2
They were born in that town; Silent Hill. The town where all begins, and ends. The town where Walter Sullivan committed vile acts of murder. The town where Harry Mason found Cheryl. The town where James Sunderland went missing. Where Henry Townshend died. That town is where they call "home". Home is where the heart is, after all.
"The mist is back," The older twin whispered, his voice quavering a little. His younger brother shivered. They knew what the mist meant. The mist meant those "things" would come back. Last time, the monsters took the grocery store owner and a dog. They could still hear the little dog yelp and screech in fear and pain. It had made them want to take forks to their ears. The younger brother still had nightmares every now and then about it. The way the monster tore the dog apart, intestines and blood spilling onto the street. The grocer had been dragged away, and the boys were thankful for that. The older had vomited after watching the dog die. If they had to witness a human death, he would've suffered more than just utter horror and disgust.
"Why won't they just go away?" The younger whispered back, sounding younger than nine years old. Fear made him sound like a girl sometimes, his voice a few octaves higher than usual. "What are they even doing here? Daddy said that monsters weren't real." He almost sounded like he was whining. The older twin shook his head.
"Stop whining at me, I don't know any more than you do." He never took his eyes off the fog covered street below their brownstone. The younger worked up the courage to peek outside the window alongside his brother. "I wish I were dreaming…" The older breathed, barely audible. That caused the younger to break out in goose bumps.
A distant shriek, coming from the direction of the flower shop. Another person dead. Most people were taking precautions, but some refused to believe that monsters had come to their peaceful resort town. Those people were the first to die. Easiest to get to, easy meal for the things that come with the fog. The younger twin squeaked and ducked out of sight of the street. The older twin gave his brother a sidelong glance, noted how badly he was shaking, then refocused on the street. He could hear banging coming from downstairs. Their father was boarding up the windows. After their mother had died at the hands of the beings outside, their father was taking no chances. Sure, he was a powerful man, but still, no chances.
At the window, on the street, one of them came shuffling into view. It was covered in blood. The older brother felt his guts go cold. He gripped the window sill so hard, his hands hurt. He broke out in a cold sweat. He barely heard his twin whimpering inn fear, curled up on his knees, rocking back and forth. At nine years old, he already knew what pure and utter terror felt like.
"Boys?" Their father's voice drifted up the stairs. "Get away from any windows and stay quiet." His voice was soft, a bad sign. A thumping followed. One of the things was right outside. They reacted to noise.
The younger twin opened his mouth to scream, and the older caught him just in time. He clapped a hand over his mouth and brought the younger close. "Shhh." He coaxed. His brother's muscles had been tensed severely. But as he held him close, he felt the younger gradually relax. The younger boy wrapped his arms around his twin and shook.
"I wish momma was still here…" He said in a small, girlish voice. It was that comment that made the older brother tremble in fear, too.
Nine years passed, some slowly, some incredibly fast. The fast years were the years that the sun was out almost all the time. The slow years was when the fog came in.
The ninth year, the twins were eighteen years old. It was getting to be the end of summer, and the fog would come in until spring. Their father had kept them safe for all these years. Except for the last. The last time, he had been taken, leaving the boys alone, at only seventeen years of age. The boys had mourned heavily, only taking comfort from the belief that their father was finally with their mother again. Now, it was up to them to protect each other, and themselves.
"Vergil." The younger twin's voice caused the older to jump. It was night, and the house had been silent for hours. The older, Vergil, had been reading, and lost track of time. His twin's voice brought him back to the real world, then the sound of wet, squishing footsteps outside brought him to a realization that the fog had come in, even earlier than last year. He jumped up from his chair and the book thudded to the floor. He joined his brother at the window.
The fog was there, thick and swirling. The monsters were everywhere they looked. On the street, in the lawns, inside broken down doorways. They were frightening, even to eyes that had seen them for years. Vergil still got chills every time. Those things, they were sickening. The looked like inside out corpses, their arms seemingly melted to their sides. They uttered horrifying shrieks and spewed a black, viscous liquid that ate away at the flesh and bones. At the age of thirteen, Vergil had witnessed a victim being sprayed with the material.
They had screamed, almost inhumanly, clawing at their face, as if that would make the pain stop. They ran blindly, their face covered in their hands, screaming the whole time. Suddenly, they had stopped. They dropped their hands from their face. It was then that Vergil screamed, and passed out. Their face was almost gone. Gray-white bone peeked out from shredded layers of bloody flesh and muscle. Their eyelids were gone, exposing what was left of their eyes. Their tongue had melted away. They dropped to their knees, surrounded by a circle of the monsters. And that was all that he remembered seeing before his eyes rolled in the back of his skull and he fell back onto the hard wood floor of his bedroom.
"Dante, we should get away from the windows." He placed a hand on his younger brother's shoulder.
"Y-yeah." They both backed away slowly, making sure not to make any sudden movements.
"What time is it?" Vergil asked. Dante looked at the clock on the opposite wall from them.
"Almost three." They'd been awake for quite a while. "We should sleep. It'll be light soon, anyway." He tried to sound confident, but his voice quavered. He never assumed they'd be alive to wake up in the morning. Their father had, and he had died before they even woke up. He never let Vergil know that, though. If he did, it'd be like he'd given up entirely on surviving.
"Yeah." Vergil made his way to his bed. Dante followed. Vergil always faced the wall, but that night, he lay with his back to the wall. "Don't fall asleep before I do…?" He said softly.
"I won't. Promise." Dante said, just as quietly.