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"The Lonely Ones" by zachary waite
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Author's Notes:
I've been a fan of HPL for over thirty years, but am new to fan sites etc. This is my first try.
TITLE: "The Lonely"

My name is Amelia Marsh and I reside in Brooklyn New York, in the Coney Island section. I live just off the shore in a rent controlled building. It is very nice.
I am also an almost totally homebound invalid--at least this is how the City and State government social services agencies describe me. I have no family here, and scant acquaintances. I owe this to the horrible malformation--so described by my many doctors, since my birth--of my legs and torso.

I am writing this so that whomever finds it taped to the bulletin board of the building's board members' notice postings, will have pity on me and maybe offer a prayer to Father and Mother.

I came to Coney Island in my 22nd year of life---full of hope for a bright future. I entered City Colllege and got a degree in Library Science. I then got a job at the Branch Library on Coney Island. There I worked happily for 18 years until advancing infirmity and degeneration of my nervous system and legs got too bad and I was retired on a modest pension. At 44, with no marriage prospects, my life took a decided down spiral.

I began to frequent gin mill type dive bars, and to temporarily "hook up with" bar flies and drunkards. The sexual tensions released through this fleeting congress was a nice thing, but none of them ever stayed overnight, and none ever repeated the experience. I guess my legs disgusted them, but the rest of me was pleasent enough?

One wintry day I met Professor Issaac Temple, walking along the splintered boardwalk, while I wheeled myself in my chair. He was charming, erudite, and seemed a felllow New Englander too. Although I was from Innsmouth, and he was from Arkham, we hit it off very well.

After three weeks of daily walks, we took to dinner twice a week, then to quiet nights at my apartment. I knew my pheromones were wqorking overtime--mother had always said our kind have a natural attractant for "Them"--what our folk called non Innsmouthers. He tried several times to make our necking sessons more--trying for caresses agbove and below the waist, but my fear of his being repulsed made me grab away his hands. For, you see, I REALLY Loved him, and hoped eventually he'd find out about me and still Love me enough to marry me and make my purpose complete--give the world one more child of Great Dagon and Mother Hydra.

On the third month anniversary, I rolled to my bedroom, and beckoned him to follow. He came, and I lay on the bed. I lifted my long skirt, and let him see me nude. The shock that briefly flashed across his face hurt, but then he softened. He laid down and performed a wonderous act on me. Afterward, he kissed my sweaty brow, and went into the bathroom. I heard a single gasp, then a thud, and knew in my heart what he had done. I crawled to the door, found it ajar. He had slit his own throat with the scaling knife I use to slough off the dead ones from my legs. I crawled to the phone on the bedstand and called my servant Oshar, whom lived in the custodian's apartment in the cellar. "Another one for the sea to claim" I told my Kanaka Islander.

When you read this, know I never meant to harm anyone--We Children of N'Ha Leh Ei and Great Cthulhu get lonely too!