(FROM THE PRIVATE JOURNALS OF P. T. WELLS, UNITED STATES NAVY)

FEB. 1928 -- DAY 1 AT THE NEW POST -- Since we are not "officially" here, the precise date and time must remain classified. This journal will not attempt to dulpicate the official military records and reports, but rather allow me to record my impressons and feelings apart from the standard military rigamarole and without the military regimen of the Captain's Log. If they catch me writing in this journal, the Navy will surely courtmartial me. But write I must, if only to help me to resolve these feelings of confusion stirring within my being.

We were engaged in routine maneuvers when we received orders to proceed ASAP to a position just off the coast of the state of Massachusetts. Upon our arrival we were to observe the town and its inhabitants, and drill for battle.

'Join the Navy and see exotic places . . .' Innsmouth. A town I've never even heard of, and here we are about to declare war on her. And yet Innsmouth IS exotic in its own way. As I look out across the gundeck of the Destroyer (. . . I can't even bring myself to say her name . . . I'll call her ABADDON -- that's fitting . . .) it's hard to believe that such an alien place can exist in our own United States of America! The town seems to be composed of an almost foreign architecture: weird ramparts loom ominously, colossal arches reminiscnt of classic Roman design stand here and there, and the eyes seem hard-pressed to follow some of the crazily-angled buildings. The surrounding harbors seem to be strangely carven or chiseled, and even the reefs seem to be something almost man-made, especially the one called Devil's Reef. This reef is where a majority of the military seems to be focussed.

All around us a sibilant, alien chanting of a foreign tongue fills the air as more and more ships gather in the waters surrounding Innsmouth. Ships from the Coast Guard, Marines and Navy alike are converging on Innsmouth for what promises to be a spectacular slaughter.

Somehow it doesn't seem right. Up until now I've always obeyed orders without question . . . but why attack apparently unarmed members of our own country? At least I presume that's why we're here . . . our orders are to remain sealed until Zero Hour.

DAY 2 -- I caught a glimpse of some of the Innsmouth inhabitants today, and I think I understand why they're being attacked! Perhaps it is akin to the purging of victims of the plague or leprosy in the Middle Ages, or perhaps they are victims of some sort of chemical or biological warfare such as the dreadful mustard gas used by the Germans in the World War. At any rate, the inhabitants all seem to be similarly affected by some sort of icthyic disease or mutation. My skin crawls at the sight of them thronging nervously about the harbors and reefs of the town, ceaselessly chanting in that alien tongue. And yet I feel sorry for them as well, for no one deserves death merely for being different. They seem to be calling to something, some unknown god. Perhaps this is a case of religious persecution . . . I just don't know . . . .

DAY 3 -- I had a very peculiar dream last night. I seemed to be swimming through great green murky deeps, heeding to a call of some sort, from who or what I know not. I seemed to swim with much more endurance than would be normal, and I found my body to be better suited and somehow CHANGED for such endeavor. I swam with great ease, and at an unbelievably rapid rate.

I began to approach something on the sea bottom ahead and below me, and I began to descend toward this objective. As I drew near I saw to my astonishment that this was a citadel of an immense size! This ruin seemed to share an architectural similarity with the buildings and structures of Innsmouth, and I knew that something incredibly vast and powerful lay behind that titanic door.

As I swam toward the door a shadow passed over me, and I felt an indescribable terror as icy panic clutched at my heart. Heedless of my direction I began to beat a hasty retreat. Then I awoke.

It was only upon awakening that I fully recognized the shape of that shadow -- but why should I be so deathly terrified at the sight of the hull of a NAVAL SUBMARINE?

Sweat-drenched, I wiped the moisture from my brow (for a moment my forehead seemed strangely SCALY), and my hand came away sopped with the unmistakeable odor of brine-caked sea water!

Aside from this, nothing eventful to write. All was deathly-still but for the faint barking of orders from the nearby ships and the faraway ghostly ululations of the inhabitants of Innsmouth. You can almost taste the tension in the air.

DAY 4 -- They WERE calling to something, and today IT made its appearance.

We received a transmisson from a remote ship whose post was an obscure point in the Pacific, South Latitude 47 degrees 9', West Longitude 126 degrees 43'. The report stated that the waters beneath the ship had been roiling and churning for a time, and then suddenly with the sound and smell of an escaping bladder something belched up from the depths, a noxious, immense green cloud. It was said to sort of SWIM upon the air currents, and was making its way for the ship when we lost contact with them.

Several other ships were lost to the thing -- all of them between the cloud's point of origin and Innsmouth. One doomed ship had the misfortune of being in sight of another when it was engulfed by the mysterious cloud, and witnessed firsthand, their own ghastly fate-to-come. Duty-bound, the ill-fated Captain had the presence of mind to make his report before being similarly engulfed and cut off from us. It seems that the coud appeared to drain something off of the intended target, apparently the life-force of the crew, for it grew and expanded in size whilst feeding, and all was left silent and lifeless on the ship when it finally withdrew.

