Below is Part 7 of 18 monthly installments for Visitant.
A shadow stained the surface of the placid pool, blotching out the stars as its shape realized itself. The thing rose from below with soft watery sounds, stepping onto the asperous terrain of the archipelago with slapping feet. Gertrude and the thing regarded each other. Her brother made an uneasy sound over her shoulder.
The September wind picked up. Seawater spit on their heels as it dashed against the rocky shoreline. Everything was freezing and wet and obscured under the unmitigated darkness of a moonless night in Innsmouth. It reminded Gertrude of certain evenings she dreamed of each night and wished each morning to have ripped from her memory forever.
A hand was on her face, wet and slippery. It touched her cheek, just grazing the bottom…
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