My colleagues in the Storyblogging Carnival expressed some regret I was just doing 100 word tales these days. So in response to demand I have written a short story. I hope you all enjoy it.

Deepsouthend

The Sage sat at his desk chuckling as he wrote down his latest
encountered with his lifelong enemy and its efforts to infiltrate
humanity. A veteran of the fight against the Great Old Ones and their
minions; it was rather rare that he found anything amusing related to
his task. But this one just had a tinge of typically British humour
about it.

“The Southend Incident” the Sage titled his latest entry into his
journal of investigation. Happy with the title he began to type the
events as remembered them. What follows are his words to whom ever
took up the fight in later days.

We didn’t mean to find ourselves heading towards Southend on Sea on
the South Coast of England. In fact I would have rather been lots of
places, such as my lovely home, than heading down the motorway
towards the coastal town. I have to admit to remembering some amusing
times chatting their venerable MP Sir Teddy Taylor and his wonderful
whiskers but I didn’t burden my colleagues with any anecdotes fuelled
by port and cigars.

Unusually it was someone from the local council that managed to get
in touch with me over the issue. It seems that thanks to reading
various obscure publications, newspaper stories about me and more
than a few mythos tales from Lovecraft and others, he knew something
rather unpleasant was amiss. Or as he put it; I have slowly come to
the conclusion that some of our chavs are more than what they seem.

He explained: “actually I noticed some odd sorts about wearing
hoodies before we banned them. They were rather too large for youths
and seem to shamble in a most odd way. In fact it was on a bit of an
inspection tour in a certain part of town near the sea that I first
saw what I thought was a webbed hand sticking out of the arm of
hooded sweatshirt. ”

“Deep one hoodies,” I said to myself, “as if the real young yobs were
not bad enough for a town like Southend.

Before I go on I must include something. Claire has explained to me
that I sometimes miss out on background information when I write
these tales down. I assume that anyone reading them knows both about
me and whom I am fighting. She explained to me that when she was
first doing research the lack of background info rather irked her.

I have gone to the Wikipedia for the simplest explanation of Deep
Ones I could find.

Although the Deep One hybrid offspring are born with the appearance
of a normal human being, the individual will eventually transform
into a Deep One, gaining immortality “by default” only when the
transformation is complete.

The transformation usually occurs when the individual reaches middle
age. As the hybrid gets older, he or she begins to take on more and
more attributes of the Deep One race: The ears shrink, the eyes bulge
and become unblinking, the head narrows and gradually goes bald, the
skin becomes scabrous as it changes into scales, and the neck
develops folds which later become gills. When the hybrid becomes too
obviously non-human, it is hidden away from outsiders. Eventually,
however, the hybrid will be compelled to slip into the sea to live
with the Deep Ones in one of their undersea cities.

One of the things not explained in the Wiki is what its like to be
near them; these hybrids, they stink of rather rancid fish. Its one
of the side effects of their path to transformation. The closer to
the end the worse it gets. This is why I was so surprised to hear
that pseudo-Deep Ones were actually going out and being seen in
public. They were taking a big risk or so I thought until we got to
the part of Southend they frequented.

After we picked up our contact Dirk, named after Dirk Bogarde he
informed us without our prompting, we drove over to part of town he
had seen odd people about. While we drove he explained that they were
now dressing as “chavs” using the chav style of shell suits,
oversized clothes and large hats to cover up their odder features.
The chavs, especially the men, had a rather odd gait about them,
which rather seemed similar to the Deep One shuffle.

Claire jokingly suggested at one point that the influence might have
been both ways and that the chav gait was in fact directly taken from
Deep Ones they had encountered. What struck me as amusing is Dirk
informing us that chavs of a certain age didn’t speak a lot either.

In order not to call attention to ourselves we remained in the SUV
that we had rented at Stansted for the trip here. We were just
observing the young men hanging around by the pier. It was when I
lowered my window for a bit of air that I realized why the hybrids
could be out in the open. The area stank of the sea and fish; one of
those smells that the locals probably didn’t notice but everyone else
had a hard time standing. Anyone who has smelled thousands of dead
poggies on the New England coast will understand what I mean.

