Off the Coast of Innsmouth

A Short Story by Brandon R. Chinn. Spectrum January Day Fourteen.

Picture: The Shadow Over Innsmouth by William Martinez. Spectrum 18, Page 64.

I dream of her spires, gilded and golden and shining without sunlight. Her many limestone walls, untouched and unsoiled even by lifetimes so far under the sea, just as perfect as the day they were set. Tiny schools of many colored fish dot the coral that stops just at the gates of the city, the white walls barring passage with an otherworldly effect that is invisible to the eye of all creatures born of simple earth. Within her walls are a great many buildings and spires that seem to mirror each other for eternity and then time, and it is impossible to see any individual structure without taking in the worship and service to Dagon. Many times has beautiful and fearsome Y'ha-nthlei been searched for, but like all structures and cities belonging to the Deep Ones, she is folded within the dreams of the aged and the long dead. Y'ha-nthlei is hidden behind unbreakable walls of blind eyes and thoughts that refuse to give up worlds of such eldritch horror that do not belong to the world above.

I can remember the attack on Devil’s Reef as if it was yesterday, and that might be because of how common raids have become. The Americans have it in them that there is a mystery in fair Innsmouth, that there is something more to our tiny community than our pickled mackerel and deliriously poverty stricken children. The rich are always after what their hands cannot grasp, gold coins dipped in oil and falling through their fingers. Innsmouth has plenty of the oil, but alas none of the gold. It is folly to obsess over dilapidated buildings and cobblestone streets that are so badly worn and buckled that one can no longer drive a motor car across them. And yet we must suffer the indignation of raids.

Every once in awhile there will be an investigator of some sort disguised as a professor, or a lost traveler. One has to go out of one’s way by quite a mile in order to find this fishing town, and there is never a happy grin to receive a newcomer. We know what they are, what they are looking for. We can smell the secrets wafting off them like the stink of decay, the travelers are the dead shambling through the streets on an uneven night. They always come when the moon is full and bright behind the dark clouds that never leave our shores, and we can count on them as we can count on new warts to cover our knuckles. At first even the bravest are stricken by our large eyes, our curious and broken gait. But once this stricken effect changes to awe, and then blooms into curiosity, we have to find a way to extract ourselves of one traveler. It is never difficult, and hardly ever creative.

There are questions, at times. Where is the body? Where is this name, or that name? Give us answers, they demand! How is it that one can demand to find a traveler of little defense and even less pocket change, when they do not demand to see bread and soup after supper? Is it not the same question? Even the children know to bow their heads low to the ground and make their behaviors elsewhere, even when we are not being watched. We are a town of the grown, and do our best to make it so. Everyone in Innsmouth is family, in one way or another. We are all brother, sister, aunt, uncle, father, mother, but these words are never used. There is no familial formality, but there is familiarity.

I asked my own mother, the woman whose house I shared, about the sweet dreaming city when I was but a boy. She gave me a look for a secret, and sent me on my way. That was the behavior, the response. My father, if you could ever call a man such as him ‘father’ (which I never did, will never do), was a blacksmith of sorts. Alongside any job taken to hold up the bare necessities of Innsmouth, is the role of fishermen. We are all fishermen when the time is required, when we hear the voice of Dagon out across the foggy seas, when we hear the song of Y'ha-nthlei whisper to us where she sleeps, and we dream for her. I once wanted to know if I would ever visit such a city, to bare my body for the Deep Ones and truly grow into my ancestry. My mother gave me the same look for a secret, and my lips stitched themselves together.

To my ever growing list of disappointments I did learn that sweet, stinking Innsmouth does not experience the seasons of the world. She experiences fog, and the salt spray of the sea, and the darkness of night. There is a cold here that touches every place of you the way cold was never meant to. I do not know this of my own experience, only what I gathered from reading the collected journals of those people that stumbled upon our fishing town my purpose, or by mistake. Their designs meant I was given ample view of the world outside, but like all others who shamble about the cobblestone streets, I had needs to hide them. I would tip my black bowler atop my head, shake the mites and dust from my ratty black jacket, and fix my lapel as to cover the slips of paper pressed against my breast. I would limp toward the run-down library, or any other quiet building that would have me, and study the world. What I found was truly nothing more than the inspiration of the outside, what it should be like to exist under the minds of the men that we buried in the sea. I would never really learn the truth.

As I age I dream more of Y'ha-nthlei, and what it holds for me. The hold is has over me. My skin becomes chapped, scaly. My breath stinks like rotten fish and my eyes grow larger, and there is a constant dribble of mucous from my eyes, my ears, my nose, my mouth when I do not keep it firmly closed. My lips have become bulbous and eternally wet. My arms feel much to long for my body, and my feet no longer fit comfortably into the shoes I have worn for the last ten years. Everything I own that is not made of cloth pinched me, and life has become a fit of uncomfortable sounds and moments. Sometimes I forget my neighbors, I forget what it’s truly like to be a member of the town, and I can only think of the buzzing silence of the ocean that I have never touched. I have pulled countless fish from the water off the coast of Innsmouth but never dipped into the black waves myself. I am an emulation of a sea creature, pining for a world never known but a world whose evidence coats my body.

