problems getting proper rest.

I wouldn't try that restaurant down the street.

Some mighty nasty lookers loiter there.

You'll know them by their shambling, awkward gait,

And bulging eyes that gaze with froggy stare.

They seem to grow more wretched every day;

You'd think they must be taking ugly pills!

Their scabby, shriveled necks are seamed and creased

As though they might be growing fishy gills.