Silent Hill: The Manipulated Dead

by Elliot Bowers

"The Sound of Silence"

Lyrics and Music by Simon & Garfunkel

Chapter 1—Pain of Existence and Reality

It was like seeing with dying eyes. Everything was hard to see, everything so dim and blurry… There were walls here. All four walls of this place were made of rusty metal blocks that were uneven, everything barely illuminated by way of greasy florescent light-tubes—electricity supplied with grimy cables. The lights flickered, and things…sharpened into focus. Details became a bit clearer even though the lights were all really low.

In addition to the chunky and uneven metal blocks of the walls, there was a tiled floor. Maybe it was neat and new-looking several hundred years ago, but it was not any more. They were stiff with a hard and dark-red grit. As for the ceiling, there barely seemed to be a ceiling above—just a hellish jumble of grimy pipes and nasty cables. As for where the dried blood on the floor came from, it was because some of the pipes carried the thick red liquid… Over all was the rhythmic and distant sound of thrumming machinery. Now the girl could see more details of this place. This place in this world would have been grotesque and disgusting to others. But the girl was not at all disgusted. After all, she should have been used to this kind of place.

They ran the machines, the beings of this place. They could not exactly be considered "people," at least not in the normal sense—but they were intelligent. This was where many of them came from and existed. And sometimes, some of them came from other places. It was why they were so strange to look upon. Somehow, she knew why. What the girl did not know was why she was here.

As if in response to the questioning thought in her mind, some of the machinery began to thrum-m-m more loudly. Flick-flicker went some of the haphazardly wired florescent light-tubes. Flickety-blink! There was an awful and high-pitched keening sound that began drilling into the girl's mind… Then one of them appeared.

Now it was standing on the gritty floor, this one—a figure standing just over six feet tall and dressed in what was probably once a mascot-style bunny suit from an amusement park. It was generally a very typical bunny suit of the sort found in an amusement park: a fluffy furry body with a white-colored tummy area, the arms and legs also furry. But the head of the bunny suit was different—not any sort of familiar head seen before… The head was fronted with a chrome skull-face as skeletal as they were metal.

The metal forehead had a solid and sleek look to it. Below that, the lower half was an articulated metal jaw, silvery teeth. Sharp metal cheeks jutted out from beneath the eyes… Those eyes were like chrome knobs. Though without pupils, it seemed as if those eyes could see everything.

A six-foot bunny-rabbit, wearing the Grim Reaper's face. Any other place, any other time, the girl would have laughed. But she knew why the manlike creature wore the bunny suit. It was because of what happened to him. Something had to have happened to him for him to exist in this place.

Then came the words from the six-foot figure in the bunny suit. You will have been here yesterday. Tomorrow is to be here yesterday. Days gone by still exist in another place. You are welcomed. There was a flick-flickering of the lights.

It was hard for the girl to tell if the figure in the bunny suit was speaking—or if the words were echoing from some of the strange machinery beyond the walls. Maybe the voice was in her head? Things were sometimes funny like that in this world.

Ah-hah! The being in the bunny suit suddenly whipped up the right arm, furry fingers pointing. Flick-flicker, went the lights. Buzz… That machinery began ratcheting up again. Everything was becoming…blurred again. As the girl began to transition, she felt herself turning, then falling onto her back—before floating upwards towards the pipes. The way she was now, the girl could easily float in this Other world. It was because dead people can float if they want. She floated up towards the pipes.

…

Somewhere, there was a car. The car was parked in a dark place—the darkness being darker than the universe. Bzzt…A blazing burst of electricity turned on the vehicle. Fzzt! There was another blazing burst of electricity as the thing came on. Static and white noise filled the speakers. Only after moments did the static fade…into a song.

Hello darkness, my old friend.

I've come to talk with you again

….because a vision softly cree-eeping!

…left its seeds while I was slee-e-eping!

And the vision that was planted in my brain

Still remains.

