It was hard to believe he had come to be trapped in such a hell when the morning before had been such an average one. Well, average up until he received the letter that is. Stan's mind traveled back to the beginning, back before he had found himself being brutally raped over a disgusting counter, then moved to an even worse looking moth-eaten mattress for sloppy seconds.
Rain fell from the sky the day that Kyle was buried, pouring as though the heavens wept in sorrow at the loss of an innocent soul. A gathering of people, united for an untimely end surrounded the deep hole where the body lay, each tossing Stan's hopes and dreams down inside with the handful of dirt they threw. A mugging gone wrong, they said, a shame it happened, they spoke, voices carrying through deaf ears, hearing but uncomprehending as Stan gazed into the muddied abyss, feeling it swallow his soul. Gentle hands tugged him up from his seat upon his knees and numbly he followed the faceless person to his own home, where he was laid to bed and left alone and to his own devices…
Stan shook awake, tears streaming down his face at the painful memory brought to life once again by his subconscious. It had been nearly a year since Kyle had been buried and every night Stan had to relive it, the pain, the emptiness… The guilt was what ripped its way through Stan's chest like a finely shaped blade though. That night, Kyle and Stan had argued, over what, he still could not recall, but Kyle ran out of the house in tears, screaming that Stan had better have resolved 'the problem' by the time he returned.
"Or else."
He had always been a bit dramatic, Stan remembered fondly. That night, after Kyle had left, Stan stormed outside to smoke, not something he did frequently but tonight he felt the need. He was already buzzed and, with as irritated as he was now, grabbed a half-full bottle of Jack before swinging back outside. Hours later, with no word from Kyle, Stan was shitfaced and angry. That little asshole got everything he had ever wanted, even things he hadn't known he would want, and yet Kyle thought he could leave him? With red-tinged vision, Stan stormed towards town, empty bottle hanging by his side as he weaved across the sidewalk. It was here that he lost all recollection of his actions. He awoke, warm and safe at his own home, surrounded by his unusually stoic-faced friends. He had smiled and looked up at Kenny, the closest one to him and carelessly made a joke that haunted him to this very day.
"Where's the funeral, guys?"
No one laughed, no one even moved, just stared at Stan until he realized that he was alone in the bed. He knew what had happened, tears slipping from his eyes as he gazed back into Kenny's baby blue eyes.
"What happened to him, Kenny?"
Shaking his head, Stan removed his mind from the past, and moved to his desk computer, opening his Facebook profile. Kyle had made it for him years ago and, fondly, Stan had secretly kept it. No friends, no applications, just full of pictures that of the two of them. With a small ding, he noticed a red "1" next to his friend requests. Sighing, he opened the folder, ready to delete yet another bot when he saw the note attatched.
"Stan, do you remember when we spent time traveling across the northern states? Didn't you have fun? Pretending to hold up the President's stone heads, posing as though the Statue of Liberty was fucking that sweet little ass of yours? That was always my job, Stan and I showed you that again that very night. But what I remember most was that small little town in West Virginia, the one you made fun of me for wanting to visit. I wait for you here, Stan."
Stan felt his body chill as he read these words. Could it be? Could it really be Kyle? But no, he thought, face blushing in shame and humiliation. Kyle was dead. This was obviously some sick asshole's idea of a joke. He slammed his hand back onto the mouse and jerkily deleted the request. Turning off the monitor, Stan spun around in his chair and was about to stand up when he heard it again; the soft ding from his Facebook, alerting him to a new friend request. Pressing the pulsating blue button to turn his monitor back on, Stan waited a moment before refreshing the page to see the request. The exact same request sat before him, down to the punctuation and Stan felt his anger rise up again, this time causing him to rip the power cord from the wall, his screen fading as he stood and rushed outside, eager for some air.
As he stood there, Kenny pulled up in the beat-up mail truck he drove for work and began to fiddle around with the stacks of mail he had in his bag. Walking up, Stan slapped the blonde lightly on the back of his head, startling him as he whipped his head up to face his friend. A large smile broke across Kenny's face at the sight of Stan finally out of the house and he grabbed the older male into a hug, stretching across his seatbelt to do so. Wordlessly, he handed Stan the letter he had found addressed to the dark haired boy and with a shout of farewell and a promise to get in touch, Kenny continued on his route, cursing his boss for the punctuality he inforced.
Stan flipped the letter over and over again before finally spotting the tiny lettering on the back lower right corner, 'Silent Hills Historical Society". Confused and mildly freaked out by the coincidence, he slid a finger under the flap and tore open the envelope. A sharply folded manila letter lay inside and, once opened, was clutched like a life support, its message causing the male to weep once again.
"Stanly you've been hiding things from me. And now, I am what is hidden. All day, I sit here awaiting your arrival to Silent Hill. Don't you love me, Stan….?"
