(Disclaimer: I do not own Silent Hill or its characters. This is simply a fun little fan fiction I made because I love the games so much. Again, all rights to Silent Hill go to its creators and no one else)

SILENT HILL: THE GIRL

Tory Hollander was dreaming again. What would have been clear, had someone been standing there watching her, was that she was unhappy in this. The yellowish sheets were twisted around her sweaty bare legs, twining up around her body. Her right thumb was planted deeply in her twitching mouth and she moaned slightly around it, eyelashes brushing her cheeks in feverish tattoo. Her brow was low and wrinkled in her displeasure, dark bangs plastered to her sweaty face. All at once she leapt awake and stared wildly about her in the shadowed room.

A soft rain pattered her bedroom window. Beyond that the creatures paced in the muddy yard and chortled, growled, and drooled. She'd watched them for the past two days when they emerged from the fat, pale fog and into her yard. They'd eventually stumble off again and the farmstead would be silent, at least what she could see of it, which wasn't much. Others always appeared, though, but they left too. It seemed the creatures were all over the town, scattered and roaming freely. If it weren't for them she would have tried to leave on Friday.

She was exhausted both physically and mentally. The past few days had been terribly lonely and nerve-wracking. Tory had holed up in her bedroom after searching the workshop and barns for Tom and Uncle Brian, though she was sure they were dead. They had to be dead. What else could have left those bloodstains and all the other gore? And what had happened to the things that had done that to them? Something unspeakable had happened in town and she didn't know what to do or where to go.

Worse than the not knowing, worse than the bloodstains and the weird creatures, was the awful feeling of doom and decay all around her. Her very body felt stiff and awkward to her, and she was always chilled to the bone. Something moved to her left or to her right, but she could never spot it when she turned. Things rustled all around her and once she'd heard a high pitched scream from out in the distance. She was always thinking that she heard voices and whispers, and was convinced that she was starting to go insane. And what she'd thought about the cat!

She'd heard him crying to get inside when everything really started to go bad, when she'd heard the commotions coming from town, and all the lights had gone off. And then there had been complete silence. That had been more frightening than the sounds themselves. Minky had been crying to get inside, but Tory had been too scared to get up and go open the door. He'd eventually stopped crying and Tory had hoped that he'd gone to hide somewhere, maybe in the barns, but when she looked out the window there was a huge red stain in the cement where he'd been. Like he'd just been smashed into a pulp right on the spot, or he'd exploded, or he'd been killed and taken off by something. Tory had heard stories from Tom about satanists in the area, but she wondered why they hadn't come for her too. And she hadn't heard any commotion outside. Minky was a cat and cats screamed when they were being attacked or hurt. She didn't know what to think.

She shakily rose to her feet on the bed and leapt as far off as possible, landing on the cold wood floor. Being afraid of things under the bed had been something she'd outgrown years before, but now everything was to be feared. She wasn't about to take any chances. Tory stretched and walked to the window, peering out into the early dawn. Fog was everywhere, but she could make out the shapes of the things moving drunkenly. Tory stepped back away from the window and crossed to her dresser. She eyed herself in the mirror. Her long dead mother's eyes stared wearily back at her, green as the grass that covered her grave. Tory was pretty and had always been resentful of it since all the girls at school were catty to her and the boys snapped her bra during P.E.

It was odd that none of that mattered now. They were all dead, probably. She ran her fingers over her pale skin and sighed, staring at herself one last time before pulling out a sweater and swiftly walking back to the window. She pulled the sweater over her clammy form and hugged her arms to her chest, grateful for the small amount of warmth she was provided by doing so. She couldn't see a thing out there now. She was scared as hell and lonely and cold, but she felt ready to move. There was nothing but dread here and it was in itself dangerous to sit and wait around. The farm wasn't all that close to town and easily missed. What if a rescue team or policemen missed her? And what if those things broke the door down?

She supposed that she needed to find weapons first. In fact, she'd need a lot of things. She was aware that it would be in her best interests not to load herself down with objects, so she'd be able to move quickly if attacked. But she needed to take some things with her. She'd use Uncle Brian's old army belt since it had pockets attached and wouldn't hinder her too much. Tory threw her hands across her face as she remembered her uncle. She'd held out hope for a while that maybe he'd survived, but she knew in her heart that those bloodstains belonged to him and Tom. He would have come back for her if he was alive.

She refused to break down and cry. She came from a long line of soldiers, so she would not break down. Strength was in her blood. She pulled on her jeans and her boots quickly and then crept out into the hall. All was dark, but quiet. She slowly made her way towards her uncle's bedroom door and moved inside. All was neat and tidy in his room. She tried to remember his face, to feel him somewhere in this space that had belonged to him for so long, but found that all she could feel was slick distaste and aversion for the bedroom. She closed her eyes a moment and leaned against the doorway.

Fall leaves. The smell of burnt flesh and the leathery sounds of skin rubbing together. Something moans and grunts, and bones crack as something mottled and deformed rises shakily to its feet. Brilliant shades and forms of fall surround us all, but the fog is coming. They're coming.

