After much debate, I'm classifying this as a normal story because it really is more along the lines of OUAT placed in the Silent Hill multiverse with some canon merging rather than a crossover in the strictest sense. No characters, locations, nor any parts of the storyline appear from the game, just broad concepts and imagery. In short, the fic will be entirely comprehensible to non-Silent Hill fans, and those of you that do know the games will at least catch the occasional inside joke and reference.

Promises of Rumbelle and Swan Queen further down the line.

A yellow classic Volkswagen beetle rolls into town and stops for the red light at the intersection of First and Main. A broken clock tower claims eight-fifteen, but in reality it's late afternoon though it seems much later than that. A heavy fog hangs over the town, obscuring any concept of a horizon and dulling what little sun pricks through the gray, overcast sky.

Judging from the washed-out, peeling facades of the various shops lining the streets, Emma gets the feeling that this was once a colorful, quaint little town, until... something. Now the place feels abandoned, from the flaking plaster to the sun-bleached "CLOSED" signs in almost every store display. Most of the windows are boarded up or smashed and the ones that aren't are black behind the glass. It feels like unseen eyes are watching her from every angle, raising the hairs on the back of her neck. There's a palpable darkness she senses rather than sees that saturates her surroundings, covering her, soaking into her skin, indelible.

Immediately Emma wants to turn the car around and gun it until she's back outside town limits. Instead she grips the leather of the wheel until her knuckles turn white, and looks to the computer printed map resting on the dash.

A week ago, Emma received an email from an address she didn't recognize by a person she didn't know. Attached was a copy of a nearly thirty-year-old newspaper article relating the story of how an infant girl was found abandoned on the side of a highway. That didn't interest her terribly—she almost knew the text by heart now—but what did interest her was the message that followed:

"Dear Ms. Swan,

It may interest you to learn that the town nearest this highway is Storybrooke, Maine. If you would like more information on the possible whereabouts of your family, please meet me at the enclosed address at your earliest convenience, preferably between the hours of 3 and 6 pm. I think it will be worth your while.

Signed,

A Friend."

Her bullshit meter had gone off the minute she read the email. After searching her entire life for her past, some mysterious 'friend' shows up promising all the answers—offers like that usually ended with your 'friend' conveniently needing a little money before they could tell you anything and then disappearing the second they got it.

In Emma's experience, anything that seemed too good to be true was.

Still, something about it had stuck with her. Why would someone go through all the trouble of tracking her down just to try and con a little money? And based on what, a thirty-year-old newspaper article that didn't even mention her name? Maybe it was just desperation on her part.

There was nothing else about a Storybrooke, Maine that she could find except for the fact that it apparently existed and really was the closest town to where she'd been found.

In the end, she decided it couldn't hurt to show up. And according to the directions, it should be right around...

Just up ahead, Emma spots the sign glowing ominously red in the fog: "Granny's Diner." It too looks victim to the poor local economy, but she has driven too far to turn around now. She sits at the intersection for another thirty seconds before she realizes the light must be broken because it hasn't changed or even flickered, as though determined to permanently discourage all visitors from venturing any closer. So she shifts her foot back to the gas and sails right on through, and pulls over to park on the street outside the diner.

Only when she switches off the engine and steps out into the fog does she becomes aware of how eerily quiet Storybrooke is, too. No birds, no traffic, no barking dogs, no wind even—just oppressive, blanketing silence. The slamming car door echoes uncomfortably loud on the street and again she feels watched.

Not wanting to be exposed any longer than she must, Emma walks quickly up to the front entry and tries the handle. She half expects it to be locked, but to her surprise the door opens into a small, homey eatery. The interior is drab, but it's brightly lit and actually open for business. Most importantly, she sees people: a dumpy, old woman behind the bar writing in a ledger and a leggy brunette waitress mincing her way across the checkered floor in stiletto heels. Both of them turn to look in Emma's direction when she opens the door.