Dropping to his knees, Stan Marsh read the note again and again, soaking in the familiar handwriting as though it was air to his starving lungs. The note was written entirely in Kyle's rough scrawl, even going so far as to copy the extreme leftward slant that would abruptly switch into virtually different handwriting altogether, but Stan recognized it all.
The door slammed behind him as he raced upstairs, Stan ripped the suitcase out from its dusty hiding place underneath the bed and began to throw clothes inside. Barely glancing at his toiletries, he grabbed the revolver from his nightstand and shoved it in before zipping the whole thing up and rushing back out the door. Who knew what trouble Kyle would get himself into while they tried to leave, Stan reasoned, feeling the outline of the gun in his suitcase's front pocket with his free hand as he keyed in Silent Hill into his GPS. All he knew is that Kyle better have a damn good reason for putting him through the hell that was the last three years.
Stepping out of the car and shielding his eyes from the bright reflecting light of the fog, Stan stared up at the ominous rusted sign above him; "WELCOME TO SILENT HILL". Glancing back down at the letter, he steeled his resolve and started walking. His car had broken down almost the moment he reached the town limits, flashing that there was no gas left before fully shutting down. The road ahead of him was swathed in a foggy mist that completely obliterated the path before him. All that Stan had on his person was his car keys, the revolver, and his wallet which held the note; everything else he had deemed to be too bulky and had left it in the locked car. Nathan Avenue appeared to be a very long stretch of road as Stan continued along it, his tennis shoes making echoing crunches on the crumbled asphalt. After about half an hour of walking, Stan could just make out the outline of buildings on his left. Turning down the closest road, Lindsey Street if the sign was correct, he walked up to the buildings only to find them boarded shut and barred off from the outside world. Continuing down the street, Stan noticed this was a recurring problem.
Walking through an intersection, he suddenly stopped staring ahead at the road, or rather, the lack there of. Where the street should have continued on, it instead dropped off into a cliff, the bottom hidden from sight. As Stan stared, he didn't notice the light moans and squishing footsteps coming up behind him until he felt his back grow damp. Immediately, the burning sensation began and Stan writhed around ripping off his brown button up jacket and whipping around, gun raised high. What he saw before him made him take a few startled steps backwards, mouth slightly ajar in disgust. The creature had a large slit in its chest, the only opening that Stan could see on its deformed body. Where its arms should be were two raised mounds gently fading down to the waist, as though its torso was just unusually large, but he could plainly see the outline of bone and muscle as the creature seemed to hug itself beneath its skin. Aiming carefully, Stan shot off a single round into the creature's forehead, downing it immediately, and saying a slight prayer over its body. Stan prayed silently that the same fate had not befallen Kyle as he turned right and headed down Katz Street. It was here he finally found refuge; an open apartment building, keys still hanging from the doors.
With a resounding click, Stan shut the double doors behind him and gazed around before taking notice of the apartment map. In off-set typing the name of the apartment was printed in the upper left corner; Wood Side Apartments. On the third floor, room 3122 was circled in red permanent marker, all other rooms scribbled over besides the adjacent room, room 3123. The room was circled in black with a cross mark through it, the color stark against the white and red that covered the paper. Stan removed the thumbtacks holding the map in place, gently folding it and sliding it safely into his pocket as he stared up the rusted stairs, questioning their stability more and more with every step that he took. After tripping a few times, he finally pushed open the entrance to the third floor apartments and looking around in barely concealed disgust. Water was puddled on the floor, mainly in the places where the carpet had been torn back or was stained with a questionable crimson liquid that made Stan even more nervous. Pulling out the map for confirmation, he headed left, trying to avoid the puddles but inevitably getting his tennis shoes wet. Opening the last door on his left, Stan barged inside, only to experience possibly the sickest thing he had ever seen.
There was a man with a giant pyramid shaped helmet raping a woman against a counter. No, Stan thought looking closer, the man was raping one female creature while pinning another to the counter with his thrusts. The creature was a human female up until its shoulders, two false legs standing in place of the arms and no head to speak of. Taking notice of his watcher, Pyramid Head dropped his toys to the ground watching them writhe for a moment before taking a step towards the young boy. With a scream, Stan fumbled for the door handle only to discover it was just a flat piece of tarnished bronze that his fingers were slamming against. A thick palm settled atop his head and firmly grabbed his hair, lifting him off the ground effortlessly. Crying out, Stan pulled himself up with both hands on Pyramid Head's bicep trying to ease the pain, letting the other beefy hand go unnoticed until, with a loud rip, he was suddenly naked. Carrying his prey over to the kitchenette, Pyramid Head dropped Stan halfway onto the counter and, before the dark haired male could even move, thrust deep into the boy's ass. Stan screamed as he felt his ass rip open, blood dribbling down his legs in thick rivers as Pyramid Head continued fucking him, making harsh grunts behind him. Tears streamed down his face as he continued to scream, the counter holding up his body as his legs collapsed underneath him. A sharp prick in his shoulder caused his to turn his head and widen his eyes. Pyramid Head's thin black tongue ran along his skin, occasionally jabbing against him hard enough to draw blood. Stan watched as it trailed down his side before finding the rivulets of blood pouring down his thighs and lapping at them, much like a cat to milk. Stan vomited on the counter and Pyramid Head smacked him on the side of his head, knocking him to the floor, ears ringing as he lay dazed. Stan watched as the monster stood above him, fully erect cock in plain view, just staring at him. Seeing Pyramid Head's cock, Stan began to whimper, knowing good and well why his ass hurt the way it did; it had to be at least 9 inches with a girth the size of the boy's balled fist.