…within the sounds of silence…

…

"Whoa!" exclaimed Heather, suddenly sitting up at the counter. She nearly fell off the high stool next to the cash register. Yes, she was still at her work-place and had not gone anywhere. Well, it was back to work. Just an ordinary nap-time nightmare, she thought. happens to normal people all the time. So thinking, the girl stood up—slender, a petite height of just under five feet tall-- and stretched. She didn't know how or why she fell asleep just now. Luckily, her boss wasn't around.

It was another work-a-day shift for Heather, a summertime day at the mall. As such, she was dressed for the weather in jeans and tank-top—the close-fitting jeans fitting the shape of her legs and hips, the tight tank-top baring just a strip of her flat and vaguely muscular abdomen, her arms bared to the shoulders. Her fluffy blonde hair was cut so it curtained the sides of her face and just barely ended at the bottom-line of her delicate jawline.

Shorter people usually didn't have the slender figure for wearing such a revealing outfit—tight all over (especially tight at her butt), and baring both arms, showing more of her lean musculature. Some of her friends were envious of her figure. Exercise wasn't the real reason why she always looked slender and athletic. It had something to do with where she came from, what she was.

Well, she preferred not thinking about that, it having to do with where she came from. It was like that nightmare she just had. There was the bustle and sound of the mall crowd beyond the glassed-in doors while she walked around this small bookstore. She walked the shelves of the bookstore to make sure that all the texts were in place—hardbacks, paperbacks, things like that. The thing to do was make sure everything was where it was supposed to be. Things had to be relatively neat even when the manager wasn't around. It wasn't that she was a neat-freak or anything like that… She just wanted to be extra-sure she kept her job—a job something hard to find when you were barely a real person.

A real person… Heather wasn't sure if she was a real person sometimes. She was born and raised in a town that didn't exist any more, born under bizarre circumstances barely understandable to even herself. Now her identity was relied on a faked-up birth certificate with an equally faked-up name. Her driver's license—as if she would ever be able to afford a car or learn how to drive—were brought the same way that illegal immigrants brought theirs. Douglas had the connections for all that, no questions asked.

On top of that, she dyed her hair blonde. "Heather" was not her birth-name, not even the first phony name she had. She stopped walking between the shelves. Her cheeks were becoming hot. Damn…came the thought, lowering her head. "Good day."

"Huh!" That voice made Heather give a start, a gasp, making her put a hand to her own throat. It felt as if her heart leapt there, being surprised like that! Now she was looking at a tall, thin young woman—one wearing an outfit of black skirt and white blouse, the skirt going to mid-thigh. Her sharp-featured pale face framed with straight dark hair that was cut shoulder-length. Her silky dark hair was a dark contrast to the unusual deep blue color of her eyes and cream-pale skin. As for her height, the young woman was "tall" to Heather.

It was time to put on the "customer service" act. "Oh, I'm sorry about that," said Heather, speaking to this new customer. She lowered her hands and gave a shrug. "Welcome… How can I help you? We're well-stocked today in most any subject." Now that I've probably creeped you out, can we still do business?

"We are looking for something," said the young lady in black-and-white clothing—a small black purse slung over a slender shoulder. She gave a toss of her head, barely a whisper of her dark silky hair as she looked to the left at some books on the shelf there. Her left arm raised, she used slender fingers to stroke the bindings of a certain book. "Are these in fact texts on the supernatural?"

"You mean, like 'speculative non-fiction?'" asked Heather. She kept eye-contact with this new customer—this new customer that seemed to have the same eye-color as herself. That voice had a slight and unusual accent to it, a foreign sort of pronunciation to the vowels. It was hard for her to place. "This store has the best selection you can find for miles." She looked up and to the right, gestured to the shelf—noting the name of the author on the book's binding.

"Yes… We could well-say 'speculative non- fiction,'" said the female customer. There was that accent again. "Is there in fact more? The subject matter is especially pertinent to the search—one that continues despite setbacks."

