Silent Hill: My Restless Dreams
NB: Yes I know what you're thinking, another SH2 novelisation, how original, but bare with me, I've tried to make this a novel in every sense of the word rather than just a script of the last time I played the game, hence the various changes (layouts, times, new POV's etc), anyways, enough of my babbling, enjoy, and remember all reviews are helpful
NNB: This is the reloaded edition, in other words, since I sucked at writing when I began this some two years ago, I've decided to rewrite everything I've done so far and try again. My new plot ideas etc will remain the same, but expect better character examination, descriptions of environments etc and above all, proper grammar and more accurate spelling
Chapter 1: In that Town…
In my restless dreams I see that town, silent hill. You promised you'd take me again some day… but you never did. Well I'm alone here now. In our 'special place'… Waiting for you.
I got this letter three days ago, the name said Mary, but that's not possible, my wife's been dead three years. The dead don't talk to the living, do they? Then why am I here, staring at my own mournful reflection. It would be madness to continue, but sanity is a commodity I have precious little use for these days.
James Sunderland, a man in his early thirties, a man whose life ended three years ago, stood staring into the mirror above the public bathroom's basin, hands griping it's porcelain edges for support. The image thrown back by the mirror was of a man with short auburn and blond hair and haggard features; a man burnt out by life and left for dead.
Is this really me? he thought running his fingers over his worn features.
Turning from the mirror James walked out of the run down bathroom with its peeling paint, rusty pipes and dirt encrusted floor and into the biting cold of the September air. Up ahead the road next to the bathroom ran into a tunnel, the only road into the sleepy resort town, known as Silent Hill.
The only road, and it was blocked.
Even in the mounting fog James could see the crudely constructed barrier that cut off the town from the rest of the world.
Why would the town's people cut themselves off in this way? What secrets could they wish to hide in such a tranquil place? Luckily James knew of a different way into town, there was a path that led from here, past Toluca Lake to the north and into town.
He and Mary had travelled this path when they had visited the town all those years ago to stand and stare out at the lake from the observation balcony by the tunnel. Past the trees to his right James could see the lake, the source of the mist that swamped the area this late in the year, he and Mary had spent many pleasant evenings by that lake…
"Mary", he said out loud, his whispered tones thundering in the stillness, "Could you really be here? Where are you waiting? 'Our Special Place'? Do you mean the lake, the park where we watched the sun rise or the hotel?".
Walking over to where his car was parked James opened the door and retrieved the map of the town from the passenger seat. He didn't think he'd get lost, he'd been to this place so very many times, both in person and in his dreams, but…
James glanced at the towering rickety construct that barred his way into town, just visible in the mounting fog.
One could never be to careful, right?
"Says the man who came to town on an invite from the dead", he muttered without a trace of the ready humour he once remembered possessing.
He hesitated for a moment over taking the keys, suppose someone stole the car?
Steal the car, James thought, the soft shake of his head setting auburn and blonde hair, just long enough to move freely, swaying with the motion, Who, I've seen no one since I got on this road.
Leaving the keys and closing the door, something about that thought tugging at the back of his mind, James walked over to the stone observation balcony, letting memory guide his feet through the increasing white haze.
A rusty, coin operated set of binoculars was all that adorned the balcony, seeming very alone against the dark stone. James toyed with the idea of looking through them, for old times sake, but a quick inspection showed they had long since rusted in place, pointing straight down the stone steps adjoining the platform and into town.
Besides, he'd used the last of his spare change on a burnt cup of coffee at a gas station further up the highway, but still he felt a pang of disappointment. The debasement by nature of a cherished memory was not how he would have liked to start this journey.
Slowly James made his way down the stairs, his footsteps echoing eerily in the unnatural silence, not a bird, car, voice or gust of wind broke the solitude.
A shudder shuck James' body as he stepped off the last step and onto a shrubbery lined dirt track. Even in his favourite grey sweater and thick green bomber jacket the cold cut through his protective layers to seep into the skin beneath. Pulling his jacket tightly closed against the cold he trudged onward through the now blinding fog, only the crunch of dirt under his shoes for company.