I dream more and more, and I wake to find that words have been replaced in my throat with a hoarse barking. Years past by so quickly that I become derange, I find the room I have slept in to be thrown upside down and splattered with blood and brine. I pull my ears off one at a time to find simple holes underneath, and to my personal anguish I chew the flesh in my bulbous mouth, my teeth rotten and gnashing over my own simple meats. I burp and mucous runs out my mouth and down my chin, and it is impossible for me to have the dexterity to do anything about it. My limbs have forgotten who they belong to, and my gait has become so terrible that sometimes I flounder instead of walk, a fish slapping itself against the broken cobblestones and drawing blood and tears in equal measure.

Each day Y'ha-nthlei feels closer to me, sometimes I can hear her limestone spires singing to me under the ocean, and I can see the reliefs of Dagon (who I have never known and whose name has never been told to me, but whose name I have known intimately since I was a child) stretched about the city and coming alive to pull me into that place. There are old men who claim they walked the streets of Y'ha-nthlei thousands of years ago, before the world sunk into its obsession with worshiping devices of torture and old bearded men. Who would worship a man? What man can give you what a god of the sea or the stars can? The foolishness makes me so angry that I am driven to moments of guttural howling, and pushed off the streets by creatures that I once looked like. I know soon they will be coming for me, to drag me mewling and screeching into the ocean, to let me sink under the cold and crushing waves. I do not mind this, I welcome it. I welcome the day where I can stop dreaming and find Y'ha-nthlei waiting for me, her gates open like the awaiting arms of a lover, to pull me into the world that awaits just below Innsmouth.

When you’re a first-timer, you don’t really know what to expect … you’re a college kid, and then all the sudden you sign, and you’re on the ice with all these guys … you grew up watching. I always made the joke that Justin Williams was on my fantasy team when I was in college. Then like two years later I was over at his house having dinner. Life doesn’t work that way!
—  Alec Martinez on his first NHL training camp
William Martinez, inaming matagal na silang hiwalay ni Yayo Aguila; mga anak, ‘di kayang sustentuhan

IPINAGTAPAT NI William Martinez sa press na matagal na silang hiwalay ni Yayo Aguila at ang apat nilang anak ay nasa poder ni Yayo, dahil wala raw siyang kakayahang buhayin ang kanilang mga anak. “Matagal na kaming hiwalay ni Yayo. May iba na siya,” say ni William. Sa tanong kung sin…

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Bagets (1984)

     Isa sa sikat na youth-oriented na pelikula noong dekada 80 na naging click sa kabataan bago pa lumabas ang TGIS, Gimick, Tween Hearts, Ninja Kids, HotShot atbp. na binubuo nila Aga Mulach, Herbert Bautista, William Martinez, Raymond Launchengco, at JC Bonin. Hanggang ngayon ay pilit na binubuhay pero di pa rin magaya gaya.

Albert Martinez, naungusan na sina William Martinez at Gabby Concepcion

NAGTAGAL TALAGA ang buhay ng showbiz career ni Albert Martinez dahil ang pangalan niya ay ‘sing kahulugan ng salitang propesyunalismo. Nu’ng bagets pa lang siya na hirap na hirap iangat ang pangalan mula sa kasikatan nina Gabby Concepcion at William Martinez, napapansin na ang kanyang kas…

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Direction: Luciano Carlos; Screenplay: Jose Javier Reyes; Cinematography: Gener Buenaseda; Production Design: Robert Lee; Music: Jimmy Fabregas; Editing: Efren Jarlego; Sound: Joe Climaco; Produced by: Regal Films, Inc.

Cast: Susan Roces (Helen), Lotlot de Leon (Anita), Ronaldo Valdez (Carding), William Martinez (Larry), Roderick Paulate (Garutay), Aga Muhlach (Efren), Dranreb Belleza (Jonathan), Gretchen Barretto (Ellen), Ramon Christopher (Abe), Kristina Paner (Mylene), Jimmy Fabregas (Satur), Cynthia Patag (Dardanella), Matet (Angelita).

Horror-Thriller Sorrow Gets Release Date

Horror-Thriller Sorrow Gets Release Date

The horror-thriller SORROW will be hitting VOD and DVD on April 21, 2015. SORROW is written and directed by Millie Loredo and stars Vannessa Vasquez, Andrew Sensenig, Melissa Mars, Eric Martinez, Donny Boaz, Mary Etuk, and Heather Williams. Check out the press release which also contains the plot crunch and some upcoming screening dates.



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Great way to end the season but unfortunately no playoffs this year but win or lose i will always be a kings fan. These last few years have been amazing with us bringing home the Stanley cup for the first time in 2012 and the second time in 2014. 👑 Can’t wait for next season 💜 Love my La Kings 💜 #wereallkings #GKG #lakings #blackandpurple #socal #calipride #2012and2014StanleyCupChampions 👑👑 #andreoff #brown #carter #clifford #gaborik #king #kopitar #lewis #nolan #pearson #richards #shore #stoll #toffoli #williams #doughty #greene #martinez #mcbain #mcnabb #muzzin #regehr #sekera #voynov #jones #quick 💜