Now Heather was beginning to think this customer was a bit on the weird side. Then again, Heather wasn't quite normal herself. "The author who wrote that text, he was pretty prolific. Half the shelf is his stuff alone. But if you were to look just a bit lower…" Heather bent over slightly and put her left hand to a knee, used her right hand to also gesture to another shelf. "Funny thing is, he also wrote one book on UFO's…if you're into that subject matter. But since its just ghosts you're looking into, he wrote plenty. What exactly are you in the market for, anyway?"

The young lady pointed a finger at a thick book that so happened to be next to Heather's left shoulder. "I should like to look closely to that," Voiced the customer. Heather picked out the book that seemed to be on the mind of the customer. It was entitled Source, by Brad Bell—a hefty text in paperback. She then straightened her back, handed the book to the customer. When Heather did this, giving the book, she felt the edge ward touch of the young lady's fingernails—a feeling that made her shiver a little.

"Hmm…" mused the young lady aloud. She glanced at the text and then looked into Heather's eyes. "This very well could be that which we have been seeking for so long. Then again, what is two years compared to the vast sway of eternity?"

Two years…? Heather knew better than to echo that statement, but she could not keep her eyes from widening. She knew when to keep her mouth shut. Instead, she played stupid—not hard to do since so many people her blonde hair, her good looks and just assumed her a bit on the slow side. "Really now? You've been looking that long? There are computers and stuff that could help you find things now. This chain of bookstores has an entire catalogue available by phone. There's also an inventory you can call up and stuff, like calling a library."

The young woman stared at Heather for a hard moment. Those blue eyes of hers seemed so much like a match for Heather's own. And for that moment, Heather had the idea that maybe the dark-haired girl in black-skirt and white blouse could maybe…see a little into people's brains. "Indeed…" said the dark-haired young woman. "It truly amazes how things once lost can crop up in everyday bookstores. There they are, waiting to be picked up—as though waiting."

"Indeed it is. Things tend to be on the odd side sometimes, is that not right?" said Heather, feeling herself begin to slip into the customer's speech patterns. "We…seem to have customers with especially good luck…then." All the while, the customer kept staring into Heather's eyes. Heather…began to feel a bit dizzy. She closed her eyes…a figure standing in a darkened world. She staggered as…things went back to normal.

"I shall take the item," said the female customer. She reached into the little purse to take out a single bill--handed it over. "This should very well overcome the cost of the item."

Damn… Is that right? It was a thousand dollar bill. Not that she cared too much for money. Yet the fact that a person could carry such cash around with them was odd enough. Heather wasn't evens what happened just then, but then the dark-haired girl was walking away with the book in her hand.

The slender, dark-haired girl was soon out the doors of the bookstore and gone in a whisper of long dark hair. "Hey… Wait a sec!" yelled Heather. She yanked open the doors and quickly stepped out into the shiny expanse of mall.

She looked left and right, only saw the shiny clean floor of the wide-open mall-space. This was the second floor of the mall, or more like a second tier: She could hear the murmur of mall customers on the first floor. Otherwise, there was no girl in dark skirt and white blouse.

Heather thought about this for a minute. That dark-haired girl could've gone into another store, having gone left or right. But then… She didn't remember seeing that girl go left or right. The only alternative would've been her leaping over the gleaming bronze rail and leaping to the first floor. Except the idea of a girl hopping to injury or death on a Sunday afternoon to land on the hard shiny mall floor beneath would have definitely made for a ruckus. And how did the girl walk out of the store with a book--without Heather having desensitized the little anti-theft thingy in it?

Questions, she had questions. And she was standing here with a thousand-dollar bill. She looked at it, held it up to the light shining down through the mal skylight. Yeah, it's real. But what the Hell was up with that girl? And why didn't the bookstore's door-chime sound when she walked in? Something was happening here… Not again, thought Heather.

…

2.

