Another lonely, boring weekday was passing in the house. I still lived with my mother, something I had felt a certain amount of guilt about, and was still unemployed myself. Being of age twenty, I ought to have moved on by now. But then again, I reminded myself of the fact that a lot of people my age were still living with their parents in these rough times. The number of people unemployed was still a bit staggering, too. Still, I felt the guilt. I guess that's why I wasn't as surprised as I could have been when he showed up.
He arrived with the characteristic dragging of metal and ripping of carpet. At first I thought I was hearing the cats getting into something, namely Gracie, that little troublemaker, but I soon realized that it was not quite the sound that our cats would make. I stood up from my swiveling leather chair, grabbed my cell phone and stuck it in my pocket just in case, and peeked around through the door frame. Sure enough, I saw him. With his pointy metal rustbucket of a hat and strangely colored kilt of some manner of leather, he was unmistakable as someone who could be nicknamed Pyramid Head.
I frowned, unsure of what to do. Was he here for me? Had he already seen me? Did he even have eyes? Surely he did. Otherwise, this was one heck of a coincidence for him to be stumbling through the house without knocking anything over. I glanced at my wood-sheathed katana leaning on the painted iron plant stand that, regrettably, didn't have any nice plants standing on it. To reach for the katana, I would have to step across my noisy wooden floor. On the other hand, with another glance back to the red pyramid thing, I noted that, yes indeed, he did have his great knife with him. Or was it more of a sword? I always thought it a bit long to be called a knife.
But I digress. Eventually, I took too long deciding what to do. He turned his iron-clad head in my direction and began staggering over. He was still a good distance away, on the other end of mum's beloved wicker sofa that she'd had since she was a teenager. He lifted his sword and/or knife, about to heft it onto his shoulder. However, his foot dragged tragically far, catching on the leg of the wicker sofa. The poor man tumbled to the carpet, groaning and "mrrf"ing in pain. I straightened up from the slight cower I had adopted.
"Oh, you poor thing, did you take a bad fall?" I stepped closer to him. The creature let out a few short huffs from inside his helmet, as though he were sobbing softly. He released the grip on his knife and/or sword, reaching down to his ankle. I shook my head, stepping around him. "You hold still. I'll go get the Ace wrap."
After first attempting to wrap Pyramid Head's ankle, then moving the sofa a tad forward, and then wrapping it successfully, I helped him to his feet. He towered over me, unfortunately, and I could do little more than act as a crutch in his armpit with my head. If I had been any less of a host, I would have complained of the fact that he quite obviously hadn't bathed in months, but my mother had raised me better than that. I helped him step over to the couch, taking short baby steps now that he only had one measly five-foot white girl to help him walk instead of the grounding weight of his knife.
After he was seated, I clapped my hands in front of myself. "So. Are you thirsty or anything?" Much to my surprise, he nodded. "Oh! Uh… Let's see. We have orange juice, water, of course, milk… I think we have some tomato juice, too, if you like that." He tapped the tip of his helmet as though in thought, then waved his hand in a circular gesture. "Orange juice?" He shook his head. "Milk?" He shook his head again. "Water?" He nodded with exuberance. I nodded in return, heading to the kitchen. "Big glass?"
With a resounding "Mmrh-hrrh," I took it as a yes, filling a large glass with water from the sink. As I stepped back into the living room, my eyes traced along the path his great knife had taken on the floor. The damage wasn't too bad, really; considering the shape our carpet had been in before, with damage from several previous owners, it didn't look much worse than it did before. I hesitantly held the glass of water out to him, curious as to how exactly a man with a metal-plated head would drink it. Strangely, he simply held the glass in his hand, lifting it to the underside of his helmet now and then. It would clank against the metal underplate, none of the liquid leaving the glass. I sat on the couch next to him, raising a brow at the unusual behavior. Still, I couldn't judge him very well. After all, I hadn't lived and/or been a zombie myself with a metal helmet grafted to my head. I cleared my throat, deciding to attempt conversation.
"So. Pyramid Head. Oh. First things first. Is that what you'd prefer to be called?" He shrugged. "How about PH?" He shrugged again, lifting a hand as well. "So is it okay if I call you that?" He nodded, again lifting the glass to the underside of his helmet. I smiled. It was almost cute in a way. He seemed to be simply pretending to drink the water. "So! Are you here for anyone in particular?" My heart sank as he pointed his fused fingers at me. "Ah. Is it about mum?" He nodded his metal head.
