Dark Knight_UK Presents….
SILENT HILL
THE MIRROR IN THE BASEMENT
A Fan Fiction
June 21, 1997There was one candle. And the mirror. And the pad. And Mike. There had to be illumination, obviously, but no more than one solitary candle. It helped his mind get started, created deep shadows in corners and brickwork where terrible things could breed and writhe. The shadows were important. That was why there must only ever be one candle.
Mike Donnelly was a horror novelist. Not one of the greats, by his own admission. Dialogue was certainly not his strong point and his protagonists were often bland and two dimensional. He remembered the words of one critic in particular;
"Donnely's characters expound trite exposition through dialogue that comes right out of a bad forties serial. His heroes are tiresome and his heroines invariably serve as cheap titillation as if to placate us with a steady stream of sex and violence until we forget how tedious the writing is."
Mike didn't mind such negative criticism. He even welcomed them to a certain extent. Where his true strength lay, what got people turning pages and paying his mortgage, was his twisted imagination and understanding of the darker side of human psychology. Like all the greats from Barker to Wheatley he embraced the guilty perversions of the human mind, twisted them and shrouded them in nightmare to create images and creatures that repulsed, certainly, but also resonated deep within the psyche. When he was on form he could hit a raw nerve and tap into the shared human consciousness, playing on the universal fears and needs that all people have. That was why he had moved to Silent Hill. He found its history fascinating. The charming, even quaint, colonial streets belied the appealing resort town's violent and bizarre history. Like the sweet little girl hiding a bloodied butcher's knife behind her back.
It was perfect.
The house way okay. Basic. It provided everything he needed. The basement was the real selling point for him. Its mouldy exposed brickwork, the blackened damp timbers, the relentless cobwebs. The mirror was an unexpected bonus. Unaccountably attached to the rear wall he had been unable to remove it so set to work restoring it as best he could. Despite some sizeable patches of corrosion and rust he had got it looking pretty good. He now had an inner sanctum, an office, a home within a home where he could be alone with his thoughts. He had written his best stuff here. The drugs helped of course, but not nearly as much as the almost tangible atmosphere in the basement.
It was there that he sat, alone except for his reflection in the mirror. Right about now the peyote he had eaten was starting to kick in. His weapon of choice was usually PCP but there was something raw about the hallucinations he experienced with the root that Mike felt was necessary for today's brainstorm.
As the candle light danced its flickering fangango he drew himself close to the mirror, pad clenched in his hand and stared deep into his own eyes. Shadows rippled and pulses in the brick, mortar and timbers. There was a faint buzzing in his ears. This was a different high to the others but he was sure it would give him something to work with.
"Talk to me, baby." He looked around and appealed to the basement, "Talk to me."
The buzzing became louder. The pulsing shadows became more brazen, spreading around the room like the oil in a lava lamp. He picked up his pen and began to write, his gaze transfixed on his reflection in the mirror. His hand worked independently of his mind, cataloguing a stream of consciousness;
I'mlookingforalittlegirlInmyrestlessdreamsIknewyouwouldcomeItwasforetoldbyGyromancyTHEDEMONAWAKENS, ' 'tyouMaria?ItisthemarkofSamael. Don'tletitbe . the DEVIL MADE ME DO ?
The room began to sway. The buzzing intensified. He could actually feel it reverberate thickly in his eardrum. In the periphery of his vision the air seemed to become thick and grainy like bad reception on a TV. He wrote for a full ten minutes, never taking his eyes from the mirror, throwing sheets of paper to the ground when his pen scratched bare concrete.
He stopped. His hands were shaking now. He was having a bad one.
He gathered up the papers, ready to cast an eye over what he had written. Glancing up he noticed with mild alarm that his reflection in the mirror hadn't moved at all. It stared at him, motionless, the pad limply held in its hand.
Trying to concentrate through the narcotic induced haze his eyes darted around the room. Everything seemed normal. The pulsing in the shadows was beginning to recede, the buzzing was gone.
His eyes returned to the mirror.
His reflection sat stupefied, unmoving. All around it the mirror image of the basement became ghosted and snowy, the shadows melted and swayed. As Mike sat petrified he saw the mirror image of his basement melt completely into a psychedelic rave of uterine reds, earthy browns and rusty oranges. A crimson fluid began to leak down the face of his mirror image, just below the hairline. Terrified, Mike put his hand to his head. It came away dry.
It's just a bad trip, ride it out. It can't hurt you!
The buzzing returned. Louder and more intense, like a swarm of giant angry bees forcing themselves into his ears, his eyes, his very mind. A low, lilting sound like a moan resonated around the basement though Mike was certain it came from his body. He watched in horror as his mirror image began to transform before his very eyes. Its skin became blackened and flaking like rotted wood. Crimson fluid turned to black and pulsed around his body like a living thing, eating away at his flesh. Panic stricken mike struggled to his feet and bolted for the small flight of stairs that led out of the basement.
His sweaty, shaking hands fumbled at the door handle. To his horror, he felt it rattle hollowly in the door, rattling as though it had never been attached to a lock. In desperation he threw his weight against the door. It held fast.
Beneath his feet he felt the basement vibrate, dust and plaster rained from the ceiling. A tiny localised earthquake. Mike lost his footing on the steps and found himself tumbling back down to face his deformed doppelganger in the mirror.
It seemed to grin at him.
That was when he heard the siren.