Simultaneously their eyes widen and the waitress drops her tray of glasses, which shatter hard on the floor in all directions. The three women stare at each other for a beat, and then the old woman is the first to recover.

"Ruby, stop lollygagging!"

Ruby with her bright red highlights and mini skirt looks exactly the sort of girl who would talk back, instead gawks at Emma a second longer, then approaches her nervously.

"Can I help you?" she asks.

Emma tries not to feel like a sideshow freak under their dual stare. "Uh, yeah. I'm supposed to meet someone here."

"Are you Emma Swan?" asks a high, prepubescent voice from seemingly nowhere.

Both Emma and Ruby turn to stare at a short, dark-haired, school-aged kid who suddenly twists around in one of the booth tables with a smile and a wave.

"Yeah, that's me."

"I'm Henry."

Emma stares hard at the boy, shaking her head. Suddenly she's more confused than ever. "I was expecting someone..."

"Taller? I know," Henry cheerfully supplies, then looks to Ruby. "Two hot chocolates please."

"Coming right up." Ruby eyes the both of them with something approaching suspicion, but she goes to place the order all the same.

Emma slides into the seat opposite the boy and looks him over. Dressed in a uniform for the local private school, he can't be any older than ten or eleven, and although terribly pale, a broad, dimpled grin lights his face as though utterly unaware that he resides in one of the most disconcerting places Emma has ever had the misfortune of visiting.

"Alright, kiddo, spill. What's your game? Who are you?"

"I'm your son."

"I don't have a son."

"Ten years ago, did you give a baby up for adoption?"

Emma stares uncomfortably, the room growing unbearably hot. This was not happening to her. This is not the family she wants to meet.

Taking her silence as confirmation, he adds: "That was me."

"Somehow this raises more questions than it answers. What's with all the cloak-and-dagger? And how do you even know about..." She isn't sure how to finish that sentence. How did he know it was her in the article, which mentioned no names? And come to that, how could he possibly know that she was searching for more about her origins?

"I'm not sure you're ready for that."

"Try me."

Turning to the backpack beside him, Henry unzips it and retrieves a large, brown leather book with the words 'Once Upon A Time' embossed in ornate gold on the front. He speaks while he thumbs through the pages. "I needed you to come here because this town is cursed."

"Oh, so that's what the problem is," Emma remarks facetiously.

"Yup. And you're going to fix it."

"Uh huh."

The more Henry speaks, the less sense anything makes. But she couldn't blame the kid. If any town was cursed, it would probably be this one.

Two steaming mugs of hot chocolate are placed between them by Ruby who smiles carefully them both before retreating. There are sticks of cinnamon in both of them, which unnerves Emma further. That's exactly how she likes it, but how could have anyone known? It is just a local thing? She hopes it is. If so, that's intriguing. Or entirely coincidental.

Reaching for her mug, she blows on it before taking a cautious sip. "And how did you know that baby in the article was me? It didn't give names."

Henry pats the book on the table. "It's all in here."

"That's a book of fairy tales."

"That actually happened. An evil curse ripped everyone from the Enchanted Forest and imprisoned them here. You're the only one who can fix it."

"And why is that?"

"Because you're the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming. They sent you through a wardrobe to save you from the curse, so you would one day return to bring back all the happy endings and save them all."

When Emma had been promised additional information on the whereabouts of her parents, this hadn't exactly ranked anywhere on the list of options she had entertained over the years.

"Look, kid—"

"I have a name, you know."

"...Henry, I'm sure you thought you were helping me and I appreciate the effort, but you have to admit this is all a little far-fetched. And if Snow White is actually my mother, wouldn't she have already come looking for me?"

"Nobody remembers who they are, so she can't. But, fine, don't believe the bit about Snow White. But what about the curse? Look around you. Can't you see it?"

"A lot of towns fall apart. It happens."

"Not like this."

"Then why don't people just leave?"

Henry's face crinkles in distress and his voice drops uncomfortably to a murmur. "Because really bad things happen if they try."