Suddenly, a thought occurred to me. "Wait, so that's all it takes? Guilt about just that sort of thing?" I leaned back on the couch. "It seems a bit strange to me. The others you've gone after have both at least killed someone. Doesn't my guilt seem kind of mild in comparison?" He tilted his head a few times, as if to agree. I smiled. "So are the other people just not feeling guilt about what they've done?" He nodded. "That's stupid. I tell you what, though. I'm probably not going to be doing too well myself once I finally have to leave the nest, so I'll probably end up punishing myself." I laughed a bit, partially from the silliness of an executioner being sent to punish a lazy kid but mostly just to lighten the mood and try to sway his current thoughts away from skewering me on a sword and/or knife. Luckily for me, he made a sound as I laughed, a sort of laughter of his own. It was an echoing sort of sound, a sort of "Hurr hurr." I smiled. This could actually work out okay.
After a while of sitting on the couch chatting and watching him "sip" his water, I got up and knelt on the floor. "Here, let's see how your ankle is doing." He groaned a bit, but nodded all the same. "Yeah, I know, buddy, I don't think it's doing better yet either. But who knows? We might find out how long it'll take based on how much better it's doing by now." He shrugged. I pinched his big toe area between my thumb and forefinger, giving his foot a nudge from side to side. The foot quickly flew at my face as he groaned and "mrrf"ed in pain, shaking his head quickly. I got up out of the way from it, nodding. "Right. Well, that'll take a while. Maybe we should see a doctor about this." The idea of going to see a doctor seemed to terrify him, as he dropped his glass of water and waved his hands in a negative gesture. "Why not? What's wrong with going to the doctor?" I tapped my chin. "I mean, sure, they'd be a little freaked out by you, but-" PH's metal head tilted forward. I soon realized that I had probably hurt his feelings. "Hey, now, I didn't mean it like that. People just don't usually run around in metal helmets and flesh kilts. That's all." He brought his hands up to the eye-I'd assume it to be the eye-areas of his helmet, making more of the sobbing sounds he had earlier. I rested one knee on the couch, patting his shoulder. "Come on, PH. If it helps, I don't think you're weird." He made an echoing sniffle noise, lowering his hands from his eye area of his helmet. "In fact, I could show you something that would make you really happy."
My father had bought me an iPad. Sure, a few of my friends had laughed at me for the strange nature of the product and the inherent stigma of owning an Apple product, but being a regular Apple user myself, I saw nothing wrong with it. It was this piece of technology that I brought over to PH on the couch, opening the web browser and going to deviantART. "See, this is a website where people post art. Or just things they like. But look…" I turned the iPad sideways and tapped the search field. I typed in the words Pyramid Head Cosplay and tapped the search button. "Look, you have a lot of fans. They try really hard to dress up like you." I lifted the iPad up for him to view it properly. He made a few odd noises from under his helmet, his head still as he apparently looked at the pictures that had shown up on the search results. "Say when I should scroll down and show you more of them." He nodded, gesturing down. I scrolled down the page, showing him costumes, drawings, even jewelry pieces all inspired by his appearance. His head tilted as he looked at them, pointing to one picture of a cosplayer in Pyramid Head garb standing in a field. He leaned a bit closer, hesitantly tapping the thumbnail with his fused fingers. He laughed his funny laugh as he realized the cosplayer was holding his great knife like a guitar, and that the words "Guitar Hero" had been added to the photograph. I smiled. "Yeah, silly, huh?" He nodded, waving his hand from side to side. I pressed the back button, then skipped to the next page of results. He remained in such a state during the duration of the viewing, giggling at some and shaking his head at others. All in all, it was a good time.
Eventually, though, we both got a bit bored with it. Granted, he was feeling much better about his current state. I looked at him a moment as he wiggled his fused fingers on his knee in a drumming motion. Pyramid Head was sitting right here in my house. The most recognizable and popular enemy in the Silent Hill franchise, who could probably answer any question I had about the series and his role in it, yet he couldn't speak coherently. "Say, PH?" He turned his head to me, nearly bashing my nose in. I lifted a hand to the hunk of metal, nudging it away slightly. "Ah. Careful there. So, anyways, I was wondering… Can you take that helmet off?" He sat there quietly for a while. I couldn't tell if he was thinking or if he was simply staring at me as though I had just asked a terribly stupid question. Perhaps I had. "Because, well… I saw in the game Homecoming that if you get the Bogeyman ending, you see the interior of it and it's covered in spikes… Is that how yours is?" He continued to stare. I blinked a few times, looking over in the direction I thought he was looking. Unless he found the china cupboard to be truly that interesting, I couldn't understand what was wrong. Maybe he wasn't allowed to tell me what the status of his helmet was.
