Silent Hill

Downward Spiral

CH1: A year of dark.

Chris awoke, the smell of brimstone still strong in his nose, it made him sneeze. He sat up, still expecting to be within the world of brimstone and madness, but instead he was in his queen sized bed in his two story house, alone in a bed for two. Chris De Silva was a man of many trades, an artist, architect, and writer, prior to one year ago he had made enough money to make sure his family was well off even without him should anything ever happen.

He would have never guessed that he'd be the one left alone.

Prior to a year ago his daughter had started having reoccurring nightmares about a ghost town know as Silent Hill. Sharon wasn't his daughter by birth or blood, but since he and his wife Rose had been drawn to adopt the little dark haired girl she had been his daughter bound to him by love. He had done all he had to protect her, to save her, but it hadn't been enough, one foolish choice had cost him his family, and the choice hadn't even been his.

Nearly one year ago his daughter had one last attack, with its usual case of wandering about the night. Normally he and his wife kept the doors locked so Sharon wouldn't wonder outside of the house, but that night they had found her upon a Cliffside, looking down it, ready to jump, and screaming about Silent Hill. Apparently Rose had been searching about the town and was insistent about visiting the town to figure out why it drew her so.

But it felt wrong to Chris, just the name Silent Hill seemed to taste evil upon his tongue, as if a black wafer representing the body of Lucifer. Chris wasn't exactly religious, no name had ever made him feel so superstitious before, but upon that feeling he insisted Rose never take their child to the city.

So of course Rose had taken Sharon all on her own. He stopped her credit card, called up the cops, but nothing stopped her from reaching that town.

Silent Hill had once been a normal town, but what he had discovered there was religious perversion that lasted for decades before it basically destroyed the town. A religious Christian cult of Witch Burners that had existed since the colonial era had once taken a girl named Alessa whom the town was sure was a witch, because she had no known father, and had attempted to burn her to death. An officer had saved the little girl, however the burning had gone horribly wrong, started a fire in the ceremony chambers, and set a large coal mine below the town alight to burn for what seemed to be forever, as it was still alight today, filling the town with acrid, mind numbing smoke.

While researching this past Christ had found several disturbing things about the town, half of all who visited, both out of kicks or cultism, disappeared in the town and were never found again. Some who had survived a visit, like himself, saw nothing, but a few who came back claimed that monsters created from nightmares existed in the town, and once in the town you could never escape from your past.

Chris had never seen such monsters, he had experienced nothing but empty streets, hazy smoke, and a whiff of his wife's perfume which may have been a trick of a desperate mind.

The second thing he found was a picture of Alessa, the little girl, before she was burned nearly to death. Alessa looked exactly like Sharon, they could have been twins, but at the birth date listed it was most likely that the burned little girl was her mother, which meant that there was a possibility that somewhere she was still alive.

Still this did not explain his families disappearance, it did not explain why the police had never uncovered a trace, it could not explain why his house felt haunted to him, and it would not explain away the nightmares of meshed metal and fire, and demons of twisted flesh.

Maybe he was just going insane.

Chris rose from his bed, palming the nights sweat off of his face. Since the loss of his daughter and wife he had lost several pounds, his skin hug loose around his meatless bones, his neck hung hollow, and his eyes where dark and sunken. He felt like shit, but he always felt like shit, and he didn't care.

Walking to the window of his second floor bedroom he peered out into Cliffside back yard, but the cliffs where obscured by a dense morning fog that swirled across the dew covered grass in tendrils resembling smoke.

Great weather for depression, he thought, especially since he was going to have to visit his agent and explain to him how his agent was going to have to explain to his publishers why he hadn't been working for the full year. The capitalist empire had no sympathy for the loss he had been given but he really didn't care, he might lose the house but it wasn't home, home was where his family was and his family wasn't here.

He walked over to a mix vanity clothes dresser that he had shared with his wife, staring at his decrepit form, itching off an oozing pimple and wiping away the puss that exploded from it. He opened the top right drawer, amongst his wives collection of lace and silk panties, of all the colors of the rainbow and more, sat an old black revolver with a wooden, specially carved, handle.

The gun had been his father's once upon a time, and then his father's before him, he kept it clean and he kept it loaded, supposed to be protection for him and his family. Of course there was always the chance that Rose and Sharon where dead somewhere in that town, maybe an accident had occurred, maybe they had fallen through the floor of one of the older unkempt buildings, or maybe some weirdo had gotten to them, raped them, and killed them. The thought of his daughter being used like that and discarded, stripped of her purity and her fragile mind shattered, was almost too much. He'd like to see them one day, and he knew this was likely the only way.

He brought the gun up, pushed it to his temple till it bit the skin and left it bleeding, squeezed hard on the handle, fingered the trigger. The mail slot clicked distracting him, he glanced at the primed revolver in surprise and contempt, flinging it away from him it hit the ground and fired into the wall, a short but loud bark.