"Like what?"

Their conversation is interrupted by Granny.

"Henry, you really should leave now if you're going to get home before dark." There's a tense urgency about this observation that strikes Emma as extremely odd.

"Thanks, Granny." He turns on Emma. "Maybe you could drive me?"

"Kid..."

"Please? It's kind of a long walk."

"You really should drive him," Granny suggests from behind the counter. "You'd be doing his mother a huge favor." And from the sounds of it, Granny, too. Both Granny and Ruby stare expectantly at her as though refusing him a ride is tantamount to throwing him to the wolves.

This is why Emma hates small towns. Everyone cares far too much about everybody else.

"And it looks like I'm driving you," Emma says wearily, setting a few dollars on the table, then fishing for her keys while exiting the diner with her newfound progeny.

Henry directs her to a drab, three-story tenement building that looks just as uninhabited as the rest of the town. Emma parks on the curb and looks it over, feeling like a bucket of cold water has been thrown over her. This is exactly the sort of place she lived at when she got out of jail and exactly the sort of place she never wanted her son to be raised in. More than ever, Emma wishes she'd never come, never seen, never known.

"Home sweet home," Henry says with a smile and hops out of the car, insensible to her dismay.

Inside is not much better. The wallpaper is yellowed and horribly dated, so stained in some places that the spots cannot be removed without taking away parts of the wall with it. It smells dank and airless and the grimy windows are padlocked shut, preventing any ventilation. Elevator broken, they take the squeaking stairs up the next floor and trek down to number 208.

Emma is surprised that a boy his age has a house key. He lets them in without a word. The apartment is small. That's about all she has time to register before a dark-haired woman leaps from the couch towards them.

"Henry, where have you been?" she demands furiously, grabbing the boy by his shoulders, but the anger quickly dissolves to tears and near-hysteria. "Your grandfather and I have been worried sick! When you didn't come home after school... Anything could have happened to you! Of all the reckless things to do! We thought you were dead!"

Dead seems overly dramatic to Emma, but she keeps that to herself. It's then that she notices the balding older gentleman lurking uncomfortably in the kitchen. He's drying his hands on a towel, with a distantly worried expression as he watches the three of them.

Henry allows himself to be pulled into a tight, clinging hug.

"I was getting help, Mom."

"Help?" the woman echoes and pulls away. For the first time, Henry's mother looks in Emma's direction and registers the presence of another person standing in her doorway. She carefully wipes her face while she stands up, summoning composure and dignity. Her mascara-smeared eyes burn with suspicion, some of the only warmth Emma's seen since coming to town. "I'm sorry, who are you?"

Emma doesn't know where to begin in a situation like this, "I'm..."

"She's my birth mother," Henry says with all the tact befitting his age. "I told you about her, Mom, remember?"

"Henry..." The amount of emotional pain concentrated in those two syllables has Emma already backing towards the door. "Henry, this has to stop."

"No, it can't! You have to trust me on this, Mom. This is important."

"I'm not trusting a ten-year-old boy with a Messiah Complex."

It's Henry's turn to look pained. "That's not my job..."

"Henry, please, go to your room. We'll talk about this in a minute."

"But, Mom, listen!"

"Henry, I won't ask you again!"

The grandfather finally moves from the kitchen to stand beside his daughter, looking towards Henry with that same worried expression in which his face seems permanently fixed.

"I think you should do as your mother says, Junior," he says

The boy's face falls. With one last look at Emma, he turns and trudges obediently into the next room over, closing the door behind him.

"All the way, Henry," the woman calls over her shoulder.

The door reluctantly clicks shut.

She continues. "I want to apologize for my son's behavior, Miss...?"

"Swan. Emma Swan." The emphasis on 'my son' doesn't elude Emma and she doesn't want to go anywhere near that.

"I really don't know what's gotten into him," the old man says in a low, soft voice. "This is the first time he's ever done anything like this. I hope he hasn't inconvenienced you?"

