I.

Daddy!

Harry Mason couldn't immediately discern where his daughter's cry had come from, but he could feel panic and fear boiling in his stomach.

Daddy—where are you?

An infinite darkness surrounded Harry, and Heather's voice seemed to come from everywhere at once. His paternal instincts took over and Harry attempted to move in a direction, any direction to get closer to Heather. But Harry found that he was floating in a sea of black, and though he shifted and writhed around, he couldn't find a solid anything to push off of.

Harry opened his mouth to call out, but his voice came out as nothing more than a muted, strained breath. He flailed desperately, wanting to move towards Heather, but he was stuck in the middle of nowhere. And Heather was out there somewhere.

Daddy, we can't run away…they found me…they want me back...

Heather's voice became more ethereal and distant, but the words hit Harry hard. All this time, Harry thought everything was fine—that the horror they barely lived through in Silent Hill had been vanquished for good. But now, all those memories that Harry had pushed away flooded back to him, and he clutched his head in denial.

With a start, Harry's eyes shot open, and it took a few more moments for the intensity of the dream to fade. He exhaled loudly, thankful it was just a nightmare. Instead of floating in darkness, he was sitting in his favorite recliner in his apartment. Heather wasn't lost—she had simply gone to the mall for the day. There was nothing dangerous about that, unless he considered his teenaged daughter having his credit card at the mall a precarious circumstance.

Harry smiled at the thought of that, the icy remnants of the dream quickly melting away. The sharp ring of the phone set Harry's senses back on full alert, instantly thinking of the strange siren noise back then. Calm down, old man, Harry told himself though his heart was still beating a bit fast.

He grabbed the receiver on the third ring. "Hello?"

"Dad? It's me."

Already feeling more at ease, Harry replied, "Heather, I was just thinking about you. I was starting to get worried."

"Yeah. Sorry I didn't call sooner."

"You seemed a bit distracted this morning before you left," Harry probed. Usually energetic and lively, Heather was brooding and quiet through breakfast. Noticing her disposition, Harry suggested that she get some fresh air and check out the mall. She reluctantly agreed, and headed out soon thereafter. Harry presumed her moody behavior was just Heather having an off day, but after his dream, he wondered if her demeanor and the dream were somehow connected.

"Yeah, I guess I was," she absently replied. Her tone lightening, she added, "Anyway, I'm coming home now. Oh, I didn't get that thing you asked me to."

Harry smiled to himself. Knowing Heather, she had probably totally forgotten what he had asked her to get, which would explain her ambiguity. "We'll just run out there tomorrow and pick it up," Harry responded, keeping the same ambiguity going.

"Okay."

"Be careful on the way home and avoid talking to strangers."

"Okay, I will," Heather chuckled slightly. It was just like her dad to worry about her as if she were seven years old again. She wondered if he would continue to give her the same advice even when she was living on her own with her own family. The mental picture amused Heather, and she found that she actually felt better after talking to Harry.

"Heather, I love you." It even surprised Harry that he said it so emotionally, as if he wouldn't get another change to say so.

"I love you too, Dad," she sincerely replied. Then she hung up.

Harry stayed on the phone for only a few more moments, holding on to the silence on the other end then set the receiver down. He took a deep breath and stood, stretching his legs then crossed the room to the set of French doors leading to the small balcony. Looking out, Henry frowned at the afternoon sky, which was unusually gray and bland, filled with wispy, dark clouds. What a dreary day, Harry thought, hoping that tomorrow would be a brighter day.

Harry shook his head and turned from the window. He was letting his imagination get to him again. There was nothing to be afraid of—nothing to worry about. He had stopped the god from being born in Silent Hill and taken Heather with him. There was no way anything could happen again.

He crossed the room to the kitchen, grabbed a glass from the cabinet, and pulled out a plastic pitcher of water. As he began to pour, a stench, lying somewhere between rancid milk and rotten eggs, hit his nose. Harry almost gagged as he realized the odor was coming from the thick, crimson liquid oozing out of the pitcher into his glass.

Harry dropped the glass and the pitcher, the blood completely drained from his face. He blinked hard, and looked back down at the mess on the floor and was surprised to see nothing but the broken glass, felled pitcher, and a copious amount of water at his feet. No disgusting crimson liquid anywhere in sight.

"What's wrong with me? Pull it together," Harry scolded himself as he grabbed a handful of paper towels and began to wipe up the mess, taking special precaution with the sharp shards of glass. Setting the pile of wet paper towels on the counter, Harry picked up the remaining, smaller pieces of glass, then threw them in the trash. Then he reached for the paper towels but stopped short.

Harry suddenly found it difficult to breathe, as if the air had become thick and solid. As he struggled to take in a full breath, the pile of wet paper towels began to pulsate like a heart, connected to some unseen biological entity. The crimson hue seeped through the paper towels as they began to beat faster and faster. Tributaries of blood began to creep outward, and the same odor from earlier filled the air.

