So this is the first story I'm publishing here. Feel free to leave a comment and let me know what you think. Have fun reading!
"Them": The History Of The Twelve Realms
Listen carefully, for
this is a tale that everyone who lives in this place should be familiar with… It
starts with Allan Kimble, a police investigator in a small town called
"Terra":
"Allan, you got to
see this… We just got a call from a citizen in downtown, he found a body."
Gorge said as he walked towards Allan.
"What's new Gorge?
It seems there's a murder in that place every hour these days." Allan
answered from his chair behind the table.
"This one is
different…" Gorge continued.
"Different
how?"
"You have to see
this for yourself. I will take you there."
As Allan and Gorge drove
downtown, an awkward silence prevailed
in the car. Gorge was quite the chatterer type, that's why it seemed strange to
Allan that he isn't blabbering about the usual nonsense of women or new
clothes. They knew each other for a long time now, and not once did Gorge shut
up during a car ride.
"No necrophilia
jokes this time Gorge?"
"Not this time
Allan…" Gorge said. He looked more grave than usual while he petted his potbelly, his typical sign of
uneasiness. His leg kept jumping up and down on the car's floor. He was not his
usual self.
When they entered the
apartment, the rest of the crew was already there. As Allan walked through the
door, he noticed the bizarre silence that took place inside the small apartment.
Everyone was doing their job like always, but the usual mess of eight people
cramped inside a small space around a corpse was missing. Whispering was heard
instead of talking, and the police photographer that was throwing up in the
corner wasn't a promising sign as well.
"What's going
on?" Allan asked as he entered the tiny living-room.
At first, it looked like
the common crime-scene: Hideous smell, a body laying on the floor, and a black
sheet that covers it. But something was wrong.
"Where is the
blood?" Allan inquired, confused from the unusual appearance of a spotless
floor around a corpse.
"Look at the body,"
Gorge answered, covering his mouth with his hand, taking a step back.
Curious due to the extraordinary
conduct around him, Allan slowly raised the black sheet that was covering the
corpse. As he did, a sickening sensation suddenly overflew him, and the urgent
need to throw up and cover his eyes made him stumble backwards, landing on some
slimy substance.
"Jesus! What is
that?" Were the first words that came out of his mouth while he starred at
the horribly deformed body. Unable, or unwilling to believe his eyes, he just
kept gazing at what the rest of the police crew called a corpse. "Are they
crazy?" he thought to himself, "There is no way that what lays before
me is a human corpse."
The carcass was so badly
abused and slashed, that any resemblance to a human body was minor or
accidental. The outline was the only thing that could suggest that this corpse
was of human nature.
It took Allan a few
minutes to recover. When he got to his senses and stood up, Gorge finally spoke
to him.
"As you probably
already noticed, this body was brutally tortured and abused. Nonetheless, we
couldn’t find even one drop of blood on it, or around it. The slimy liquid that
is now all over your hands and pants, also imply of something abnormal. We sent
the strange slime to the lab, but it will take some time before we get the
results back. As for the so-called body, we're taking it to the morgue for
further study. Maybe it will be able to tell us something about the murder. We
have yet to discover any clues as to who did it, or why. That's why we called
you, our best detective. There is one thing we found though, a journal that the
victim wrote. For some reason the murderer left it behind. I only had a quick
glance at it, but its written in a weird dialect, and the man who wrote it was
obviously crazy. I leave it to you to figure something out of this nonsense."
~~~
As Allan sat on his
couch at home, weary from the exhausting day, he took the odd looking journal
out of his bag. It was covered in black leather, and had strange symbols carved
into it. Allan didn't recognize the symbols, but for some reason they crept him
out. He opened it and started reading:
March 23rd. I
have nightmares. Grotesque, terrible nightmares of unthinkable, queer scenes.
They are different every time, but the general atmosphere of horror doesn’t let
go. I wake up at night, gasping for air, trying to break free from yet another
hellish dream. What the dreams are of I cannot say. I have no way to try and
describe the almost unspeakable horror that I experience every night.
I write this for I am
lost. Maybe I wish that through my inquires in this journal, my mind will
finally be at ease. The dreams are going on for a week now and are getting
worse as days pass by.
Last night I woke up
from a frightful nightmare, which I dare not write about. I found myself
sitting in bed, waving my arms in order to keep that awful revolting thing
from touching me. As I checked my face for its integrity, I discovered a slimy
unidentified substance on my fingers. I rubbed the grotesque liquid between my
fingers, but I was unaware as to what it was. The texture was like something I
never felt before, and I couldn't decide on its nature. I drove my other hand
against my face just to find the same mucous substance above my upper lip. I
repeated the process several times with different parts of my hand, but the
slime kept sitting there, neverending. And then, in the same way you wake up
from a dream realizing it's not real, the strange liquid disappeared from both
my hands and face.
I keep blaming my vast
fertile imagination for this horrific act, but merely for condolence. Deep
inside, in the back of my head, I know the terrible truth; that it was neither
a dream nor a delusion, but something else. Something very horrifying and real.
April 3rd. I
can't take this anymore. My mind is suffering, and is slowly collapsing under
the immense stress and atrocities I'm experiencing. I can't sleep. I haven't
slept for ten days now and I'm afraid that I'm seeing things that are not
there. I feel that there's a hole inside me, inside my soul.