Was this trail always so quiet, he wondered idly, trying to recall the details of his last visit but failing. Everything was obscured in his mind by the gentle presence of his wife, overlain over each image.
A rustling in the bushes snapped his eyes round and froze him on the spot. He waited, listening for the noise to be repeated, heart inexplicably pounding in his chest, but nothing happened.
From were he stood there didn't seem to be anything there and he felt strangely reluctant to move in for a closer look.
I'm just nervous, I'm hearing things, he rationalised, refusing to allow that train of thought to continue any further.
Eyes locked forward he moved on, his pace notably faster than before.
Another rustling, closer this time, sounded from behind him. Resisting the urge to panic James sped up to a jog.
Why am I running? I've been here so many times before, what could I possibly have to be scared of?
It was probably just a harmless forest creature or stray dog. There weren't even any bears or other such animals in these woods, that was why he was such an idyllic tourist spot… so why was he so afraid?
A crashing came from directly behind him, like the sound of something too large to be a dog tearing through the undergrowth.
James broke into a full sprint, arms and legs pumping together to drive him recklessly through the fog.
Fear spurred him on long past the point he would normally have stopped due to exhaustion. Eventually the trees and fog gave way to a clearing ringed by stone, a huge wrought iron gate looming out of the mist to bar his way.
Coming to a reluctant halt he wrapped his hands around the bars and shoved with all his might, the itchy, prickling sensation in the centre of his back, that ancient survival mechanism that saved our ancestors from danger in a once savage land flaring erratically.
The gate swung open with startling speed, costing James his balance and nearly dropping him flat on his face. Swinging round he slammed it closed and backed away slowly, he gaze never wavering from the impenetrable white beyond the bars, but nothing came out.
As his breathing gradually returned to normal he felt his face flushing with chagrin, here he was a grown man fleeing from noises in the woods like a frightened child.
His lips twitched into a smile as the absurdity of it hit home. Shaking his head gently and muttering light admonishments upon himself, he turned to face his new environment, his smile dying as he took in the scene before him.
A graveyard.
"This is… where is this?"
James had never seen this place before, he must have taken a wrong turn somewhere in his panicked flight. Walking over to a moss-covered headstone he brushed the dirt away, as if he would find a handy guide carved into the final resting place of the one buried here.
The name was unreadable, eroded by years of wind and rain. So very old… so then why had he never been here before? He was sure he and Mary had walked all of these trails, and his somewhat occult obsessed wife would never have let them walk past such a place unchecked.
Perhaps obsessed was too harsh, but Mary had always loved tails of anything spiritual or supernatural, the older and more obscure the better.
In fact, hadn't she once told him something about-
A soft sob from near by caught his attention, and that's when he saw her, as if materialising out of the fog, or perhaps it had just grown thinner over the past few minutes he had been lost in thought.
Crouched over by another poorly kept headstone was a young woman. Dressed in a beige turtleneck sweater and brown trousers, her shoulder length black hair and shoulders shook gently in time with her sobs.
"Excuse me", James said moving round to get a view of her face.
Letting out a stifled gasp she stood and scrabbled back a few paces, fear and confusion playing over her pretty features.
"I'm sorry to startle you" James continued apologetically, "Are you ok?"
"I'm, I'm sorry I, yes I'm fine, thank you," she said uncertainly edging alternatively toward and away from him, her hands clutching at each other and then breaking apart, as if she wanted nothing more than to hug herself fiercely, but was afraid to do so in front of someone.
"Good", James said projecting reassurance into his voice, vaguely aware his voice had changed to that of an adult addressing a child but unable to explain why, "I'm James, and you are…"
"Angela", she answered softly taking a step away from him, turning her head so that she only saw him from the corner of her eye.
"What are you doing here Angela?" he asked carefully, glancing around to see if there was anyone accompanying this… unusual, young woman.
"I'm looking for my mama", she replied walking around to place the headstone she had been kneeling by between the two of them, "I mean my mother, she was supposed to be here but I can't find her anywhere. My… father and brother are here to, I guess… What about you, why are you here?"
