Disclaimer: I do not own Silent Hill.

Blackened Hell, Screaming Silence

'Only with silence can there be sound.'

'Only through life can one embrace deaths open arms.'

'Only through the sins of the damned will the gates to hell open.'

Only through our blindness can we truly see the world.'

Cold, dark, desolation. The room was rank with it, the only source of light being a lone candle upon the wooden table that lay in the farthest corner from the bed. The pale grey walls held a vast amount of dust, saturation and wear to them as though they had been neglected for many years, each one screaming for repair. The darkness that cowered away from the only light violently threw itself against the paper splashing and bleeding into the furthest reaches where it could not be touched or harmed.

The pale glow of the flame vaguely captured the silhouette of a man, the rays immersing him enough to depict a face that held all the features of fatigue and wear, even though it was evident, despite the minimum light that he was only in his late thirties. His hair, a messy dark blonde, descended unnaturally down to the beginning of his neck, which held a sliver locket around it in the shape of a pair of wings and his face was fairly scarred as though he had seen a fair amount of fighting and pain in his life.

Getting up he reached inside the pocket of his jeans and pulled out an aging wallet with the name 'Matt Harrows' engraved crudely upon it. Matt took out a small note and quickly skim-read it before re-pocketing it again and sighing, as though trying to dispel the growing anxiety that had been building inside of him ever since he had entered the town that night.

As he checked his wristwatch, with an air of absent mindedness, the hands upon the wearing face read 3:15 am. It was only five hours ago that he had took solace in the hotel room that he was now currently occupying, and although he was tired, the lack of life within the place did not allow him the piece of mind in order to recuperate from his journey. Deciding he would get his rest somewhere else within the hotel he walked towards the door and turned the handle with quite a bit of force as it opened.

Matt slowly descended the staircase, each footfall producing small dull thuds that echoed and resonated throughout the hotel, the infinite silence that had previously been undisturbed flickering in and out with each new step taken.

As he reached nearer the bottom, he took a flashlight from the pocket at his belt and trained the beam of light upon the wooden flooring before landing upon level ground and walking up to the reception desk immediately in front of him. The note he had left there hours before had not moved or been repositioned in the slightest, each emboldened letter shimmering in and out of the torchlight. It was immediately evident that no one had come into contact with the letter which also, therefore, meant that no one had entered that room. Matt took a few tentative steps behind the desk and began to rummage around in the draws for anything of value or use. Finally his hand came into contact with a box of matches and three long candles.

Suddenly, as if to break him out of a stupor that was begging to set upon his face, (whether from thought or fatigue he did not know, nor did he care) a small tapping noise began to echo from the door to his far right. It seemed faint but Matt could tell it was there. He began to walk a little more briskly, but cautiously towards the door, his flashlight gripped tightly in his hand and with the other he reached for the door handle. The pain that shot through his head burned as every known sense within him threatened to shut down and he broke contact with the door as though it were burning, the severity of the tapping behind it violently growing, as it escalated into banging and scratching as though something were trying frantically to get to the other side, where he stood, the need for freedom overwhelming it, plaguing it.

'Get the hell outta my head god damnit.'

Why?

'It burns!'

It always burns, its been burning for an eternity.

'What are you talking about, who are you?'

Open the door and see for yourself, see our living hell.

'GET OUT OF MY HEAD'

Open the door!

Matt frantically groped for the handle once more and pulled as the door swung open.

Authors note: Thanks for reading, this is the first fic I've ever written, so constructive criticism is welcome but no flames please.