"No, not at all. Kids will be kids," Emma replies, as if she actually knows anything about children.

"At least stay for dinner," he continues in his low, soothing voice. "It's the least we can do for seeing Henry home..."

The woman looks as if she might protest, but at the last second manages a cold, reluctant smile.

"It's really not a big deal," Emma insists, feeling flushed and cornered. "I just drove him from the diner is all. He could have walked that easily."

"I'll be the one to decide what is and what isn't a big deal," the dark-haired woman says with a little more force than Emma feels necessary. "Stay for dinner, Miss Swan. Like my father says, it's the least we can do."

Emma's instincts tell her to run far and fast, but her stomach begs another alternative. A little hot chocolate is not adequate substitute for food and aside from a cheeseburger she grabbed on the drive down she had been too wound up by Henry's email to remember to eat today. Hell, she can't even remember the last time she had a proper home-cooked meal that she didn't try to make herself. Her traitorous mouth begins to water at the thought.

"I guess I could stay for a bit," she concedes, shoving her hands in her pockets and looking between the two with an awkward smile.

Regina Mills lives with her son and her father, Henry Senior, in a two bedroom apartment that's just barely too small for the three of them. Much like their dreary building, Regina's decorating has the air of faded glory, like a woman of reduced circumstances making the best with what they once had. The once-fashionable, scuffed furniture stands on stained carpet while shabby drapes completely cover the windows. It makes Emma extremely uncomfortable to be sitting at their dinner table sharing the light meal her begrudging host insisted on making. She shouldn't be eating their food when it's clear how strained their finances are right now. And that's an assumption Emma feels even worse for making.

"So, Storybrooke, eh?" she asks to break the silence. It's just the adults now; Henry had been sent to bed. "What's the story here? It seems pretty empty."

Regina sits back with a mug of cider, frowning. "It used to be an old mining town. But it's always been like this, as long as I can remember."

"There aren't as many here as there once were," Henry Senior says reflectively. He's doing dishes in the kitchen. "But not so few as you imagine."

"Lots of people moving away, then?"

"You might say that," Regina diplomatically replies, her expression stoic and her eyes dark. "But no one really does. Strange things happen to people who leave Storybrooke."

"Strange like what?"

An awkward, hesitant pause follows while father and daughter exchange unreadable looks.

"Cars are found abandoned on the side of the road," Regina says with a shrug. "People who say they'll call when they get to their destination never do. They... disappear. A lot of people just seem to disappear."

Something about that chills Emma. Not the confirmation that people seem inexplicably trapped in this town, but that a grain of truth appeared to exist in Henry's wild conspiracy theories.

"What do the police say? Don't you have a city council or someone to complain to?"

"Our sheriff does the best he can, but he's only one man. And... the closest thing we have to a mayor is Mr Gold. He owns the town." Regina sips at her drink. "But he's difficult to get a hold of. Nobody sees him much these days, not in person anyway."

"And even then, he's a little..." Henry begins, choosing his words carefully. He hesitates too long. Regina whirls around to shoot her father a sharp look.

"He's not crazy," she snaps. "Times have been hard on him, too, but he's been good to us. Especially you."

"I was going to say out of touch," the old man continues, not meeting Regina's blazing eyes, looking to Emma instead. "You only go to Mr Gold when you've exhausted all other options. If he can't solve your problem..." Henry gives a fatalistic shrug. "Still, it's not so many people in the long run. Happiness is where you make it and we're happy here."

Regina's smile is wan and false. "We've been more fortunate than many."

Suddenly Emma is beginning to see why Henry Junior so desperately wanted to believe in the existence of a curse, of fairy tales; that the world can't be as scary as all this, so uncertain, so hopeless. While there is definitely more darkness here than Emma is comfortable with, she wonders who will have to break it to him that, yes, the world is actually a very scary, uncertain, and hopeless place

With conversation winding down, Emma feels the urge to move on returning. Henry Senior has already worked through most of the dishes and there are few reasons for her to stay. It's getting late and the drive to Boston would be a long and dangerous one if she got tired. She doubts Storybrooke has a 7-11 she can get caffeine from.