At 1300 hours the cloud finally arrived in Innsmouth. By now it was miles and miles across, and it virtually filled the harbor as it horribly threw out snaky pseudopods and began to pluck and devour hapless crewmen from the decks of the warships. Our guns had no effect upon it, bullets and shells merely passing harmlessly through its vaporous bulk, and all seemed truly hopeless. It had attacked about ten ships in the harbor, and it was heading our way when it suddenly dissipated and blew away like so much smoke in the wind.

In the aftermath all is again deathly-still. The chanting continues however, a fact which definitely helps to put us all on edge as we try vainly to regain our morale . . . considering WHAT had come of it this time . . . .

DAY 5, 0800 HOURS -- A strange dream again last night, but this time somehow it didn't seem so strange. This time I swam and swam as before, until I came to a vast sprawling undersea city, again of that alien architecture, but now it seemed weirdly-beautiful and artistic in nature . . . steeped in wonder and splendor. I entered the wondrous city of Y'ha-nthlei (how knew it's name I'm not sure . . . I just KNEW!) and was welcomed by friends, and I felt happy.

Upon awakening I felt truly confused, for I recalled that those "friends" had all been in the advanced stages of that icthyic disease . . . and I, too, had the same fish-frog features.

This recollection caused me to reflect upon my childhood and upbringing, an endless parade of orphanages and foster homes and the ultimate search for something in my life, something to fulfill me and keep me happy, or at least keep my life too busy to miss such things as I had been wont to do. This ultimately led me to a military career, something I had striven hard for, and told myseIf I had come to love. And yet when I thought back upon my dream and recalled my feelings in that city, among friends -- I felt that even in the final ravages of that wasting, body-warping icthyic disease I had felt stronger and healthier than I had ever felt before, and for the first time in my entire life I felt truly and throughly ECSTATIC!

DAY 5, 1200 HOURS -- Zero Hour. We have recieved our orders. We are to seize the town and eliminate the enemy with "extreme prejudice." Conversation is to be limited to "shop-talk," the giving and receiving of orders, and official reports are to be limited to casualty lists and damage results.

The attack begins now . . . .

DAY 6, 1000 HOURS -- The battle is over. We won. At least, that's the official view. But I'm not so sure.

We began by shelling the town and surrounding harbor whilst the submarines torpedoed Devil's Reef. Machine guns chattered as they picked off stragglers on the shore. Huge monsters the like this Earth has never seen before fought on the side of the inhabitants, and our miltary might was hard-pressed, especially in the skirmish at Devil's Reef. An indescribably colossal monstrosity resembling the inhabitants of Innsmouth themselves rose to challenge us, taking an awesome toll upon our numbers, and it took an unbelievable amount of damage before we finally drove it own once again into the depths whence it had come. But we were overcoming the enemy. All around us Deep Ones were dying.

I felt exhilarated, charged by the battle, and yet as the deck guns pounded the glorious alien architecture down into rubble I felt strangely as if I were destroying a part of myself. I FEEL for the inhabitants of Innsmouth, I truly do! All they ever wanted was to live their lives alone, with the freedom of religion and politics that any culture wishes for themselves. They didn't deserve this mass genocide.

We were ordered to hold our position while the Marines and the FBI rounded up the survivors. So we wait.

The men are up for celebrating, and can't wait to hit home port (we were given a leave as our reward for a job well done). But I can't say that I agree with them.

I have to face up to it, to admit to myself that THIS was where I belong. I keep seeing a mental picture of a little baby swaddled in blankets, being hastily and furtively carried out of town by a pair of monstrously-webbed hands, only to be deposited upon the doorstep of a nearby "human" town, perhaps Arkham or Kingsport. Such a webbing has begun to grow between my fingers at an alarming rate, even as my hair begins to clump and fall out. And there are other changes too, so many that Iv'e had myself shut up in my quarters while First Mate Harris takes over command.

I've sworn Chief Petty Officer Allen to secrecy regarding this journal's contents, and have directed him to mail it posthaste to a dear friend in my old hometown of Braving, Minnesota. He'll know what to do with it.

I've risked my career in the writing of this journal, but I HAD to do it, if for no other reason than to let the truth be known of the particulars of the Innsmouth raid, to see that nothing so dreadful as this ever happens again. It is my penance for my part in this tragedy. I owe it to my people, both the human ones . . . and the OTHER ones.

I suppose my jumping over the rail into the sea shall be construed by my former crew as a suicide. Perhaps I shall be listed as Missing In Action. For my part I no longer care.

For in destroying Innsmouth I've destroyed my home, and I must join my surviving people and find another home. I shall be one of the pioneers of a new frontier and finally BELONG. This shall be the last that the world shall hear from Paul Thomas Wells, for I am finally going home.

Forthcoming in The Deep Ones Speak: The James Ambuehl Interview

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