Prologue
Allison Shelton had run the same mail route for almost ten years. Everyday, save Sunday, she drove her small car (the local post office couldn't afford a decent truck) up and down the same route, dropping boxes, envelopes, and various other packages into the same mailboxes. She grew so used to it that she knew instinctively which packages belong to which recipient, often times without even looking at the address. Today had been no different, at least until she got to the end of her route. She'd moved an empty mail crate when she noticed a lone envelope in her floorboard. She was sure she hadn't seen it when she'd done the route, and she'd never seen the return address before. She knew the address it was going to though, so she turned her tiny car around and before long she was walking up the front walk of the envelope's destination. She reached the decrepit front door and knocked a few quick times.
The door opened a few inches, just enough to expose the heavy chain holding it closed, and a set of pale gray eyes just beyond.
"Oh, it's you Al." The gray-eyed man said.
"Yeah Marty. I seem to have forgotten a piece of your mail." She said as she waved the envelope so he could see it. The door shut for a moment, then swung inward.
Marty, or Martin Hightower, was a wreck. His clothing stank from six days without a wash and his face was covered in a month's growth of beard. He was dressed in a flannel shirt with a 'wife-beater' tank-top underneath. He wore a pair of jeans that were almost as old as he was. The knees had long ago yielded to age and worn out, leaving ragged holes. He wore a pair of boots he'd gotten from a homeless shelter years ago. He appeared to be homeless, which wasn't much of a stretch, since the one bedroom, one bath, kitchen/living/dining room area trailer was almost dilapidated enough to be condemned. The home wasn't even his, it'd been his uncle's until he died, and then Marty had inherited it.
"Any clue why someone at…" Allison read the return address on the envelope out, "448 Midwich Street, Silent Hill, would be sending you a letter all of a sudden?"
Marty snatched the thin package from Allison's pudgy hand, causing her to flinch, and looked over it appraisingly.
"You do know it's rude to snatch things away from people, don't you?" Allison said with a chuckle. She wondered what could be so important about that letter to cause such a reaction in normally lax Martin Hightower. "So who's it from?" She asked.
"It's my mother's handwriting." He said in a quiet voice. "It's a letter from my parents, I think." He turned and walked back into his small home. "Oh, you can come in if you like." Allison hustled in close behind Marty, and he led her to the cramped dining room. He reached into a drawer and produced a small butter knife, which he used to cut the envelope open with. He emptied the contents of the envelope onto the dining room table with a soft clatter. A key had been sealed in the envelope along with the letter. He inspected the key for a moment, then unfolded the letter and read over it. Allison, not to be forgotten, spoke up.
"What's up Marty?" She asked, noticing his change in expression. In reply Marty read the letter aloud.
"Dearest Marty, I know it's been ages since we last spoke, and I'm terribly sorry. When you left it dealt your father a tremendous blow. He wouldn't let us call or write, no matter how often we asked. Over time he got over it though, but by that time you'd moved again, and we'd lost touch. It took almost five years for me to find you, but I finally did. We need you to come home, as soon as you get this. Your father has taken ill, and the doctors can't figure out what's wrong. They don't expect him to last the winter. Please Marty; come as soon as you get this letter. He said all he wants is to see his boy again before he dies. Love, Mom." Marty sighed and looked up at Allison.
"Al, do you think it'd be possible to get me to a bus station tonight?" He said his eyes down in shame.
"Sure Marty, I'll even hook you up with some money and clothes, if you'd like." She said with a pleasant smile.
Marty chuckled nervously, "I've got clothes, but I guess I could use a little money, if you're sure you don't mind."
"Of course I'm sure, now c'mon and get some clothes together, you can get a shower at my house if you need to. Then we'll get you to the bus station." She stood and waved him on. He went in his tiny bedroom and changed clothes, returning in a slightly better looking flannel shirt and cargo pants. He followed Allison out to her car, and they drove back to her modest house. Marty showered and changed back into his cleaner flannel shirt and cargo pants while Allison cooked a small dinner for the both of them and scrounged up some money. They ate quickly and talked little, and soon they were on the way to the nearest bus station.
Marty bought a ticket for a one-way trip all the way back to his hometown while Allison busied herself packing a small duffel bag for him. When Marty came back with the ticket she handed him the bag and hugged him gently. "You take care of yourself now, ya hear?" She smiled.
"I will, thank you again Al. I'll call you as soon as I get settled and let you know how things are. Drive safe." He said as the bus pulled up. He turned back and waved as the doors began to close, and then Allison was lost to the darkness of the approaching night.
Martin made his way back and sat near the middle of the vastly under-crowded bus. He collapsed into a seat and watched trees go by as the bus sped down the lonely road. Before long he was asleep.
Martin Hightower had begun the long trek home. Silent Hill, the place of his birth, was only a dream, or nightmare, away.