There are certain towns in the history of life that few people regard as important, or regard at all. These towns change the lives of the people who enter them drastically, yet humanity as a whole has no idea. With a few exceptions.
One of these rare cases is one of the least popular tour guide books of the United States, with every page containing information about one of these towns. It does not go into great detail, but a few key passages read as follows. "Come see glorious Silent Hill in all its glory. This quiet mound used to be home to drug lords, motorcycle gangs, Satanist, and several McDonalds. Now it's the perfect vacation spot for psychos, convicts, and butchers."
The guide goes into a little detail about said vacationers. "Many tortured souls make the journey every fall to witness Silent Hill's most beautiful season. The leaves turn a magnificent shade of red before falling gently to the ground bellow, covering roads, sidewalks, bodies, and the lake alike."
It is worth noting that this guide can only be found in the fiction section of a few no-name book stores. It is also worth noting that only one copy was ever sold.
James stared at himself in the mirror of a rest area just outside of Silent Hill. "Why?" he asked himself. "Why do I have to be so damn sexy?" He continued to stare in the mirror, gently stroking his chin. "Of all the convicts, nay people, in the world, why do I have to be the sexiest?" After several more minutes of self-admiration, he brushed the thought aside with his hair, fished around in his pocket for a moment, and withdrew a picture. Gazing at it with a look not even a mother could love, he says to himself "Ah, Mary. I wonder if you're really here..."
He left the smelly bathroom and returned to his car parked outside. It was a '72 cherry red Chevy Camero with leather seats, a 200 disc CD-changer in the trunk, an odd looking figurine on the dash, and a bumper sticker that reads "Ass, Ass or Ass, no one rides for free."
After fiddling with the keys for what seemed like minutes, he managed to unlock the driver side door, leaned inside and scooped up a map of the area from where it rested on his seat. He glanced quickly at a strange stain in the shape of an X on a large street that would lead him into town, but dismissed it as quickly as the glance. He'd stolen the map from a bum sleeping on a bench at the rest area a few towns back, and figured he'd be better off not guessing what the stain was. After making the decision to take the road with the stain, James fumbled with trying to fold the map, but gave up after a minute of unnecessary frustration and decided he'd be better of just cramming it into his pocket. So he did.
It was a solid 20 second walk to the tunnel which marked his entrance to Silent Hill, so he reached inside his car once more, opened the glove box and retrieved a Twix. After walking about ten seconds, his legs started to give, so he tore into the Twix bar, munching gleefully as he walked for the other ten seconds. But he was stopped short in his tracks. The tunnel, in plain few now, was boarded up with wood and covered from wall to wall with chain-link fence. "Damnit!" he cursed to himself, discarding the uneaten portion of his treat in anger. How was he supposed to know the tunnel was closed with all this fog. "Wait a minute, the map!" He reached into his bulging pocket and pulled out the crinkled map once more. Upon closer inspection, he realized there were numerous stains all over the map. Some circles, some Xs. His finger searched for his current location, finding that where he was standing was exactly where an X was blotted. He searched the map of his local area and found a tiny, lakeside trail featuring a bright circle. He assumed it best to attempt this path. "Oh shit!" he cried out in terror, realizing the trail ran about 10 minutes out of his way. "This doesn't look good," he sighed, "I have no more candy!"
He drudged along, regretting his now Twix-less trip. The path, marked by a circle on the map, lay just ahead. He could barely see it through the thick fog, but managed to find his way onto the path. But seeing as how it was so foggy, and the path being so narrow, and right on the shore of a lake, James walked too far to the side, lost his balance, and slipped right into the lake. The soggy James yelled a few choice words. He reached into his pocket, pulled out the now useless map, tossed it to the middle of lake, or as far as a soaking wet map could travel when thrown by hand, and yelled a few more choice words. Apparently someone didn't like his obscene language, or his littering, because the soaking wet map now made it's way towards James's head. It struck it with a dull, wet thud, and somehow managed to land perfectly in the breast pocket of his favorite green leather jacket. "Christ, man, you messed up my hair!" he cried as he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, protruded a black comb, and proceeded to mold his hair back into it's usual perfect shape. He felt it best not to question the return of his map.
Managing to make his way back unto the path, he continued his stroll along the skinny path, dodging tree branches, and occasionally stopping to listen to the local wildlife stalk him from all sides. Strange thing was, every time he heard it and stopped to listen, the noises stopped as well. "Probably just echoes from the lake," he said aloud, hoping the makers of the noise heard him. Even stranger than the stalking local wildlife was the odd placement of the well. It was just a few inches off the path ahead, and seemed to have no purpose, or make any sense of any kind. Of course, neither does a map that when thrown away comes back, hits you in the head, and lands perfectly in the breast pocket of your favorite green leather jacket.
Further inspection of the well proved useless. It seemed of no importance, no interest. He peered deep into the well, and as he did so, his head started to pound immensely. "It feels like someone drugged me up, raped me, and left me under the busiest interstate in America, after beating my skull in with a metal bar," he stated. This feeling not being the most comfortable in the world, or even remotely enjoyable, he retracted his head only to find his vision was blocked by the steadily thickening fog. He decided to continue his journey into town before it got any worse.
A few feet away from the well lie an immense gate, complete with rusted hinges, thick bars, and a "All Trespasser's Will Have Their Brains Eaten and Their Souls Devoured" sign. "They don't mean it," he thought, "It's just to scare the local teens or something." He wasn't very reassuring to himself. He walked a couple paces forward when through the fog he spotted a sexy young chick bending over a grave. He stood still staring at her ass, which was accentuated by her tight blue jeans. He stepped a little closer, to get a better look at her lovely ass, and hoping to start a conversation. He cleared his throat, "Ahem." She stood up quickly and turned to face James. A scream of terror leapt out from his vocal cords and into the damp, foggy air.