He pushed his wrist into his head in desperation, grinning against the pain the cut in his head made as he did so. Was he too strong to allow himself to give in and kill himself, or too weak since doing so would mean actually getting to see his family once again?

Christ breathed in deep, steadying himself, and turned to leave his gun until it was safe enough to retrieve it, knowing he wouldn't hurt himself. The air in the house was thick, balmy, on the way down the modernized white and steel staircase he checked the thermostat, and noted it claimed it was seventy four within the house, he tapped it to make sure it was still working ,despite that tapping a digital thermostat wouldn't have corrected it, and turned from it for his front door, shaking his head at modern technology.

The downstairs was what he would have called a controlled mess, though he thought it might have been called a shrine by others. He had pushed their large television to one side of the living room and set up table after cheep table of stuff. Piles of news clippings from the town, notes on the areas religious pasts, from Native American sacrificial blood worship to the witch burnings that where all but rumors of the recent past littered most of the tables. Police reports of all the recently missing for the past ten years filled five different boxes, most of them individuals running from the law, family, or something else, and various online stories printed out talking about the monsters of Silent Hill.

Monsters not unlike the ones who haunted his nightmares.

Center of the mess on a large wooden oak desk, the only original furniture left in the living area aside from the couch he had spent many a night on, was a small tribute to his wife and daughter. A pegboard on stands was pegged with different stories of their disappearance and search, from the one that read Wife and Daughter Disappear Into Abandoned Town, One Cop Missing as Well, to the one that read Search for Mother and Daughter Called off After Four Months.

The two of them had never officially been listed dead, that took a bit longer, but there was also a pile of stories diving into his past, turning light family bouts into full blown spousal abuse and beatings. He had never hit his wife, hell he had never spanked his child, and prior to his loss he had never drank that much.

Yeah, now he drank, every day, every hour he could, he was angry too, he lashed out at those who attacked him, but he didn't care what they thought of him anymore.

He remembered why he was down here and glanced towards the door, where a single white envelope lied face down on the entryway carpet. Today wasn't mail day which meant it had to be sent by FEDEX or UPS, but he hadn't heard a diesel engine arrive or drive away.

Of course he had been busy trying to kill himself, doing that kind of cuts you off from the unimportant things of the world, like mail delivery. Chris walked over to it and crouched in his dirty grey pajamas and matching stained white T to pick it up and rise. Turning it over he noted that the front was blank, no address too or from anyone. He shook it, there was only the light shift and impact sound of a small piece of paper, nothing heavy or solid.

Chris frowned at the envelope, wondering who had sent it. Early in the investigation of his wife's disappearance, especially with those articles dragging his name through the mud, he had received many anonymous letters threatening or condemning him, or both. Once such letter had contained an amazing amount of white powder that he had inhaled and nearly choked on.

It hadn't taken a genius to figure out that it was a prank, baby powder put there to mimic an anthrax threat, but it had damned near given him a heart attack anyway.

Chris popped the glue seal on the letter, the kind you had to lick to seal shut, and pulled out the letter. It read,

'Chris,

You left us here, in that town.

We are alone and afraid and we cannot find you.

I found Sharon, we tried to come home, but you where not there, and we woke up, we were back in that town.

Follow the siren's call.'

Chris's heart skipped a beat, he fell to his knees as the breath was knocked out of him as assuredly as if he had been kicked in the stomach. He crumbled the paper to his chest and waited to see if he would continue to have the heart attack he felt was coming, but there were no more palpitations, no pains.

Still on his knees he looked again at the letter. It was from his wife, he was sure of that, though there was nothing to claim it was so. The letter mentioned that town, not Silent Hill, it mentioned us not Rose, but it did mention Sharon, his daughter. He breathed in the scent on the glue strip of his paper, within the smell of the glue was the scent of something familiar, a scent he had last smelt pass him like a ghost in the abandoned town a year ago.

He rose to his feet, for the first time in months strength of hope and will returned to him, they were alive, and they were trapped in that town.

Silent Hill.

Authors Note:

Huh, I'm back on , just thought I'd give ya'll something to chew on, with your eyes, while I attempt to write an actual, original, novel. As you might have noticed this story involves Chris De Silva. The idea is to connect the first Silent Hill movie and the second since, you know, the second was not only giant stinky pile of Vatiel droppings but so full of plot holes the movie could officially be termed Swiss Cheese.

I am a long time silent hill fan, one of my first (and now lost) fan fictions was a silent hill fan fiction. I do plan on finishing this story out but make no promise on how fast it will be uploaded or how long it will be. I am currently trying to edit my own, original, and very long novel, and this fictional story is just to give ma break of such a monotonous task once and a while.

As usual this story is lightly edited but still pretty raw, expect mistakes.

Thanks again for reading good readers, see you soon!