"Them": The History Of The Twelve Realms

"Them" Part One: 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."