Disclaimer : Konami owns Silent Hill. Which means I don't. Drat.
It was November when Amy died, a rainy foggy day in Silent Hill.
It was November when Ernest found her body shattered on the pavement. He stood there for a while and he took in everything – the blood pouring from her cracked head the torn fingers clutching the blue envelope the double-jointed limbs all over the place the smashed up face everything everything everything and he sat on the steps and he took a deep breath and he waited and waited and waited.
Sarah came out eventually and she saw Amy there dead dead dead and she screamed and screamed and screamed until the Earth stopped, and she cried and cried and cried until Ernest's head hurt.
Ernest did not cry.
He did not cry when sweet little Amy was buried deep into the garden. He did not cry when he read the sweet little epitaph. It started with: along with you died joy. It ended with: I will have to swallow all the pain; and everything was true, and everything hurt.
He carved a plate, carved onto immortal acacia Amy Baldwin, and She was loved too much by God, and Seven years was not enough time, and he put the plate onto the pavement where she died and he knelt and cursed all the Gods and Devils of Silent Hill because he did not know how to pray anymore, and that was November again.
It was November when he saw Sarah for the last time, and she told him that she was sorry and that she remembered when she loved him and I cannot do this anymore Ernest, and I miss Amy Ernest, and it hurts Ernest and I'm scared scared of you because how can you be so cold Ernest how can you live like this live here and Not. Feel. Anything.
Oh Sarah don't you understand it's not that I'm cold, my heart is dead, dead and buried it died back in November, fell down the attic's window...
Ernest did not cry when Sarah left.
He locked himself in the library. He barred the attic and he condemned the chimney and he forgot the garden, but he locked all the ways to Amy's room with acacia.
It was November when Ernest realized that it would always be November for him.
He shunned the world of rainy foggy Silent Hill, shunned its people and when they called him crazy he did not care and when they called him a freak a ghost a demon, and when they whispered dark tales of obsession madness death and when they painted a big red KEEP OUT FROM THE HAUNTED MANSION on his walls he did not care.
He read bibles. He read prayers long forgotten. He read ancient, forbidden lore, on rituals and evils and rebirth. He read the Crimson Tome, and then he read the Lost Memories, and only then did he understand what it was he had been looking for.
It was November when Ernest left the mansion. It was the first time in a long time and he felt weak and frail and scared and he went home and locked every door and hid into the library again.
It was November when Ernest left the mansion. He did not want to but he could not wait could barely wait until the night came because what if somebody found the goblet before him what then what would he do?
Ernest walked through bloody rusty Silent Hill and the bloody rusty weather distorted the people, made them look like monsters, bloody rusty monsters with too many legs and not enough arms but it was okay because Ernest did not look at them, not once.
He walked all the way to the Historical Society, and every door was locked but Ernest knew all about locks and he picked every one of them until he reached his reward, and the display case shattered like a little girl's body and the shards jumped on Ernest's hand, tried to shred it into tiny tiny pieces and for the first time in a long time it hurt, and it hurt so much that Ernest cried and cried and cried until the world stopped.
He put the night vessel into the library, with the words of blood and the lost memories. He locked himself in and he searched for the drops of mist, searched all around rainy foggy Silent Hill but he never found them.
It was November when Ernest died.
He did not leave the mansion. Did not join sweet little Amy in summer fields.
But he knew that already. No prayer, no God nor Devil would ever bring him rest.
He did not care. Did not care that his own home had made him a prisoner. Did not care about all the chains and locks and bolts he had not put across the door.
And what if he could not leave? Rainy foggy Silent Hill was bloody rusty Silent Hill again and the people were monsters again and Amy was still dead so why would he want to leave?
He locked himself into the library.
He read, and he searched for the drops of mist.
When he found them he lost his mind.
Now. Now that he could not leave the mansion, his final reward, his last salvation, barely out of reach and Amy oh Amy out of reach forever and ever never see her smile again see her eyes see her face see her see her see her close so close and there was nothing he could do and he wrecked the mansion up, wrecked the attic and the garden and the rooms, wrecked the walls and now it was a proper haunted mansion was it not now he was a proper demon was he not and he howled and howled and howled until the monsters of bloody rusty Silent Hill came in, but the people of rainy foggy Silent Hill kept out, forever and ever.
Ernest locked himself into the library.
He waited.
He did not read. He did nothing.
He waited again, waited an eternity of Novembers.
It was November when Maria came.
Ernest had been waiting for her ever since that day when Amy fell.
At first he shut her out. He was done playing God with Devils. But she knocked knocked knocked on the door, and it was noisy, and it was bothering him, and he told her so. And she said, thank God, I finally found somebody, and he thought of monsters with too many legs and not enough arms and lied to her because it was easier than the truth.
He drove her away again and again and she brought him a birthday card to thank him, and he told her about Amy and she said she was sorry she reminded him and he said he never forgot and that was true was it not?
He could not tell anymore.
He sent Maria out, sent a miracle to fetch a miracle.
He knelt on the floor and prayed and begged and implored and hoped it was not too late.
(The end.)