It was soon very clear that our friend was right in his observation
of about some of the chavs in Southend. The fact Claire had
discovered by reading the local paper that there had been a series of
disappearances in the surrounding parishes made it even more clear
what was going on.

“So what do we then?” asked our host. “I doubt the Navy will be
interested in doing another Innsmouth here in Southend,” he quipped.
“No politician would put his neck out to suggest that”

I thought he was joking at first, but was not so sure.

“We really need to sort this out before the redevelopment starts. I
doubt they would be too keen on that down here. They could always
call in some helpers to cause trouble as well. We don’t want that now
do we?
I felt a bit daft at that point. Hadn’t bothered to do the research
into Southend; I didn’t realize it was set for redevelopment in this
area. He was right about the fact that they would take exception to
any sort of change in the area. Who knows what would happen? After
all there has been many a peer that has gotten destroyed when certain
denizens of the area take exception to its jutting out into their
domain.

The trouble was that in a town it was far harder to fight Deep Ones
and get them to clear off. They would do their best to sabotage
anything attempted in their areas and in desperate times were willing
to kill to keep the status quo. What was needed was a way to
overwhelm and get them to leave quickly. And that would be hard;
fortunately my colleague was not here to protest at my subtlety.

It was while sitting in a pub having a bit of food that a solution
came to me. The pub was one of those that plays particularly dire
tunes. The tunes were doing a good job at driving me away from the
establishment; was not keen to stay a minute longer than necessary.
As I walked out the door it came to me like the slab in the back of
the head.

“I wonder if there is any sound that would drive the Deep Ones out of
the area.” I said to myself remembering that there were devices that
played sounds that drove young adults away from hanging around the
front of certain buildings.

Claire volunteered to hit a local wired caf and do some research
while the rest of us retired to a Whetherspoon pub.

Claire was terribly keen on the idea and rather fascinated by the
concept. She was positively effusive over breakfast..

“You were right,” she gushed. “Because of their developing gills and
underwater abilities they have a problem with high pitched sounds
outside of water. Some research suggests that squealing guitars and
high pitched vocals has an effect on them. The piece I read suggested
they are more into drum n bass and dance music because it is similar
in tone to some of their rituals.”

“That might explains why I hate that sort of “music”” I retorted.

She continued: “they also don’t like the so-called “devil’s note” the
one that appears so often in heavy metal and classical.”

“So what you are saying is that we need to blast Judas Priest and
Iron Maiden to drive out the Deep Ones?” I offered.

“Well not specifically” Claire then caught the look in my eye. “You
are enjoying this aren’t you?”

“Oh yes, I am I replied,” as I came up with a perfect plan for
driving the bastards out. And if we played it right we could probably
get the developers to pay for it.

“Southend Metalfest,” has a wonderful ring to it don’t you think
Claire?” I was already on the phone to our council friend. I was
writing down a list of people who owed me favours for Claire to call.

After all what better way to celebrate the leveling of an area than
with deafening metal music? Its not as if many “people” are suppose
to be still living there. The gig would take place on the weekend
before the demolition was planned.

In the end we managed to get a big promoter to take on the task. Iron
Maiden headlined the gig with a guest appearance by 2/5s of Judas
Priest. In the end it was called ‘Bloodstock Southend’ and attracted
a healthy 10, 000 sweaty metalheads.

The demolition work so far has not had any problems or hindrances. I
was on-call to come and deal with any problems should they arrive.
Our contact on the council got the kudos for the gig and its success
so he was in charge of overseeing the development from the council
end which made things easier.

So far there have been no more sittings off sloughful Deep Ones
posing as chavs. The new development will be rather too pricey for
the chavs so the area will probably seen the last of them as well.

The only downside to the whole thing is Claire et al taking the piss
out of my headbanging during the gig. I do rather enjoy wearing my
Growing Old Disgracefully golf shirt however. My neck is still sore I
have to admit.

And with that the Sage hit the save button and sat back in his golf
shirt the strains of ‘Breaking the Law’ with Bruce Dickinson & Rob
Halford on co-lead still echoing in his head.