The Warrens arrived at Manos Lodges, though the plural was less of a hyperbole and more of an outright lie. Michael supposed a case could be made for counting the outhouse with the tent pitched next to it a lodge, but he didn't buy it. The view of the ocean as they approached the Lodge"s" was quite nice, with the huge ocean looming ahead of them. It stretched out, making up the entire horizon, almost like it was swallowing the world around them.
           "Well, it looks like Daddy finally found the place, hmm Debbie?"
          "Took him long enough." She said snippily. "Can I play with Peppy down by the water?"
        "Only for a moment, you father has to get the key for the lodge."
        Debbie and Peppy ran down to frolic in the water, and Debbie's parents walked up to the lone cabin. Michael got ready to knock on the lone door, before it swung open to reveal a man.
        "Yesssss?" The man said. His voice was high-pitched and nasal, and his skin had the same colour as the couple Michael had seen earlier. He had a curly brown goatee, though it was sickly and falling away in patches. Perplexingly wide knees bulged from beneath the fabric of his brown pants, which went with his brown coat and hat. Margaret let out a scream.
        "Margaret, get yourself together! What is it, what's wrong?"
        "His feet! His feet!" She shrieked, pointing down at them. "For a second I saw a... I saw something horrible! Just for a moment but it crawled up into his leg and... oh God!" Margaret bent over and began to be sick. There didn't seem to be anything wrong with the man's feet, though his shoes were wet.
        "I'm sorry about this, sir. I'll be with you in a moment."
        "Hm." The man said indifferently.
        "C'mon, Marge, it was just your imagination. You've had a long day, you're tired. Sir, we're here to rent the lodge, do you think she could at least come inside for a second, maybe get something to drink?"
        "Yes, I suppose." The man said, letting them in. Michael sat Margaret down on the couch, and after she had a moment to catch her breath she told him she was fine.
        "Are you sure?" Michael asked. "That was quite the spell."
            "Yes, yes I'm fine. I must just be tired like you said, that's all."
            "Alright." With that, Michael turned to the man. "Sorry about all that, let me introduce myself. I'm Michael." Michael offered a hand, though the man didn't take it.
            "I'm Torgo." He said. "I watch the house while the master is away."
            "The master?" Michael asked.
            "Yes. He owns the house. That's him, on the mantle." Michael looked over, and saw a large painting of an imposing Arabic man. His eye was more drawn to the small, bas-relief statue beneath it, however. It was a tiny statue carved out of some sort of reddish, fossilized wood. It seemed to depict a horrible, winged creature combining the features of man, dragon and squid. Looking away from the statue, Michael looked back at the painting, only to turn back to Torgo when its piercing gaze became too much.
            "He's very... Very impressive, isn't he?" Michael said.
            "I think he's horrible. Absolutely wretched." Margaret said miserably. "I don't like the look of that picture, I don't like it at all."
            "Where is the master?" Michael asked, trying to cover up his wife's potentially explosive honesty. Truth be told, some dark, hitherto unknown part of him didn't agree with her assessment anyway...
            "He's dead." Torgo said. "Though not dead in the way that you or I know it, but in a different way. Dead, but dreaming." Almost like an exclamation mark, the tortured screams of Peppy rang out after Torgo's ominous statement.
            "Oh my God, Debbie!" Margaret cried, rushing outside to see what was wrong. Michael and Torgo followed.
            Debbie stood on the edge of the shore, up to her calves in water. The water around her was bubbling, not with the froth of the ocean but as if it was agitated and boiling. It mingled with blood that dripped from Peppy as he hung, horribly mutilated with his skin completely ripped clean from his body and his organs dangling from his skeleton in Debbie's mutated hands.
            Where Debbie had once had the sweet, soft hands and arms of a young girl, she instead had a mass of spindly, sharp black things that glistened with blood and mucous. They writhed like tentacles or lobster's legs and were covered in tiny bristles. They clicked about, twirling and twisting Peppy's flesh and cracking and popping Peppy's bones into complex geometric patterns as Debbie's parents looked on in horror. Her face wasn't slack and uncaring like the faces of the other people of New Innsmouth, but instead gnarled in a truly alien expression of emotion unknowable to man.
            "That's the uncanniest thing I've ever seen." Michael said dumbly, speaking too soon. For then, whatever dark force it was that was making the water bubble and that had turned Debbie into whatever she was now made her mutate again. Her form popped and exploded in growth, wings the size of battleships burst from her back and countless thick cephalopodian tentacles sprouted from her mouth in a disgusting, writhing maw. Michael felt a sickening sensation as he recognized the creature from the statue.
            "Master! The master has returned!" Torgo yelled ecstatically. "I'm coming to join you master!" He yelled, running up to what was once Debbie. Down from the hills the rest of the people of New Innsmouth ran down as well. Michael stood, frozen in horror, as he saw the couple he met earlier followed by a procession of creatures of varying degrees of humanity. They all chanted, a thousand ancient and twisted tongues becoming one upon the words "Ia Ia Cthulhu Ftaghn".
            "No, it's horrible! Horrible! No!" Margaret screamed, clinging to Michael, and sobbing on his shoulder. Michael looked down at his wife, and then up at his daughter as she devoured her approaching followers. Their chanting rang in his ears, and the dark part of him that he felt disagree with her earlier came bubbling back. He heard her sobs, but as he listened to the chanting of the townspeople, he heard it less and less. Michael turned to Margaret, and looked her in her moist eyes. He felt something about him changing, and not just inside of him. As her sobbing eyes filled with horror, his feeling that the change was not purely spiritual was confirmed.
            "...Cthulhu ftaghn!" He chanted along in a new, slimy tongue. It was one he was not used to, but he could adapt. The transformational quality of the town could make him adapt to anything. What-Was-Once-Debbie was happy, and so was he. Michael's wife tried to run away, and so he had to take care of her...

             The door swung open. Two robust, healthy looking people stood in the doorway.
            "Uh, hello! We're here to talk about renting the lodge?"� One, a blonde yuppie man said.
            "I'm Michael. I watch the house while master is away."