Shortly, though, I found out what the problem was. He fell over onto the armrest of the couch, storing emanating from his helmet. I sighed, shaking my head. What a strange guest this was. I went to my room, picked out a blanket from my closet, and brought it over to drape over him. I considered lifting his legs and placing them on the couch properly, but I didn't want to nudge his ankle after the pain he had been in last time. Draping the afghan over him was the best I could do for him for now. With my house guest preoccupied with sleep, I was uncertain of what to do with myself. I didn't want to just leave him alone, since I was uncertain of what he would do once he woke up. I decided to simply sit on the wicker sofa, the thing that had brought this strange situation into being in the first place. I considered again going to get my katana as I eyed the great knife still laying on the carpet nearby. It looked a bit dirty, as though it could have used a good polishing. Strangely, I didn't see any blood on it. It was just dirty. I looked back over at PH. Sure enough, I didn't even have to look. He was still sacked out on the couch, snoring inside that echo chamber of his. I looked back to the sword, getting up and stepping over to it. I knelt down on the carpet, reaching a finger out to nudge it. If it was dangerous somehow, I didn't want to be messing with it. However, it felt like just another heavy piece of metal. I wrapped a hand around the grip. The handle was a bit moist and terribly cold, making my skin crawl from the sensation. I quickly let go of it, setting it quietly on the floor. Yech.
A few hours passed by, my time spent playing solitaire on my iPad. Occasionally, PH would snuffle and snort on the couch, and I'd glance up, expecting to see him sitting upright and stretching. However, it wasn't the case. He was apparently very tired. I sighed, shaking my head and turning off the screen of the tablet. This could take a while. Who knew? Maybe he had to get a full eight hours in. I got up and went to the kitchen, looking in the pantry at our selection of instant foods. However, macaroni, ramen, and Italian wedding soup didn't sound too appealing. I went to the fridge next, checking the shelves. Again, nothing looked very good at the moment. I sighed. There was a pot of chili on the porch, kept there in the cold air of winter in the unheated room, but I wasn't much in the mood for it.
Just then, I heard an echoing, groaning yawn from the living room. I walked back in, leaning on the door frame to look down at the couch. PH slowly sat up, hunched over. He sat like that for a moment, then swiftly lifted an arm and a hand to the armpit, giving it a good scratching. I giggled at the sight of him, acting like any other male upon waking. He looked over at me questioningly. It seemed questioning, at least, by the way his helmet was tilted. I shook my head. "Are you hungry?" He thought on it for a moment, then nodded. "Now, are you actually hungry, though, or are you just going to pretend like you did with the water?" He reached up onto his helmet, pushing open a hatch on it. It opened into the helmet, a round hole opened up. The sight that followed was strange, to say the least, and slightly sickening. A tongue slithered out of the hole, waggling in the air. It was quite long. I blinked a few times. "Oh. Okay, so you can eat?" He nodded, tongue still out in the air. I cringed a bit. "Alright. Wanna take a look at what we have to eat?" He nodded again, slurping his tongue back into his helmet. "Alright. Hold on a second." I strode over into my room, eyes glancing over my desk for a moment. Finding what I was looking for, I picked up one of my hats and pulled it onto my head. After applying the appropriate headgear, I walked over to the couch, offering my hands to him. He took hold like a Roman, gripping me around the wrists, myself doing the same. His skin was kind of chilly and felt akin to latex. I pulled him up, then positioned myself under his arm beside his bad ankle. "Alright, let's see if we can find something you like, eh?"
