Well, what do you know!? I've decided to write more Silent Hill Fanfiction! This is with the same format as The Red Angel, but differs greatly. This is a semi-sequel to Silent Hill 4, using the Descent of the Holy Mother but with different sacrificial names.. Who is behind the sacraments? Can't say at the moment. This is also first-person, and is a novella, meaning it's less than 40,000 words long. If it's more, classify it as a novel. The main character is trapped in a two-story house in Ashfield; this chapter is short, with the discovery of the hole. As normal with my first few chapters, they'll be short, but should get longer and with more content as I establish a flow. With these things aside, I present:
Silent Hill: The Holy Mother
(This is a novella. It is told through the perspective of David Willand.)
Chapter 1: Confinement
'Holy s—.'
These words escaped my mouth as I approached my front door. There, upon my door, were chains. Thick, sturdy chains sealing off the front door. The worst part: they were inside the house.
I stepped back. I drew a sharp breath and paced around. I had nothing in my house to break the chains, save shooting them with my rifle in my basement – but my basement, too, was sealed up. Not by chains though, oh no: it was just locked.
This was the first day of my sentence. I spent all day pondering ways to break the chains or escape my two-story house. I tried to break a window: nothing. I began to chisel away at the chains, and then the wall, and then the windows: it never did a thing. I clicked my tongue and went to the bathroom. After relieving myself, I went to the laundry room. I put on some jeans and a better shirt, and began to do some daily activities.
My television didn't work.
My phone didn't function.
My radio wouldn't turn on.
I sighed and threw myself upon the couch. Opening a bottle of my good friend Jack Daniels, I drowned myself in alcohol until I fell fast asleep.
I woke up and continued in the same fashion for a while. But then I began to grow restless. I sang random snatches of songs to amuse myself. I drew pictures, wrote in a journal of my experiences, and acted out random scenes from video games and movies.
I was passed out on the couch, on the third day, when I heard the crash. I shot up lightning fast, too fast – I fell of the couch and hit my head on the coffee table. Cursing I stood, and tried to find the source of the sound. It was in my hallway closet, a gaping hole in the ground. I took a pocket flashlight and aimed it down. There was a small path of concrete, but leading which I way I could not tell. I, reluctantly, climbed down unarmed – for I could find naught to use as a weapon.
Crouched because of the low ceiling, I walked the narrow path until my back hurt; I then switched to my hands and knees. For about thirty seconds I crawled, until I came to a small doorway. The ceiling rose, and I stood and stretched my back out. I noticed I was in a strange shrine, with a pedestal in the centre.
I came up to the pedestal and found a small note in it: The Door to Assumption, and the Key to Truth. I shined my flashlight on the wall: there was a door there, though it blended in with the wall. I approached and turned the knob: locked. Sighing and feeling disappointed, I raced back to the house.
There was a knock on the door – I checked the side windows: it was Emily Callel, one of my friends whom I had feelings for. Brown hair, green eyes, tall, thin, and beautiful; I bashed the window to get her to see.
Nothing.
She didn't even hear me. She just sighed and came up to my window. She peered through the glass, and her eyes met mine – and passed through.
'Goddamn it!' I screamed. 'I'm right here!' Punching the windows furiously, I screamed her name and 'I'm here!' She sighed and walked away.
'She can't see me – or hear me?' I asked stupidly to myself, not wanting to believe I was this screwed.
I heard a crash again, and wondered if it was another hole. If so, where would it lead? Not caring too much, I walked casually to the closet; nothing aside from the first hole. I went to the laundry room – and there, clear as day in the wall, was a wide and perfectly circular hole. The planks in the wall had split; but one hung low, a long one. I tore it out, and it came out with three nails bent at the end.
I inserted the plank and tapped the walls: stone. Terrified, I stepped back and hunched, looking in. There was a white light at the end, far away.
This may lead out, I thought. But aren't you going to question the appearance of a hole here? Stone walls, and leading outrageously far through mid-air; this hole can't exist.
Who cares?
That settled the argument. I gripped the plank in my right hand and climbed in. I crawled towards the light, every minute seeming an hour. At last I reached the light, and put my hand onto it. It was air. I crawled forward, but lost balance and fell head-first into the hole.
I lost consciousness.