Pyramid Head emitted a low groan before snatching Stan by the hair and dragging him across the rough wooden floor into a disgusting bedroom filled with moths. Green tinted light fell upon Stan's bleeding body as he was thrown onto a bare bed, rusty springs stabbing him through the numerous as he bounced slightly. Climbing on top of him, Pyramid Head flipped the other male over and slid back inside, grunting as Stan screamed again, before starting his irregular pace back up. Stan tried to lay as still as possible for the monster, sobbing loudly as he was relentlessly fucked from behind. With a load grunt, heat filled Stan's ass as Pyramid Head came, the cum seeming to last for minutes before abruptly ending. It pooled in Stan's crotch as the monster pulled out, getting off the bed and staring down at Stan in an almost judgmental stance before walking to the closet door and dragging out a terrified looking Kyle.
Pure terror washed through him as he saw the monster's snake like tongue drop from its helmet and lick along Kyle's neck and torso before resting above his heart.
"LEAVE US ALONG YOU SICK BASTARD! DIDN'T YOU GET ENOUGH SATISFACTION FROM RAPING ME? DON'T YOU FUCKING TOUCH HIM OR I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!" Stan screamed, attempting to crawl forwards on the bed. The tongue lanced its way through Kyle's chest the second Stan made a movement towards it and Kyle's eyes rolled back before he collapsed, the same way he had that fateful night three years ago. Stan felt rage fill him as he screamed every explicative he knew at the monster before him, but feeling the seed of regret and guilt bloom and spill throughout his own body and he dropped back onto the bed, arms giving out on him as he slipped into unconsciousness.
That night, he had found Kyle exiting the grocery store and dragged him into the loading dock behind the store. Stan tried to kiss the other male but Kyle pushed him away yelling at him for drinking so much. Anger filled him again and, drawing a knife, he repeatedly stabbed the young Jew, laughing raucously as the life flowed between his fingers. But as he gazed down at the broken bleeding body of his lover, he didn't seen hatred or malice in those pine green eyes, he saw love and forgivingness. It broke something deep within him and the anger had left him clutching Kyle in his final moments. Eyes rolling back in his head, the red head grabbed Stan's hand until he finally died, blood coating Stan's clothes. He knew he had done wrong, but he had refused to acknowledge the guilt until now, as he had been forced to see Kyle die again before his eyes.
Gazing up with tears filling his eyes, he stared into a sea of blue. The woman looked concerned and was making motions to a man in a long white coat, who scooped him up and placed him back face down on a bed, this one soft and a pure white color. He felt something sharp enter his arm and, fearing it was Pyramid Head's demonic tongue, began to scream, flailing around until he was held down and sedated. Eyes misting over with the drug's effects, Stan flopped his head towards the door and saw Kyle standing in the doorway, nurses passing through him as he walked to his bedside. A gentle smile crossed the Jew's face as he lovingly ran his fingers through Stan's soft black hair.
"Are you ready to come home yet, Stan? Come home with me to Silent Hill. It's a much different place now, now that you remember. So what do you say?" Pleading green eyes met his own blue ones and, with a nod, Kyle picked him up bridal style, excitedly talking about a cabin on the lake shore. Curling up to Kyle's chest, Stan inadvertently looked over his lover's shoulder and watched as doctors and nurses shocked his still body, which was laid out on the bed behind him.
An eternity with Kyle had lain before him and he chose the mist shrouded path to damnation. But he wasn't alone.
ROXAS I HATE YOU. I SHOULD NEVER BE AWAKE AT 4 THERE IS BREATHING IN MY ROOM.
You better like this you whore I hate you Im skured.
Wish I was in Australia. I hear the people are rather nice there e u e
THIS STORY came from the deep bowels of my anus. I refuse to reread this. Please point out my mistakes if you would like, but if I read this, im going to hate it. Just like everything else I write.
K thx bai.