New Tales of the Cthulhu Mythos by unknow

Author:unknow
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: horror, Fantasy, Anthologies
ISBN: 9780870540851
Goodreads: 790741
Publisher: Arkham House Publishers
Published: 1980-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CLERGYMAN MISSING IN STORM

(Wed.) The Rev. Ambrose B. Mortimer, 56, a lay pastor of the Church of Christ, Knoxville, Tenn., has been reported missing in the wake of Monday’s hurricane. Spokesmen for the order say Mortimer had recently retired after serving nineteen years as a missionary, most recently in Malaysia. After moving to Miami in July, he had been a resident of 311 Pompano Canal Road.

Here the piece ended, with an abruptness that seemed all too appropriate to its subject. Whether Ambrose Mortimer still lived I didn’t know, but I felt certain now that, having fled one peninsula, he had strayed on to another just as dangerous, a finger thrust into the void. And the void had swallowed him up.

So, anyway, ran my thoughts. I have often been prey to depressions of a similar nature, and subscribe to a fatalistic philosophy I’d shared with my friend Howard: a philosophy one of his less sympathetic biographers has dubbed ‘futilitarianism.’

Yet pessimistic as I was, I was not about to let the matter rest. Mortimer may well have been lost in the storm; he may even have set off somewhere on his own. But if, in fact, some lunatic religious sect had done away with him for having pried too closely into its affairs, there were things I could do about it. I wrote to the Miami police that very day.

‘Gentlemen,’ I began. ‘Having learned of the recent disappearance of the Reverend Ambrose Mortimer, I think I can provide information which may prove of use to investigators.’

There is no need to quote the rest of the letter here. Suffice it to say that I recounted my conversation with the missing man, emphasizing the fears he’d expressed for his life: pursuit and

‘ritual murder’ at the hands of a Malayan tribe called the Tcho-Tcho. The letter was, in short, a rather elaborate way of crying ‘foul play.’ I sent it care of my sister, asking that she forward it to the correct address.

The police department’s reply came with unexpected speed. As with all such correspondence, it was more curt then courteous. ‘Dear Sir,’ wrote a Detective Sergeant A. Linahan; ‘In the matter of Rev. Mortimer we had already been apprised of the threats on his life. To date a preliminary search of the Pompano Canal has produced no findings, but dredging operations are expected to continue as part of our routine investigation. Thanking you for your concern -‘

Below his signature, however, the sergeant had added a short postscript in his own hand. Its tone was somewhat more personal; perhaps typewriters intimidated him. ‘You may be interested to know,’ it said, ‘that we’ve recently learned a man carrying a Malaysian passport occupied rooms at a North Miami hotel for most of the summer, but checked out two weeks before your friend disappeared. I’m not at liberty to say more, but please be assured we are tracking down several leads at the moment. Our investigators are working full-time on the matter, and we hope to bring it to a speedy conclusion.

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