…

Heather was thinking about that girl for the rest of the work-shift, even after a few other customers came—bought items—and left. What did she look like? She was very pretty in a doll sort of way: smooth skin of a round and cute sort of face, thin…though it was odd seeing somebody with dark hair and blue eyes. Heather herself was naturally dark-haired, and her eyes were actually blue (when she didn't put in dark contact lenses). But she could tell that those weren't contact lenses. And the girl's hair was dark to the roots—not dyed. There was something familiar about that girl…

Then came six o'clock. "Well, it's time to close up," she said aloud—to no one in particular. Talking to myself…or no one in particular, came the thought. I really oughtta not do that. People who talked to themselves were close to being crazy.

In any event, she got up from where she sat atop the metal stool behind the bookstore counter—reached underneath the counter to get the log-book as so she could write down the amount of cash in the register, write down any particular issues with the store, things of that sort. Then she would check over the bookshelves for problems before locking the place down. Last thing, she grabbed her purse. Another thought, Normal people sometimes talk to themselves: It's only when somebody answers back that there's trouble.

When Heather first came across the offer to work here, she hated the idea—wanted to scream No! She hated it, hated the idea of working at a mall at first. Well, she had to work there. But she needed the money, really. She couldn't lean on her Dad anymore. That man was dead. And though the girl was welcomed to stay at her current home, she just couldn't bum off of somebody else for the rest of her life…however long her life would be.

Heather really needed this job—for herself. On top of that, there weren't too many jobs that she could take: a girl who didn't graduate from high school, whose identity papers couldn't really withstand legal scrutiny. In fact, the owner of the bookstore paid her cash-wages to avoid the paperwork issue, of having to file tax-and-working papers for a 19-year-old girl who really didn't exist legally.

So that was it… This mall was the only place with jobs available for her. The bookstore was the only means of employment. And when the girl finished closing up the shop, she would have to come back tomorrow to start working again.

…

The shopping crowd had all gone home. There was just her and a scattered smattering of other employees walking along the main indoor thoroughfare, passing through the atrium—that big open space with plants to the left and right, a high-up glass ceiling. Sunset-colored light glowed down from above. A glance up revealed a view of red-toned, sunset-colored sky above, darkening into night. It was sunset outside… She hurried her walk in going towards the distant exit.

Walking outside the mall's western entrance brought her to the bus-stop—a few other employees all dressed in various levels of looseness. It was warm outside. That orange-red tone of late-summer sunset was glowing over the trees that bordered the parking lot. She walked over to the bus-stop, which was right here.

Some other people were also waiting for the bus. Two were still dressed in the uniforms required of their jobs, though loosened around the collar. A skinny male security guard was sucking on a cigarette, the gray ghost-like smoke drifting. Heather could smell the smoke, could sort of taste it at the back of her throat as she inhaled. Ah-h-h…but she quit that habit a very long time ago. Still, a tiny little bit of the urge remained. Damn.

"We had some devilish trouble, six o'clock," said the skinny security guard between puffs of smoke. Huh? Heather looked at him. "The jerk kept asking about some girl. He wouldn't shut up about her. Damned stalker…" He sucked some more out of the cigarette. "We had to interrogate 'em in the brig. Yeah, you know the place used to be the sports basement—all that blood and crap."

Heather thought, Like, the mall has a jail? She took a glance back at the huge clean-brick structure. It really was gigantic—no telling if there really was a jail. Thing was, she only worked at one store and maybe shopped at a few others. And…it has a basement?

Wait a second. "Shut 'em up for good," said the mall security guard into the cell-phone. Heather glanced and noticed a hint of a smile on the man's face. "He was crying for oatmeal or something. What the Hell is wrong them?" She also noticed the stains on the fingers of the security guard's fingers as he held that cellular phone of his. "Shoulda seen it. It's been a while since we had that much work… Didn't think there was so much of the red stuff in 'em. When we were done, the floor was covered. That idiot. He didn't even have the sense to control his own bleeding. I swear… I swear to the true God."