Tory cried out and snapped back against the doorway, hard. She panted heavily as tears rose and overtook her, and she slid down the door and to her bottom. She buried her face in her arms and cried for her family, the town, and for herself. She cried at the knowledge that many more horrors would ensue. And she cried harder at the thought that they might claim her.

Harry Mason's left boot smashed through the soft, slimy head of the creature. He ground its gore as far into the ground as he possibly could, wincing all along. The bookstore had offered little of interest, but this hadn't surprised him much at all. His reasons for coming inside were for escape and solace from the terrors outside.

Actually, he had been looking for a phone book. Cars were apparently not in high demand in Silent Hill, he'd only seen two since his arrival. One was his own, parked miles back at the restroom and the other was about to fall apart. It couldn't handle the treacherous drive out of the city and through countless monsters, why even risk it? Silent Hill might have been a quaint, independent resort town, but it sure as hell had a lot of farming to do. He knew there had to be some farmsteads somewhere and where they were, vehicles and tractors would be. Maybe if he was lucky he'd run across a nice big pickup truck. And then he could look for Cheryl more effectively.

He rummaged through the back of the shadowed little store for at least 15 minutes until coming up with a weathered looking phone book and then sat down to leaf through it. Slurp. He looked up at the wet, gross sound and glanced around the store. He could see nothing but rows of bookcases and posters on the wall. Harry stood at the second sound, a deep, mournful moan. Mmmmharghmmm.

He heard a gurgling sound and a sound like sandpaper being rubbed together. Harry rose with the book and moved slowly along the wall towards the front door, keeping an eye over his shoulder. A huge shiver ran over him as he heard the distinct sounds of bones snapping. He broke into a run and slammed out of the store and into the street, into the pale fog.

Tory had cried for what seemed like hours, hugging her legs and rocking when memories of her family returned to her in painful flashes. She couldn't control her thoughts, couldn't control the sporadic images of death and rot that overcame her. Her memories were all there, all whole, but there were strange and awful twists to them.

You'd lost your first pet ever, a puppy named Hilo, when you were just eight years old. Remember how you found him upstairs with your grandma? Grandma had started to really fall apart by then, she looked like a monster, every bone prominent on her yellow body. She'd howl when the pain got really bad and you swore that her howls broke through into your dreams, gave you nightmares. You sure howled when you found her with Hilo, cupping his little furry body in her claws, tearing into his belly. She could only moan and dig in deeper, shreds of entrails and chunks of flesh hanging from her mouth. Did you want Grandma to share some with you, Tory?

Tory slammed her head against the wall. She knew it hadn't happened that way, but that's all she saw when she remembered. What was happening to her?! The world around her was decaying and it seemed that she was too. She reached down to touch her arm, thin and cold as the air that she breathed. Was she decaying? Was she dead? Tory fought back another rush of tears as this thought hit her. She shakily rose to her feet and made her way down the stairs.

The photo album was in the bookcase in the old parlor and she made her way there now. Wearily she pulled the faded, red cloth-bound volume from the bookcase and made her way to the couch. She opened to a place in the middle and found herself smiling, surprisingly. There was a picture of her grandmother the day before she died, laughing happily as she played with the little puppy in her bed. Tory could feel the memory returning to her in its true form. Her grandmother had been happy that day, had managed to forget the pain and enjoy playing with the dog. It had been a good day.

For the next few hours she studied the huge album from start to finish. Every memory returned to her completely and she felt herself forgetting about what was outside of her, and thinking only about what had made her happy. She remembered her family, each and every member of it. She remembered pets and events, like birthdays and Halloween. The whole world might be like what was outside and what was out there was horrible. What she loved and cared for was here, in this old house, with her memories. Tory belonged here. She would never leave Silent Hill.

Slowly, ever so slowly, a solitary tear of red blood slid down her cheek and fell to her hand. She smiled as another followed, and then another. She rested her head back against the couch and closed her eyes, sighing. A trail of blood flowed from her right nostril, but she didn't notice. Bottomless sleep claimed her.

Harry jogged along the lane towards the farm house. He could see the roof of the thing, but little else. He'd gotten a number and address for a farm on the edge of the city that sold farming supplies, vegetables, kittens, and horses. The number had been of little use of course, but the address had incurred a surge of triumph in Harry.

Harry dodged one of the monsters in the gloom and with a quick spurt of energy leapt up onto the porch of the house. He tried the door and found it was locked. He found his way in after breaking a window, slowly stood as he brushed himself off, and looked around. He started in surprise at the sight before him. A girl sat on the couch. Her pretty, pale face smiled softly despite the blood that decorated it. Some of the blood had dripped down her neck to stain the neckline of her crisp white sweater. A photo album lay open on her lap.

Harry smiled softly as he moved towards her and sat down beside her. He looked down at the album, at the dozens of pictures of her memories. He stared into her face a few moments more before sighing sadly and rising. No longer would he intrude on her now. He would leave the poor dead girl to her pictures. Harry rose and went off in search of what he needed, the sight of the girl branded into his mind, sure to haunt his dreams forever.

THE END