"Thanks for the dinner, guys. And you're right, the cider was amazing... But I should really get going," Emma says suddenly, slowly getting to her feet. "It was nice meeting the both of you."

She's a little surprised to realize that she means it. They're not perfect, but they seem to love each other. And they love Henry. Regina's frantic worry was proof enough of that. Whatever problems Henry and this town might have, at least he had a family that cared about him. It was more than she'd had.

The old man peers at her, seeming puzzled. "Where are you going to go?"

"Home?" Emma freezes, looking between the two of them, that freak show feeling returning. "Boston's only a few hours away."

"You'll never make it beyond town limits before dark," he explains patiently as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You'll have to sleep on the couch."

Both Emma and the daughter seem to have the same reaction.

"Daddy!" the woman hisses quietly, staring pointedly at him.

He returns the look. "Regina, she can't go."

"No, seriously, it's fine." Emma backs uncomfortably towards the door. "You don't understand. I've lived in some really sketchy places before. I can handle myself."

Henry tries again. "It's a long drive and we wouldn't want anything happening. It's really no trouble."

That's another thing Emma hates about small towns. Hospitality under pain of death.

"Look, I really don't want to be rude, but you guys have already done enough for me. More than I deserve." That sounds pretty good, she thinks. Casually she continues shuffling to the door. Almost there and then she'd be free.

Lines appear on Henry's face as that expression of worry and concern returns. He looks to Regina for help, but his daughter is too busy staring down into her mug.

"If she says she'll be alright, Daddy, she'll be alright. I'm sure she has a busy schedule," she says quietly, firmly. Regina looks to Emma with the most sincere smile she's shown all evening. "Have a safe drive back, Miss Swan."

And may we never meet again seems to be the unspoken implication, one Emma is totally okay with. Henry doesn't look convinced, and the worry lines on his brow grow deeper. The look he gives her is uncomfortably paternal.

"If you change your mind..."

"Thanks, but I'll be fine. Honest." She can't meet his eyes, looking to his shoulder instead. "You guys have a good night." Before anyone can stop her, she grabs the door handle and lets herself out as quickly as was polite.

The whole walk down to her car she tries to tell herself it's fine that she never said goodbye to Henry.

Dark trees flicker past a little faster as Emma leans on the gas. It feels good to be leaving. The sooner she gets out of here, the sooner she can forget. Even though it wasn't something she thought about everyday, somewhere deep inside it's satisfying to know what happened to her baby, to know where he finally ended up. To know that she's done the right thing.

Even with the whole fairy tale obsession, he's still better adjusted than she was at that age, plus his family intensely cares for him. He's not a meal ticket to them; he's their child. The whole curse thing is a phase, he'll grow out of it. He'll be fine.

At the same time though it feels worse, because now she has his face and name and of his family, too. Now she'll be able to exactly imagine him doing Cub Scouts, doing high school, wondering what his first job is, his first girlfriend, what his grades are like. And the temptation will always be there to keep tabs on them. She knows where they live now. She could find them again if she wanted.

She reaches for the car radio, hoping for something to distract herself. At first the local stations pick up nothing but static, but with a bit of fiddling she finds one that's playing music. It's a woman's voice, slow and sad—Emma doesn't know the song.

Knowledge is a burden. This is why she wanted a closed adoption. After tonight, she will never be the same again and part of her wishes she could return to her ignorance. She needs to forget Henry. He found his family, now it's time for her to find hers.

Emma looks up and suddenly there's something in the road—a young woman with auburn hair loose around her shoulders and a faded blue dress. Emma slams on the breaks swearing, trying to swerve out of the way. Her Volkswagen screeches in protest. A waxy face with gaping black sockets shining in the headlights are all she remembers before her car collides with the sign on the side of the road.