Free The Innsmouth Syndrome by Philip Hemplow Page B

Well, church or temple, she knew her boss, and without an exciting and headline-grabbing disease agent she was going to be on her own.  Heck, one phonecall from Senator Dalton to Atlanta and she’d be on the next plane out of there.
     
    She punched the steering wheel in frustration.  “Nobody messes with the children of Dagon.”  What was he on about?  She knew the name Dagon, of course.  It was in Dagon’s temple that the Philistines had put the Ark of the Covenant.  Had supposedly put the Ark of the Covenant - she corrected herself.  And it was a temple of Dagon that Samson had pulled down, or so she had been taught.  The semi-literate screed she’d found on the internet had mentioned it too.  Carla failed to see a connection to Esgrith and his miserable little church though.
     
    Stuttering Oliver was on duty behind the desk at the hotel when she got back.  Khalil had left a message, he wanted her to call him.  She did it from her room. 
     
    He began apologetically.  “Doctor Edwards.  Thankyou for calling me back, I hope it is not inconvenient?  I’m afraid I have unfortunate news.  Well, rather I have an unfortunate absence of news.  I have collated information from the birth records of Innsmouth children as you asked, but aside from a single case of cleft palate and several heroin-dependent infants, I can find no record of abnormalities.  The records available digitally only extend back as far as 1985, of course.  However, it does appear to rule out a congenital syndrome, does it not?”
     
    “Well, it’s what we expected to find, I suppose” answered Carla, staring out of the window.  The rain had returned, driven before a stiffening gale that was already making the overhead cables whine.  It was going to be a rough night.  She drew the curtains.  Khalil was enquiring if she was still there.
     
    “Yes, Doctor, I’m still here.  Look, do you think there’s any way that – well, it sounds silly, but do you think they could be doing it to themselves?”
     
    It was his turn to fall quiet and her turn to prompt him.  “Do you mean self-harm?” he asked, clearing his throat. 
     
    “No.  Well, yes, obviously we’ve seen some self-harm issues in Gary Taub and his friends.”
     
    “But that wouldn’t explain the other cases.”
     
    “No, of course not.”
     
    “Cartilaginous deformities cannot really be self-inflicted, for example.”
     
    “No, I know, that’s not what I meant.  Do you think the people here could be deliberately exposing themselves to … something?  Something toxic?”
     
    Khalil thought.  “You mean perhaps as if they were using recreational drugs that were contaminated in some way?  I must say, the causative agent would have to be quite extraordinary.”
     
    “I was thinking more along the lines of religious practices” Carla persisted.  “People can do some very strange things because of their beliefs.”  Her mother rose unbidden to her mind.  “Snake handling, drug taking, refusing medical treatment, eating all kinds of unpleasant things …”
     
    “You’re talking about the E.O.D. aren’t you?” said Khalil uncomfortably, “I have to strongly recommend that you –“
     
    Carla knew what he was going to say, and interrupted.  “Look, all the kids in that car were members, yes?  The Taubs are members.  Heck, most of the families in Innsmouth seem to be members.  Right so far?”
     
    “Yes, but –“
     
    “The kids hated the Order.  Gary Taub is terrified of them.  There seems to have been some kind of rumour circulating on the internet a few years back about them using poisons.  Gary Taub himself warned me not to eat or drink anything while I was there.”
     
    “You went there, then?”
     
    “Is it too far-fetched to think that they might, just might be using something ritually?  Something highly toxic.   As an entheogen, as a sacrament, whatever?”
     
    Khalil was quiet for a long time.  When he