One of these rare cases is one of the least popular tour guide books of the United States, with every page containing information about one of these towns. It does not go into great detail, but a few key passages read as follows. "Come see glorious Silent Hill in all its glory. This quiet mound used to be home to drug lords, motorcycle gangs, Satanist, and several McDonalds. Now it's the perfect vacation spot for psychos, convicts, and butchers."
The guide goes into a little detail about said vacationers. "Many tortured souls make the journey every fall to witness Silent Hill's most beautiful season. The leaves turn a magnificent shade of red before falling gently to the ground bellow, covering roads, sidewalks, bodies, and the lake alike."
It is worth noting that this guide can only be found in the fiction section of a few no-name book stores. It is also worth noting that only one copy was ever sold.
James stared at himself in the mirror of a rest area just outside of Silent Hill. "Why?" he asked himself. "Why do I have to be so damn sexy?" He continued to stare in the mirror, gently stroking his chin. "Of all the convicts, nay people, in the world, why do I have to be the sexiest?" After several more minutes of self-admiration, he brushed the thought aside with his hair, fished around in his pocket for a moment, and withdrew a picture. Gazing at it with a look not even a mother could love, he says to himself "Ah, Mary. I wonder if you're really here..."
He left the smelly bathroom and returned to his car parked outside. It was a '72 cherry red Chevy Camero with leather seats, a 200 disc CD-changer in the trunk, an odd looking figurine on the dash, and a bumper sticker that reads "Ass, Ass or Ass, no one rides for free."
After fiddling with the keys for what seemed like minutes, he managed to unlock the driver side door, leaned inside and scooped up a map of the area from where it rested on his seat. He glanced quickly at a strange stain in the shape of an X on a large street that would lead him into town, but dismissed it as quickly as the glance. He'd stolen the map from a bum sleeping on a bench at the rest area a few towns back, and figured he'd be better off not guessing what the stain was. After making the decision to take the road with the stain, James fumbled with trying to fold the map, but gave up after a minute of unnecessary frustration and decided he'd be better of just cramming it into his pocket. So he did.
It was a solid 20 second walk to the tunnel which marked his entrance to Silent Hill, so he reached inside his car once more, opened the glove box and retrieved a Twix. After walking about ten seconds, his legs started to give, so he tore into the Twix bar, munching gleefully as he walked for the other ten seconds. But he was stopped short in his tracks. The tunnel, in plain few now, was boarded up with wood and covered from wall to wall with chain-link fence. "Damnit!" he cursed to himself, discarding the uneaten portion of his treat in anger. How was he supposed to know the tunnel was closed with all this fog. "Wait a minute, the map!" He reached into his bulging pocket and pulled out the crinkled map once more. Upon closer inspection, he realized there were numerous stains all over the map. Some circles, some Xs. His finger searched for his current location, finding that where he was standing was exactly where an X was blotted. He searched the map of his local area and found a tiny, lakeside trail featuring a bright circle. He assumed it best to attempt this path. "Oh shit!" he cried out in terror, realizing the trail ran about 10 minutes out of his way. "This doesn't look good," he sighed, "I have no more candy!"
He drudged along, regretting his now Twix-less trip. The path, marked by a circle on the map, lay just ahead. He could barely see it through the thick fog, but managed to find his way onto the path. But seeing as how it was so foggy, and the path being so narrow, and right on the shore of a lake, James walked too far to the side, lost his balance, and slipped right into the lake. The soggy James yelled a few choice words. He reached into his pocket, pulled out the now useless map, tossed it to the middle of lake, or as far as a soaking wet map could travel when thrown by hand, and yelled a few more choice words. Apparently someone didn't like his obscene language, or his littering, because the soaking wet map now made it's way towards James's head. It struck it with a dull, wet thud, and somehow managed to land perfectly in the breast pocket of his favorite green leather jacket. "Christ, man, you messed up my hair!" he cried as he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, protruded a black comb, and proceeded to mold his hair back into it's usual perfect shape. He felt it best not to question the return of his map.
Managing to make his way back unto the path, he continued his stroll along the skinny path, dodging tree branches, and occasionally stopping to listen to the local wildlife stalk him from all sides. Strange thing was, every time he heard it and stopped to listen, the noises stopped as well. "Probably just echoes from the lake," he said aloud, hoping the makers of the noise heard him. Even stranger than the stalking local wildlife was the odd placement of the well. It was just a few inches off the path ahead, and seemed to have no purpose, or make any sense of any kind. Of course, neither does a map that when thrown away comes back, hits you in the head, and lands perfectly in the breast pocket of your favorite green leather jacket.
Further inspection of the well proved useless. It seemed of no importance, no interest. He peered deep into the well, and as he did so, his head started to pound immensely. "It feels like someone drugged me up, raped me, and left me under the busiest interstate in America, after beating my skull in with a metal bar," he stated. This feeling not being the most comfortable in the world, or even remotely enjoyable, he retracted his head only to find his vision was blocked by the steadily thickening fog. He decided to continue his journey into town before it got any worse.
A few feet away from the well lie an immense gate, complete with rusted hinges, thick bars, and a "All Trespasser's Will Have Their Brains Eaten and Their Souls Devoured" sign. "They don't mean it," he thought, "It's just to scare the local teens or something." He wasn't very reassuring to himself. He walked a couple paces forward when through the fog he spotted a sexy young chick bending over a grave. He stood still staring at her ass, which was accentuated by her tight blue jeans. He stepped a little closer, to get a better look at her lovely ass, and hoping to start a conversation. He cleared his throat, "Ahem." She stood up quickly and turned to face James. A scream of terror leapt out from his vocal cords and into the damp, foggy air.