Vergil’s dreams were as deep and dark as the bottom of the ocean. The only shimmer of light filtering down from the distant stars above was tainted by the waters before it reached him. That faint emerald green glow was his only defence against the crushing cold. He woke with a start, sweating despite the chill on the bus. There was a tremor in his hands he hadn’t seen in years and he was silently furious with himself for showing so much weakness. A quick glance around showed no indication that any of the other three passengers had noticed, two were snoring and the other peering intently into his paper, so he took that as a small comfort. Before he had to work out what to do with himself for the rest of the trip, Innsmouth came into view around the bend. It was a wretched, windswept little