"No—" Harry managed to croak out as he took an unsteady retreating step. All of his strength had completed vanished, leaving his limbs heavy and unresponsive. Cold sweat trickled down the side of his face as he watched the veins continue to spread down the cabinets and across the kitchen floor.

They found me—

The words of the dream came back to Harry instantly, and his stomach dropped at the thought of the horrors of Silent Hill inexplicably returning. He mustered enough strength to stumble from the kitchen, avoiding the continuing invasion of the twisted world in his kitchen. Falling against the chair, Harry began to regain some semblance of strength, though his legs still felt like they would give way at any moment.

"I've got to get out of here! I've got to get to Heather!" Harry frantically thought. Pushing off the couch with nothing else on his mind except his daughter, Harry staggered across the room to the front door, as things continued to worsen within the apartment. Without looking back, he threw open his front door, only to face a slight, pale woman flanked by something that had stepped right out of the streets of Silent Hill.

Startled, Harry stepped back, lost his footing, and hit the floor hard. He scrambled to get back to his feet and managed to put a few more feet between him and his unwelcome visitors. "Who the hell are you?" he spat.

"Harry Mason," the woman whispered knowingly. "My identity is of no consequence to you as your presence matters not. Alessa's heart must be filled with hatred, and then she must remember her true self. Yes, that is what must happen. Then, and only then can she ascend to birth our god."

Harry's brows turned down in anger. "You goddamned cult fanatics. We want no part of your sick plans for your god or whatever in the hell it is. Just leave us alone!"

"Leave you alone? But you have stolen Alessa's birthright and tainted her true destiny. It is my job to set the wrongdoings right and pave the way for paradise to be reborn. This worldly existence will be cleansed of all chaos and misery, remade in our lord's image. And you are the key to completing my task."

"That's not what Heather wants. She just wants to live a normal life. Why can't you people see that?!?"

"Oh! It's all clear now. You took her away in an effort to control god yourself," Claudia chuckled at this. "But our lord cannot be controlled by mortal hands. I, Claudia Wolf, have been appointed as one of god's chosen to bear witness to his rebirth. But you, Harry Mason, you are not one of his chosen—you're merely an instrument to secure his return."

Claudia's going to kill me. Harry came to the stone cold realization as he eyed the creature still lurking behind her.

Harry hoped that he could reason with her. "Your god isn't going to bring back paradise. You're being used, Claudia. Open your eyes—"

"You're just like the others. You have been blinded by this world," Claudia replied as she grabbed at the sides of her head, clenching her eyes closed. "But you will not lead me astray with your hollow words."

Despite her regal posture and precise speech, Harry figured that she was unstable, like so many other of the followers of Silent Hill's cult. There was no way he could reason with her, and though he didn't really want to harm the woman, she wasn't giving him much choice. Especially if she was going to stand between him and his daughter.

"I'm warning you and your pet to get out of my way."

"My god protects me. Tell me, what deity protects you?"

Harry stepped back, wishing that he had some type of weapon. But his gun was in his nightstand drawer, too far for him to get to at this point. His knife was also in his bedroom, hidden underneath some clothes. Even Heather's taser gun, which he insisted she carry though she usually didn't, was somewhere in her room. With the most effective

Harry scanned the room, hoping to spot something—anything—that he could use as a melee weapon. But nothing in the living room could even remotely function as a weapon. And as the hulking creature behind Claudia moved around her and towards Harry, he knew that he was in mortal danger.

Despite all the horrors he faced in Silent Hill, he never felt as vulnerable and weak as he did now. Harry couldn't seem to move fast enough, wasn't strong enough, and didn't dodge at the right time. And Harry felt the result of his misstep as a sharp pain ravaged his chest, courtesy of his attacker.

"My Missionary has completed his task," Claudia's voice seemed much farther away now as Harry fell backwards onto his recliner.

Not like this, Harry regretfully thought. Harry could feel his life slipping away as his breathing became more laborious and his body temperature dropped sharply. Weakened from the loss of blood, Harry collapsed onto the floor, unable to move. He kept his eyes on Claudia, who simply looked down on him with an expression of triumph.

"Be at ease, knowing the world will be set right through your death, Harry Mason. Alessa will return, and she will find your dead body. Her hatred will boil, feeding our lord resting inside of her. Then, she will make her ascension as the mother of god."

Harry's mind wandered to Heather—how she would feel finding his body in their apartment, what horrors Claudia was putting her through at this very moment, what Heather would have to face without him. He had avoided telling her the complete story about her birth, which Harry thought was for the best. But it had come back to consume them. And Heather would find out the truth. But what would she think of him then? Would she hate him?

As Harry's breaths became more shallow, he hoped that Heather was strong enough to not succumb to Claudia's scheme. And that she would find allies that would help her defeat the darkness of Silent Hill and its followers. Sadly, she would have to do it without him.

Taking his last breath, Harry's eyes dilated and everything disappeared in a harsh white flash.

Notes:

Silent Hill belongs to Konami.