In 1946, a self-proclaimed paranormal investigator named Herbert Thatcher found a wrapped parcel on the steps of his home on Clarke Street. There was no return address. The package was wrapped in meat-packing paper, soaking wet, and inside was a centuries-old book.
A book of myth. A book of legend.
A Book of Realms.
Ripping through the paper in a fever pitch, Herbert found a note tucked into the back of the book. The tattered message was handwritten on old parchment and read:
“I locked it away.”
Herbert spent weeks studying the book, taking notes, rereading passages, and trying to decode the message he had received.
“Locked what away? What can this book do? Who was so afraid of it that they sent it here for safekeeping?” he wondered.
While studying page 66 once more, Herbert noticed a strange residue he had somehow missed before. He lightly scraped a bit of it from the page, rubbed it between his fingers, and gave it a cautious sniff.
“Lemon?” he questioned.
Suddenly, it clicked. Herbert rushed to the ultraviolet light in his study and shined the purple glow across the page. What had once seemed blank now revealed itself like invisible ink. Runes, maps, and incantations littered the pages, beginning on page 66 and continuing for the next six pages.
Believing he had stumbled upon a breakthrough, Herbert rewrote every rune, every letter, and redrew every map onto his chalkboard. Across the top, in large letters, he wrote:
“Which was locked away, will come again.”
Following the keys to a T, the excited but foolish investigator began the ritual. With every word spoken, the lights began to shake and the wind howled through the room. Then, without warning, the map within the page ruptured open, spurting a stream of green ooze.
The sludge leapt from the book, narrowly missing Herbert before splattering against the wall behind him. He stared at the mess, then quickly turned his gaze back to the pages.
“Curiouser and curiouser,” he gasped.
With no time to lose, Herbert continued reading.
More soupy green sludge catapulted out of the book, slamming across the interior of the study. Nervous but determined, Herbert took a deep breath and prepared to continue, until the sludge suddenly ceased.
The shaken man exhaled, pausing for only a moment before the book slammed itself open to page 70.
Then it emerged.
A gigantic, scaly, green, slime-covered tentacle of a cosmic squid crawled from the binding of the book. It grew, twisted, and screamed as green pulsing lights illuminated the study. The tentacle stretched larger and larger, filling the room with impossible force.
Pale and terrified, Herbert rushed toward the study exit as the gelatinous arm grew so large that it smashed through the front facade of the residence. Within seconds, more tentacles emerged, spawning from the book and crashing through the walls.
Herbert tried to stop it. He begged it to return. He read every incantation on the chalkboard that he could still see, but the beast had been freed.
The destruction of the Brownstone on Clarke Street had begun.
Rushing for the book, Herbert was thrown back as a stray tentacle impaled him and sent him crashing through the brick and mortar. His body landed on the bench outside the building. His remains sizzled and smoked as he was encased in the glowing green goo.
The remaining tenants raced toward the exit of the crumbling residence, screaming and crying in a desperate rush for survival as the squid made its full escape.
Destruction, ruins, debris, and a trail of slimy green radioactive soup were all that remained of the city.
The Brownstone on Clarke Street was no more.