Physically there is
nothing wrong with me, yet I feel pain I've never felt before. Something in my
head. An obnoxious unbearable whispering that relentlessly dwells in there. I
take pills, but it doesn't help. The worst part is that I cannot fully
comprehend what the whispering is saying. I know that it is a language I
understand, but I'm unable to decipher the words. It is so tremendously
maddening and frustrating that I can't help myself from listening to it all
day. The only way I can try to explain it, is that the words are there and yet
aren't there at the same time. I'm almost able to figure it out, but then it
disappears. It's like endlessly trying to remember a word, but never actually
remembering it.
I stopped going to work.
I cannot stand the sights anymore. How can they not see them? Those monstrous
slimy horrors that "walk" among us. They are everywhere. The
streets are full of them, yet no one seems to care. The smell of their yellowish
rotten flesh is filling the air wherever you go. I have nausea when I'm
outside. It's just a matter of time until they get me. I don't want to
be devoured…
March 10th. Still
no sleep. I feel shattered. If there is something worse than death, then I'm
experiencing it now. I'm young, but I wish for death to come and take me before
they do.
I can't get the cryptic
symbols from my nightmares out of my head. I have an unexplainable urge to draw
them. Are they related to them?
I bought a gun. The
whispering didn't stop and I considered several times to put an end to my life
just so I won't have to hear them anymore. No, I won't do it. Just a
little longer, just a little longer.
Date Unknown. I lost
track of time. Tranquility is the only thing I long for these days. I yearn for
silence and sleep. Oh sweet sleep, I never appreciated it enough. And silence;
what wouldn’t I give for just five minutes of silence… How hard it is to
function in these conditions. Yes, function. I no longer call it living, for
living is preserved for those with a soul. I cannot feel my soul anymore. I
feel like a robot, cold and senseless. I still can't figure out why they came
here. Was it to torture us?
I've decided what I will
do if they break inside. I carry my gun with me all the time. Death is
better than seeing them and losing it completely. My first impression
was that… Wait a minute. I can hear something outside the door. Is
someone coming? No, I'm not supposed to have visitors. Did they finally
come to me? Is it my time? I can hear them getting closer. I don't have
much time left. I already know what I need to do when they come through
this door with their terrible twisted bodies. I'm shacking. I'm hearing
some kind of slimy squashing near the door. The handle is moving!
THE GUN!
THE GUN!
~~~
"The entire town of
"Terra", and detective Allan, who was a close friend of mine, are no
longer with us. Allan told me all of this over the phone just two days ago. He
didn't sound like his usual self… He is usually very cold and apathetic, but
this time he sounded disturbed. I've never heard him like that, and trust me
when I tell you this: if he was that disturbed, you need to start worry. For
those of you who still don't know who I am, my name is detective Grim Roger,
and I'm in charge of this committee. We are all assembled here today to discuss
and form a plan regarding the town of "Terra". Yesterday we lost
contact with everyone in there. The town was found filled and surrounded by
yellow, unidentified fog. We sent a squad of twenty-four men to investigate the
inside of the town. Out of the twenty-four, eighteen are still missing, and the
six that returned were put in the asylum after psychiatric exam showed they
completely lost it. That said, our initial plan was to cut our losses and just
wait for the fog to disappear. But we now face a much graver problem. The fog
is spreading. It's moving rather fast towards all directions, and will cover
the entire surface of earth in approximately six months."
As Roger finished his
last sentence, loud murmurs were heard from the twelve men sitting in the small
round room. An old man, probably an experienced politician by his looks, stood
up and silenced everyone. He then addressed Roger with a low, hoarse voice: "Mr.
Grim, as the president of the twelve realms I demand an explanation. How did
this happen?"
"Well Mr.
President, if I had an explanation, I promise you that I would have told you by
now. Unfortunately we can't figure out how did this happen or what exactly is this
anyway."
"What do you
suggest then? That we should all wait until…" The old man had to stop due
to some heavy coughing. A minute later he continued: "That we should wait
until that fog reaches us and then god knows what will happen?!"
"Well, after
discussing this with our group of scientists, I believe that we found a
solution. But I don't think you'll like it."
~~~
"And this story is,
children, our history. Those incidents thirty years ago sent us here. This is the reason we are all living
underground for the past thirty years. And this, is why you should never, NEVER
go up to the surface."
Inside the small room
made of rock, one of the kids raised his hand.
"Yes Billy."
"Mr. Grim, are you
the same Mr. Grim from your story?" a faint squeaky voice asked.
"Yes I am
Billy."
Another kid raised his
hand as he started talking: "Mr. Grim, will we ever be able to go outside?
And is it true that there is something called sun?"
"Well Jane, there
is indeed something that is called a sun. Next lesson I will bring pictures and
show you. We don't have time for any more questions now, our lesson is over.
Wait outside for your parents to pick you up, and stay away from the lava
lake!"
"Yes Mr.
Grim." the whole class pronounced together.
As the kids all went
outside the small rocky room, one dark haired boy stayed behind.
"What's the matter
Derek?" Mr. Grim asked as he approached the little boy.
"I'm scared Mr.
Grim…" The boy cried while hiding his head between his knees.
"What happened?
What are you scared of?" Mr. Grim said and petted Derek's head.
"I have
nightmares…"
"They're not real,
they are just dreams… You don't have to
be afraid. What are the nightmares about?"
The next words that were
heard in the room were said in the most gentle and soft voice Mr. Grim has ever
heard. It was like listening to an angel. But the content was that of the devil:
"I can hear a whispering… They're coming."
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