He didn't seem to be a fan of soup. Ramen wasn't his cup of tea, either. It took a while to figure out why he wouldn't like macaroni, and if I managed to glean anything from his grunts, gestures, and yes or no answers, it was that he and the beans in the chili wouldn't agree very well. I couldn't figure it out. What exactly would he eat, then? Sandwiches were out of the question due to his lack of teeth, or supposed at least, and he didn't strike me as much of a veggies kind of guy. He pointed back to the pantry, and upon us reaching it, looked around at the contents of the shelves. Suddenly, he thrust a hand out at something. I looked in the direction of his reaching arm, and lo and behold, there was a pack of apple sauce there. "Oh… Buddy, I'm sorry, mum keeps that to pack for lunch when she goes to work." He groaned, reaching more insistently. I sighed. "Alright, alright, I'm sure one cup of it won't hurt her budget that much…" I reached over and picked up the package of applesauce, managing to pull out one of the sealed plastic cups from the cardboard.
After making our way back to the couch to settle him in again, I began to peel back the tin foil lid. He surprised me, though, and snatched it from my hand. He peeled it back himself, then held it up by the hole in his helmet, his tongue extending and dipping into the cup of sauce. It pulled back in, then extended clean again to repeat the process. I raised a brow. "Well. Will that be enough for you or will you want more?" He waved a hand, shaking his head. "Oh. Okay. Just let me know if you're still hungry after that." I folded my arms, watching his strange eating process. I could probably have spent a month just learning how he goes about his day with that helmet on, but something in particular was curious to me. "Y'know, you seem pretty docile right now, if I do say so myself. No offense, of course. Is this just how you are when you're separated from your knife?" He paused, peering over at his knife. He shook his head. "Ah, so you're more like a regular guy with a kind of morbid job, right?" He nodded, pausing his nodding to slurp more applesauce. "Can you switch jobs or are you stuck with it?" A sigh came from his helmet as he shook his head. "Can't? That's weird. I'd go nuts if I were stuck with a job like yours." I paused. "Well… It's not like I have a job to begin with, I realize that." He grunted. "Yeah, that's kind of why you're here, isn't it?"
After a while of silence, I decided to turn on the television. I wasn't sure what he would make of it, to be honest, but I figured he had probably seen one before. Indeed, he was just as disinterested in it as I was, though nevertheless, we both stared at the screen as commercials flickered by. Surprisingly, an advertisement for the Slap-Chop came on, a product I thought had long since run out of its advertising days. Despite my expectations, there was Vince on the screen, demonstrating the varied and can't-live-without uses of the slap chop. PH seemed intensely interested in the advertisement, even mimicking the gestures of using the contraption, lifting and slapping down one of his hands. He looked over to his knife, then back at the screen. "Interesting piece of kitchenware, isn't it?" He nodded with enthusiasm. "Yeah. I watched this guy on YouTube on his cooking show. He bought one and tested it out. It actually works pretty well." I looked up at him. "Wait, do you like cooking?" PH shook his head, still watching the screen. I thought for a moment. "…Well, I guess if you fixed up a hallway to have that sort of design, you could just jump on it from above and never have to even look at your victim, eh?" He nodded quickly. I should've known that's what he was thinking.
Resigning ourselves to channel surfing, we perused the airwaves for something decent to watch. The SyFy channel had wrestling for some reason, so it was a bust. The History Channel ran some sort of UFO show, something PH shook his head at. "See many UFOs in Silent Hill?" He nodded. "Often?" I raised a brow. He nodded again. I hadn't anticipated the games to be replayed so often. "So where is Silent Hill, anyways? I thought it was in someplace like Pennsylvania, but in the movie it was in West Virginia." He shrugs. "I guess that's fair enough. They don't say the name of the state on the many maps in Silent Hill, do they?" He looked at me for a while. "Maps? Y'know, people who visit there always seem to find them." He tilted his head slowly. "Oh. You don't get to have maps, do you…" He shook his head. "Well, that sucks. I guess it's just so the people have a fighting chance, though." He sighed. I smiled. "Well, I'd say it's fair. I mean, you are trying to chase them around and kill them, aren't you?"
He turned a bit on his seat, lifting up one leg and digging into his flesh kilt's pocket. Much to my surprise, he pulled out a wallet. Even more to my surprise, he opened it up and showed me a stack of pictures. They were weathered and in terrible condition, but I could see the images on them clearly enough. A black-haired girl was in each one, never shown smiling. "Oh! Alessa?" I looked up at him questioningly. He nodded quickly, holding the wallet up to his heart and making a few muffled noises. "Aww, you're just trying to look out for her, aren't you?" He made more noises, nodding again. "That's sweet, PH. Gotta keep the bad people away, right?" He "hurr hurr"ed, nodding. "Well, that's great of you to do. I'm sure that helmet really sucks when all you're trying to do is keep her safe, right?" I lifted up a bit on the tip of the helmet, testing its weight. He must have had a very strong neck to be able to keep his head upright. "That's just not fair. Do you have any buddies helping you out?"
