The Plains of Namar-Sin

I did not mean to open the gate, but alas, it is too late for my misgivings. The thing is open. I alone stand at the precipice between our world and the Plains of Naram-Sin, a land of writhing darkness and many eyes. Long have the Plains waited at the doorway, never moving from the warded pillars made from bones of a creature so ancient, I shudder when pondering its flesh form. If there is a divine plan from a benevolent creator—as I spent the Sundays of my youth learning—these creatures indeed could not have been part of the script. No, I fear that this place and this gateway are not of any God we humans worship. Standing here, I find myself thinking of a world with no sun, just squalid black ichor dripping from the heavens. Perhaps that was the world before ours, where nightmares lived amongst whatever beings inhabited the lightless surface. Is that what the Plains of Naram-Sin desires? A return to the starless times? No, I must not surrender to such thoughts. I know it to be a rather fruitless effort, but one I shall endeavor onward, for I feel it in the wind, a faint whisper from oblivion calling for me, whether I close the gate or not. But how can I undo what I barely understand? 

“Remember,” the whisper said, though its voice chilled my soul. “Remember.”

Yes, I must remember!

If my answers indeed lay behind me, I will continue this journal and recount the previous day, where I learned of and opened an entrance to the Plains of Naram-Sin. If I meet my end, I hope this account can give you something to stop what I have unleashed.   

******

It started on June 3. The year is 1917. I landed in Iraq the night before and had little time to accustom myself to the environment before my morning drive to the ruins of Ur. The sun overhead beat down upon all who walked beneath its fiery gaze. I was amongst that sorry lot. Sweat seeped through all of my clothing, and only the keffiyeh covering my head brought any sense of cooling comfort. I can still recall the taste of the last drops from the waterskin as I titled it upwards, a refreshment I may never indulge in again. The lead archeologist on the Naram-Sin Project, Professor Arthur Schmidt, had inquired about my assistance for a recent discovery. What it was, he wouldn’t say during our correspondences. No, Professor Schmidt had been adamant that secrecy was of the utmost importance, but that my background in Philology and ancient civilizations was an absolute need to the project. Frankly, I was flattered to receive an invitation. Professor Schmidt was somewhat of an idol of mine, and it had been years since we last spoke in person.

When he emerged from his tent to greet me, I barely recognized the man. His once full face and rosy cheeks were now gaunt and hollow as if somebody deflated them like a balloon. He wore a pair of thick black sunglasses that obscured his eyes, but even without seeing them, I managed to catch glimpses of sunken sockets that seemed to bore into his head. To be frank, his visage caused me some physical discomfort, but I tried my best not to let it show. But Arthur was a smart man, and he knew his appearance would cause some shock.  

“Come now, my American friend, I know I look like a ghoul, but I promise you it’s a passing illness.” 

“Of course, forgive me, it’s just been so long since we’ve last met.” 

“Yes, yes, time flies as they say.” He had paused to massage his temples. His face strained with some pain. “Time is why you’re here, my friend. I have found something that I believe predates time as we understand it.” 

If I wasn’t intrigued before, Schmidt had poured gasoline onto the fire of my imagination. What could predate time? I asked him just that, and he smiled.

“That’s what I want to show you.” 

Schmidt barked orders at his crew and beckoned me towards the foundational remains of what must have been the largest ziggurat in all of Ur. The ruinous framework seemed to go on for a half-mile in each direction, putting the grand pyramids of Eygpt to shame, as if they were some hut built of brush. As we walked, Schmidt told me as much of the place’s history as he had been able to uncover.

“While not out of place in Ur, this particular Ziggurat seems to predate the rest of the city. In some of the ruins, we’ve found multiple carved edifices depicting the finding of Ur, and in all of them, this Ziggurat is already built before the settlers claimed the fertile basin.” Schmidt spoke enthusiastically, despite his hollowed visage. 

“That is rather odd,” I replied. “But it could simply be a part of their creation myth.”

Schmidt laughed. It apparently had been his first thought as well, when he found the carvings. But then his team had made a stunning discovery. An entrance into a nearly untouched chamber below the foundations. That’s where he was taking me then, to see what few eyes had seen for thousands of years. 

 ******

The entrance to the Zigguart’s crypt was smaller than I anticipated. We followed a narrow set of stairs made of some sort of strange black marble into a room of utter darkness. All at once, I felt an oppressive force of dread bear down upon my being as if the air was thick with a miasma of the foulest order. I went to brace myself against the walls of the chamber but yelped as my hand was met with some sort of viscous slime. For a moment, I felt as though I would lose my mind right then, but Schmidt grabbed me by the shoulders and handed me a towel.

“I know it’s overwhelming in here, but you must remember this place has been entombed for centuries.” He told me. “We believe a small spring may have breached the ground here, causing the mold and such on the walls. Do not worry, my men will have the lights on shortly.” 

