The Creeping Kelp by William Meikle, Wayne Miller Read Free Book Online

For pity’s sake—pull me up!
    The winch squealed as the tentacle pulled and tugged, tightening every second. Noble once again turned and twisted, slashing out with the knife, raising wet welts across the surface of the tendril. That only made it grip all the tighter to his ankle.
      Pull me up! What’s the problem here? But he knew exactly what the problem was. The thing is too strong. It’ll take down the chopper.
    Above him, he heard the noise of the chopper get louder as the pilot pushed it to its limit. Slowly, but gaining speed, he started to rise up. The tentacle didn’t let go. The sea parted below and a dark mass rose up, coming along with the tendril to which it was attached. It looked like nothing more than a vast hairy carpet, a mass of snake-like tentacles thrashing and waving in frenzy as an area the size of a small house tried to drag itself up towards him.
    The pain in his leg was excruciating. He kept slashing with the knife, as frantic as the tentacles that reached for him. Finally, when the tendril was little more than a torn mess of tissue, it fell away from him, back into the foaming sea where the whole thing sank with barely a splash.
    The winch started to pull him back into the chopper, but he scarcely noticed. The pain was throwing him into shock and he was no longer sure if what he saw was real or a dream induced by the searing heat of pain.
    Right at the far point of the chopper’s turn he caught a glimpse of something glinting in the sun. Far away, almost on the horizon and shimmering in the heat, stood what looked like a city of glass… or plastic? Massivetowers and turrets rose high above the sea, and gargantuan black shapes slumped through cavernous streets. He remembered something that Suzie had said earlier.
    The Shoggoths were made. Made as builders.
    He blinked and the image had gone, taken out of view by the completion of the chopper’s turn. The winch pulled him up to the chopper doorway. The last thing he saw before darkness took him away for a long time was Suzie, staring at his leg, tears pouring down her face.

July 21st - Lyme Regis
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    Jim Black enjoyed these evening trips more than the afternoon ones. The sun was lower, the heat level was usually less severe, and the tourists tended to be older and more controllable than the post-lunchtime crowd. And tonight, there was just the right number, about a dozen elderly tourists. Any more than that and they became harder to manage, any fewer, and what little tips he made were hardly worth the effort.
    It was still very warm after a scorcher of a day on the beach, but he was hopeful of a nice tally of tips from this crowd. He’d already showed them the steps where Louisa Musgrove jumped off the Cobb to Captain Wentworth’s dismay, and the spot where the Duke of Monmouth landed at the start of his Rebellion. Now it was time for the highlight. The desired effect worked best when the wind howled and threw spume up over the Cobb, but then again, weather like that cut down on the number of tourists... and the tips. This was much more preferable. He led the small party out to the end of the stone pier.
    He hoped they had all seen the movie. Time was—a few years back, you could count on it, but the very same time was not kind to once-popular culture. The fact that the group was older helped; when they were younger, they tended to reply to his next question with blank, uncomprehending stares.
    “Okay,” he said. “Who wants to be Meryl Streep?”
    The sudden smiles told him all he needed to know.  It turned out they all not only knew what he meant, but they all intended to get the appropriate pictures taken. Jim had to organise them into an orderly queue so that they could step up, right out on the edge of the Cobb, pretending to be pale and interesting.
    A pair of American pensioners went first. The lady took her place on the edge. She started out giggling skittishly, but as soon as she reached the edge of the Cobb she went quiet