Heather glanced to notice stains by the fingernails. The stains were dark—sort of like the way her fingertips looked whenever she to deal with one of her own bloody noses. Blood… The security guard looked to Heather and winked.

Huh! Heather backed slowly… Those blue eyes of hers widened, her mouth opening in shock. She looked at the nearby employees. Some glanced at her. Others just kept looking at the sunset… It was as if nobody heard or cared about what the Hell was going on here. If some guy with bloodstained fingers could talk so casually about slaughtering somebody, there was no telling what that wink could mean. She wanted to run to a payphone and scream for the cops, right now.

Then the bus pulled up. The thing to do was get on it now—or wait two hours or so for another one. After all, this was the Sunday schedule. She did not want to wait around here another "two hours or so"—especially since this security guard was talking bloody murder. It was making for a tornado of feelings spinning into nightmares.

Fwish-h-h… That was the sound of the bus door opening up. It so happened to be lined up with her own sneaker-covered feet. Heather quickly stepped onto the vehicle itself just as the tall skinny man began quickly walking in this direction. No way…she thought. There was irritation on her face and maybe a little anger. Who the Hell was that guy?

Never mind that. She just wanted to get the Hell away from here! Heather quickly stepped up into the bus. There was a big muscular driver behind the wheel—a stranger. She reached to pen her purse to get the right amount of change. The bus-fare was one-sixty… Coins, coins! Ooh good, she found the right amount--quarters and a dime. Clinkety-clank-k-kk… Those coins went into the depths of the bus-change machine.

Then Heather quickly found herself a seat on the right side, and she stood up as so she could see over the seat in front—looking to see if that guard-guy with bloodstained fingers was getting on. And she kept looking as two other employees also climbed on. If that guy did come on, she'd scream!

He didn't. As the bus engine gurgled away from the bus-stop, Heather took one last look back. She now saw that the security guard was different. Now he had a pale face that looked too big for his head. The chin sort of drooped down and hung loose, while the forehead flopped like a beret. This creature waved as this bus sped off. It was as if the guard was waving, Bye-bye… See you!

What the Hell! Heather jerked herself away from the cold bus-window. But in seconds, this bus was so far away from that spot in the sidewalk that she could no longer see who or what just waved at her. That wasn't a security guard. That was something else.

Heather began to feel just a little bit nervous… Then came her feeling a lot more nervous. She crossed bare arms and sort of shrugged her shoulders as she sort of leaned forward. A very cold feeling coursed through her. It was a fear that she wished she would never have had to feel ever again in her life.

So things were beginning to go wrong, were they? Just like last-time, it just one little mistake in reality. There she was, trying to live a normal life. Then things went wrong.

Oh my God, it's gonna start happening again, she thought to herself. I just know it. Already, she could feel the edges of a headache at the periphery of her mind. They're coming for me. As for who they were, the girl hoped to have gotten rid of them years ago—like one a fear of the dark or a smoking habit.

A ripping demon of a headache…began to sear through her head. She gritted her teeth to keep herself from screaming out, instead clutched her delicate hands into hard fists. Instead of scre-e-e-aming, the girl put on a sort of prolonged grunt, a gritting of teeth. The headache was so intense that it temporarily hazed over her vision with dazzles of pain until…it vanished.

Heather sniffed, wiped some tears. Yes, the headache was intense enough to have brought tears to her eyes. Her head was still spinning a little, but it was better than it outright feeling as if demons were drilling fiery drills into her brain.

Now, she hoped she didn't embarrass herself. Embarrassment would lead to someone calling an ambulance. Next would come medical questions. Those people would in turn ask about her past and her real name (since her real name wouldn't show up on any federal database request. People would find out that her entire life and existence was a lie.

Nobody should have seen her reaction—given where she was seated. Since she wasn't too tall to begin with, the top of her head barely approached the top of the seat and was therefore hidden from views front and back. The bus-window was to her right, a window looking into the oncoming night. Looking to her left made for a view of a creature in a bunny suit--outlined against the burning-red sunset that glowed through the bus windows.