In a moment, his words became a reality. The chamber below the Ziggurat erupted into fluorescent light, and I felt the desire to scream. Never in my life could I have imagined a cavern as large as the one unearthed at the Naram-Sin Project. It was just as wide as the foundation I’d marveled at it before, but the size itself held the least of my awe. No, it was the cavern’s design that spoke above all else. The room was itself a Ziggurat built-in reverse. On all sides, massive flights of stairs descend in a square shape, getting smaller and smaller as they descended towards what would normally be the top of a Ziggurat. From what I could see at my vantage, there was some sort of arch structure surrounded by pillars, built at the stair’s base. Schmidt must’ve watched my gaze, for he commented on it right away.

“That’s why I’ve brought you here. There are inscriptions upon that gateway that are unlike anything I’ve encountered.”

I nodded without looking over at my colleague. My eyes were glued to the arch. We carefully descended towards the structure, moving slowly to avoid slipping on the blackened, gelatinous mold covering the floors and walls. It was then when at last, we stepped foot on the inverted Ziggurats peak, that I got my first good look at what I believed to be a simple arch. It stood at an immense height, and across the entirety of its surface were glyphs and images that were unlike any I had encountered in my studies. The glyphs seemed to shimmer and shift as I did my best to write them down in this very journal, but for your sake, I have ripped those pages from this binding and tossed them into their master. I couldn’t make sense of any of it, aside from the eyes. Wherever a glyph failed to appear, carvings of eyes filled the gaps. Those eyes! How could I not have known what horrors would await when I saw the first one blink? I screamed for Schmidt, but he reassured me that my mind was playing tricks on me. 

“The fumes are potent. They have a tendency to warp one’s vision.” 

It was then that I noticed Schmidt was still wearing his sunglasses, even within the dark cellar. It was odd, but I had told myself he wore them to avoid the same disorientation I had been feeling. I braced myself against one of the bone-white pillars surrounding the arch, and a vision flooded my head. I knew at once that this pillar was indeed crafted from bone, for in my mind, I witnessed the grotesque outline of the creature it belonged to. I retracted my hand in fear of seeing the full beast take form, and as I did, I felt as though a change had come over me. I breathed in the air, and it tasted cleaner, almost palatable. When I turned to face the arch, the glyphs no longer fled my view. Instead, they revealed themselves to me. How any of this is possible, well, that’s beyond our species ability to comprehend. For we are children born of the sun, and I knew then that this room was older than both. 

Schmidt’s demeanor changed from controlled to deranged in moments. He barked at me to stand and read the glyphs as I saw them. I had asked how he knew I could read it, and the man laughed. 

“Why else would I call you here? You are the key. I have seen it!” 

Then—oh, how I wish I could forget this—Schmidt removed his sunglasses to reveal eye sockets devoid of eyes. In their place was a swirling black liquid that lapped out of the holes like tentacles on a squid. I fell back in horror and tried to turn and flee, but Schmidt's men had me surrounded. They, too, were eyeless, and the same tentacles of black ichor reached out at me from all directions. I was trapped, and with no escape in sight, I turned to face the arch. The glyphs spoke to me, and I heard the malice in their voice though I did not know the meaning of their words. I only felt what they wanted me to do; to utter this accursed language and open the gateway. 

“Schmidt, what will happen if I do as they bid?” I asked, turning towards my former friend.

“You will free the great one, the Plains of Naram-Sin, and it shall reward you with everything you desire.” His voice had sounded far away. 

“And if I wish not to do this?” I had asked.

“But it is done. You have already spoken the words.” Schmidt answered and pointed at the gateway. 

I looked toward the arch. No, that’s not right, something made me look, for there’s no reason I could think of that would give a desire to do so, and I found myself looking through a mirror to a world made of the same black ichor that filled the eyes of the poor souls around me. The sheer size of the land wouldn’t fit on any book's pages, but I will describe to you what my mind will allow: As far as I could see, the Plains of Naram-Sin was a world of lecherous black liquid that snaked in and out of itself like black solar flares around a void-sun. Moon-sized eyes blinked open within the sludge and stared through me with split-pupils that danced to a song older than any other. It spoke to me, this land, and in a voice of nightmares, it cried its name. 

Naram-Sin!  

I screamed. Oh, how I screamed!  

“What have I done? Schmidt, we must close this...this abomination!” 

The man who was once Schmidt cackled at me. “You cannot undo what is already done, for it is done. And it will be done again.”

“There must be a way! Please, tell me how to end this!” I begged, finding myself on my knees. 

“A way?” Schmidt’s vessel mumbled with amusement. “There’s is no way. There is only the Plains of Namar-Sin. Do you not remember?”

 ******

“Remember?” I mumbled though I know not why. “Yes! I must remember!” 

As I write this, I...I can no longer recall what I have to remember. I know it was of great importance, so now I flip back through these pages for help, but the words I can no longer read. What had I been writing? Does this journal in my hand hold the keys to what I must recollect? What do I know? 

I look at my surroundings. I see a gateway and the creature that waits inside. The Plains of Namar-Sin! I am the cause of this, I cannot explain how I know this, but I have no doubt it was my hands that pried the door ajar. I did not mean to open the gate, but alas, it is too late for my misgivings.

The thing is open.

(This is dedicated to the works of H.P Lovecraft.)