He lowered the wallet from his chest, looking down at it a moment, eventually shaking his head. "No? But who was the other one who helped you go after James?" A quick flick of his wrist turned the pages of photos more, revealing a picture of PH in between two different Pyramid Heads. They were different, with much wider helmets and of shorter stature. I recognized them as the ones James faced in the second installment of the series. "Ohh… Those are different guys, huh?" He nodded. "Were they just from James' imagination, though? Or do they actually hang around?" As he sat there staring, I realized the problem. "Oh. Sorry. From his imagination?" He nodded. "Ahh, alright. Were you guys buddies?" He nodded again, letting out a low, displeased groan. I tapped my chin. "So you miss them, don't you?" He closed his wallet, stowing it back in his kilt. He made some varied gestures, including simple speaking gestures as he continued to make noises, a pelvic thrust, and then driving a pretend spear into himself. "So they were… kinda hedonistic and…" He nodded, poking himself in the chest. "That's too bad. I think that happens to people who indulge too much, though. They end up losing it, y'know?" I thought back to just about every rock star I'd ever heard about. It was a strange thought, but I realized the Red Pyramid Things were probably more akin to The Who than to Charles Manson.
"So wait, you have to do all that by yourself, then? How often do people come into Silent Hill?" He began counting on his fused fingers, his list growing to both hands. "Wow. That seems like a lot. Do they come all at once?" He nodded quickly. "Well, PH, I tell you what. You still have to kinda punish me for my own guilt, don't you?" With another nod from him, I continued. "Here's what I'm gonna ask, then. Maybe instead of punishment, I could pay you back sort of for all the trouble this trip has been." He grunted questioningly. "I could maybe help you deal with all those guys over at your town." I wondered for a moment why exactly he had traveled all this way to my own town and thus left behind his responsibilities.
He eventually nodded, but pointed to his ankle. I got off the couch, knelt down, and pinched his foot between my fingers. "Alright. Let's check this first." As I wiggled his foot from side to side, he sat there quietly. "All better?" He clapped his hands together, nodding. "That's great! Here, let's try standing up." I offered my hands to him, pulling him to his feet. He was a bit wobbly at first, but soon he was walking around, his head down and watching his steps. He opened his arms in a "look at me!" fashion. I smiled. "Well! Should we get going then?" He nodded, stepping over to pick up his knife. I bit my lip. "Should I uh… wear something different? I look awfully normal." I gestured to myself, wearing blue jeans, a t-shirt, and foam rubber sandals. PH nodded, tapping the end of his helmet in thought. I lifted a finger. "Wait a second. I'll fit right in." I stepped into my room, closing the door behind myself.
As I stepped back out of my room, PH looked up from the seed catalog he had picked up off the table. I set my wood-sheathed katana on my shoulder, posing with a grin. Halloween that year had been pretty fun, as myself and a friend had dressed up as Silent Hill characters. I stood there in my tights and bloodied nurse outfit, tennis shoes on my feet and a nurse's cap in my hand. PH gave me a thumbs-up. I laughed, stepping over to him. "Here, I need you to help me out a second." I positioned the nurse's cap on my head. "Hold this still right where it is. I gotta pin it in place."
The trip to PH's home town was incredibly short, surprising me to no end. After packing some supplies in my medical bag and locking the doors, he led me to the back yard. It was a cold winter day, something I wasn't too happy about in my tights and short nurse dress, but I'd make do with it. As we stepped into the back yard, a thick fog rolled in. I looked around cautiously, but soon realized looking at my surroundings gave me nothing to look at except the increasingly thick fog. As soon as it had thickened to an opaque sheet around us, it dissipated, clearing up most of the way. My surroundings were different now. No longer did we stand in the back yard of my house in Indiana. Now, we stood on a crumbling road, near which was a broad wooden sign. I peered at the faded paint on it. Sure enough, the sign read "Welcome to Silent Hill."