It was as if the cyborg-faced figure in the bunny suit was there all along—or appeared with flawless silence. I will not scream, she thought. I will not scream. I will not, not, not… repeated Heather mentally to herself. Maybe that thing is not sitting there. Maybe I'm just imagining it. Yeah… People see stuff all the time. Maybe it's just some mall-guy in a suit.

Trouble was, there were no rabbit-mascot promotions happening at the mall—no employees dressed that way: not today, not yesterday, not ever. She hear that the last time some employee was told to dress up in an animal costume at the mall, he ended up in a freak accident with him tripping down an escalator and having his head crushed with a falling cart. Since then, it was a policy of no more animal costumes. The only place Heather ever saw bunny suits was in the world of a demon's nightmare.

As if responding to her thoughts, the six-foot figure half-turned its large head in Heather's direction. Heather went wide-eyed. The figure in the bunny suit nodded its head, the metal ears of the face-mask bobbing slowly. It knew something.

Then came the figure's voice. They will not let us rest, came the voice. We will have been at peace. He is up and about. The voice sort of echoed, as if the voice in the mask was distorted. No… It was more like the voice was also in her head. She couldn't tell. Just give us our sleep.

"Hey…" she said. Heather found it a little hard to speak—considering the nature of the figure sitting across from her. "Who are you? What are you?"

Asked the thing in the bunny suit, What do you know about time travel? The thing in the bunny suit let the question hang. It expected thought.

"Are you talking to me? Like, I don't understand you," voiced Heather. "Hey… Are you listening?"

This world is not all that there is. Do you know about rifts? Other worlds, they have people. The people can be full of pain. It rots from the inside. The figure in the bunny suit turned its head to the left—large metal face now facing forward. There happens to be more than one happening. Moonlight hands are not going away.

"Other worlds…?" asked Heather. She heard the question from the figure in the bunny suit. And with a sick sort of feeling did she have an understanding of what was happening. It was happening again. It was happening to her. "What's going on here? Are you one of them?"

Why do you ask what you already know is true? The question was somewhat rude, maybe. Or it was more of a pointing of the truth? She had an idea of the truth.

Also true was how Heather could not sense any sort of anger or hatred in the voice. As pointedly rude as the question was, there was no irritation or chastisement in the question—the tone of voice so full of sadness… There was actually just a bit of sadness mixed in it. The figure in the bunny suit asked the same question the way a person would speak while pouting She couldn't really be angry at that saddened voice. In fact, the girl actually began to feel a little sorry for the six-foot figure in the bunny suit… That tone of voice actually reminded her of a saddened person who lost something especially important and was feeling impetuous.

Are there mirrors? I should like to know if possible, continued the figure in the bunny suit. There was a sunset-crimson glare from the bus windows coming from the bus-windows beyond the costumed figure. That glare temporarily…overtook Heather's vision.

That glare faded. Now it seemed as if the sunset was different—a lot different. The darkly beautiful color of the sunset was now more red and vibrant than it should have been. It was a sunset that was a more violent crimson color, parts of it wavering and churning…. If Heather didn't know any better, she would have thought that the sunset was on fire. But it just wasn't any sort of fire. It looked like a radioactive sunset outside, like looking at the sunset of another world…

Do not just ask where, but also ask whencame the rabbit-figure's voice. Then the figure in the bunny suit began to talk nonsense, as if the energy needed to maintain its presence was…weakening for now… Every daughter should know the smell of her own father. A barrel full of rotten legs, the red-dead churning thrumming of blood-powered machines… It's all full of radiation. The radiation… That said, there was a glow from the bunny-figure's mask. The light flickered, and there was another sunset-colored haze of light…

Heather found herself looking at an empty seat. There was no-one sitting there. Huh? Like, I could've sworn there was something, she thought to herself. Something's not right about this. I don't like this at all, not even a little.