A/N: This is gonna be creepy. Obviously- this is Stanley (Heather's stalker) we're talking about here! I was playing Silent Hill 3 last night and when I found his diaries in the hospital I felt a good old chill go down my spine. I knew I had to write this. So I did. Here it is. Please Read and Review xxx

God's Love

Beautiful creature. Beautiful thing.

I lie under the death-sheet, waiting for her to come for me. I knew she would in the end. After all the lies and pretending, she will be drawn to me like a moth to a candle flame. She'll be unable to resist. I'm convinced that, deep down, she loves me as much as I love her. She denies it to herself, ofcourse. She shuns my notes and plays the coy little girl till I'm driven half-mad. But I know that, as she walks down those bloodstained corridors, she thinks of me. I rarely stop thinking about her.

I picture her face in my mind, soft and pale like snow. Her eyes are sad and icy blue. They are pools into which I will gladly sink, waters I yearn to consume. They're like winter mist, a silent, enveloping fog. They are so tempting- not to look at, but to crush in my ever-loving hands. I wonder it will feel as I prise them from their sockets. Will they be damp and yielding? Like orbs of jelly, mashed amorously into nothingness. Better still, they will bleed. Hot scarlet will splash onto the breast of her jacket, running down her chest in warm rivulets. Then I'll lean in and lap it from her skin.

Ah, just imaging it makes me feel blissful.

But my loving desecration must come later. When she finally arrives, I will at first be gentle. Whisking the sheet aside, I shall stand and caress her pallid cheeks. I'll whisper sweetness into her ear, able to kiss her at last. Yet her nature will not allow her to be content. She'll tremble with fear in my arms. Her nails will scratch me frantically, hopelessly, desperate for escape. I will not let her have it. I'll hold her tight, assuring her that all is well, until she ceases struggling. We will look at each other for a long, delicious moment. Then we'll pronounce our shared love. She will admit it; I know it. My poor darling will not be able to help herself. The words will pour out and I will kiss them from her lips, first tender, then violent, tearing them apart to taste their sweetness…

I must be patient. If I listen very carefully, I can almost hear her footsteps on the polished hospital floor. The odd scuff of a heel or the click of her trigger as she fends off the monsters patrolling the hallways. They will not hinder her long. Not my angel. She'll despatch them and come for me, fragile body brushing against me as she passes by. I shiver, almost feeling her already. I know that if she so much as touches me I will lose control, drowned in my overwhelming love for her. It's not my fault she's so perfect. She is a Goddess, a saviour, the builder of Paradise. I promised in my diary that I would take her there. It can't be so, not now. But here is fine, in this chilly little morgue. The lack of heat shan't matter to us. We will lie upon the gurney and share our passion, undisturbed by other beings.

I think of what I'll do to her there. She will curse me, wicked words spilling forth like precious jewels. Soon, though, they will vanish as I bite them from her pretty tongue. I will gnaw at her mouth, her ears, her untainted skin. Her legs will thrash on either side of me and inside, where her womb is filled with God, pain will burst like a punctured seed. And from that seed will come screams. Screams so harsh and gorgeous that I will bask in their unearthly beauty. How could I not? They will be the ultimate ecstasy. Nothing could be more captivating, besides her luscious flesh.

Pretty creature. Pretty thing.

I lie here and smile to myself. Heather is so cute, so spunky. Her bold attitude, her stark, skinny body. The sprinkling of freckles on her nose. The haunted shadows under her eyes, making her so like me. I wonder if she still has that beautiful black hair of hers. How I'd love to twist it in my hands, to bury my face into it to smell her sweet, special scent. I could tear it out if I liked, strand by strand. Stripping her scalp bare. But I don't want to. It would ruin my flawless angel and make her a monster. I couldn't do that to Heather in a thousand years.

Her footsteps are approaching. I feel love swell in my heart. Soon we shall be together at last, wrapped in a blissful embrace. It is a shame she didn't take the doll I made for her, but that can't be helped. Besides, that hardly matters now. Within a few seconds my dear Heather will be here with me. My dreams will be fulfilled. I ready myself now, limbs poised to reach out to her as she draws near. My mouth is almost watering in anticipation of her saccharine flesh. I know now what I will do. I will pin her to the gurney, uttering claims of adoration, and make love to her. How her heart will thud inside her ribcage, how she will shriek and writhe beneath me. She will enjoy it, ofcourse she will. She'll accept me with open arms as I bring my teeth to her throat and groan in rapture.

Heather, my Goddess. Heather, my Queen. You will take me to Paradise in a single moment of ecstasy. I love you.

I worship you.

I listen, and the morgue door opens. I grow still and rigid, holding my breath. Her boots click as she walks forward, heading towards the oven used to burn the dead. In a few moments she will turn to me and we will be united. I stroke the bloodstained sheet and exhale, my breath rough and jagged with excitement. My lover gasps in surprise. I image her eyes widen, her silken flesh shiver anxiously. She is coming for me now, I tell myself. At last, my Goddess is with me. I whisper her name so that she may draw comfort from my yearning voice.

"Heath… er…"

Yes, my angel. Come here. Strip the sheet away and my prayers will be answered.

Beautiful, ethereal creature.

I love you.