"Me?", James asked pointing to himself, beginning to pace slowly as he spoke to stop the sense of loss he still felt for his dead wife crossing his features and making his reason for being here seem doomed or foolish at best, "I'm looking for someone, someone very dear to me… is this the right way into town?".
"Yes, it is," said Angela moving unwillingly from behind the tombstone as James turned to leave without waiting for her confirmation, already blind to any concern he might have been feeling for this distraught stranger as his own grief kicked in, and calling out to stop him, "but this…this town…it's, it's not, um, it's not…right, there's something wrong with it".
"Is it dangerous?" he asked stopping, concern entering his voice, his brow wrinkling.
"No" she answered slowly as if unsure she knew how to answer him, "Not exactly, its just that-".
"It doesn't matter", James cut her off, "I'm going anyway, I've nothing left to lose".
When Angela didn't answer he walked away into the fog and soon found him self at the gate on the opposite side of the graveyard. Looking back he could just make out Angela's pensive silhouette.
Part of him felt a little ashamed for leaving her alone, but there probably wasn't anything he could do, and besides…
What harm could possibly come to anyone here of all places?
Pulling back the gates he stepped back onto the forest trail.
For the next few minutes he strolled boldly along the misted trail, woodland eventually giving way to the rural outskirts of the town. His encounter with the mysterious young woman Angela had laid to rest some of his concerns about how abandoned everything seemed, the presence of another human being in this place banishing quiet fears mounting in the back of his mind.
However as he ventured further into the town's outskirts this soon became little comfort. Each lonely hut and log-constructed home he passed seemed to stare back with empty glass eyes.
Where is everyone?, he thought, suppressing a fresh surge of dread.
Perhaps they were all attending some town event, yes that was it, it had to be… but if that were the case why couldn't he hear any signs of celebration?
Gradually, rustic charm gave way to a more urban design. Run down buildings with smashed windows and rusted barbwire fences enclosed the path as he made his way further into town.
The side the Tourists are never supposed to see, he mused absently, intent on his destination.
Travelling swiftly down each twisting alleyway and path, finding only dead ends everywhere he soon began to despair ever find a way into town and hope of finding his way out vanished as he rapidly became lost.
Stumbling around yet another bend he was surprised to find himself on a small road over looking a large canal to the right, the very faint sounds of running water echoing back up the artificial ravine.
He was close to Sanders Street he realised suddenly, pulling his map out of his pocket. Yes there it was, Sanders Street, from there he could travel north up Lindsey Street to Rosewater Park and hopefully, to Mary.
Folding the map quickly he stuffed it roughly into a pocket and broke into a swift jog onto Sanders Street.
Hold on Mary he thought desperately as he ran, I'm coming.
The further he ran the more he recognised his surroundings. There was the flower shop he had brought a rose for Mary on their last trip to the park, it was all coming back to him, there just ahead was the intersection he sort, just a little further and-
Without warning his feet abruptly flew out from beneath him and found himself being rather vigorously introduced to the road. Bouncing and rolling roughly to a stop James lay there for a while massaging his aching limbs.
Slowly he eased himself to his feet and glared down at what had tripped him.
A long smear of dark red fluid curved out of site around the corner of Sanders and Lindsey before vanishing into the fog. Already sure of the answer but unable stop himself, James eased forward, bending to scrape some of the substance off the tarmac he raised his trembling hand back to his face.
My God, he thought his stomach twisting sickeningly, Blood.
Suddenly the silence of the town took on a much more sinister edge. What had happened here?
Movement from the corner of his eye brought his head up sharply. Further down the street a shadowy figure stumbled into the fog in the direction of bloodstain and was soon swallowed by the fog as if it had never been.
"Hello", he shouted in a strangled voice but the figure was gone and no one answered.
Had that been another person, Angela perhaps? Why didn't they answer? Taking a deep, calming breath, James began to move down the street, he had to go this way to get to the park any way. Could that be where the other was going as well? Could it have been Mary!
Moving a bit faster he tried to watch every shop and house he passed, to find any sign of other life, but every building remained quiet, dormant, happy family homes, homes that should have been ripe with laughter and noise, a hollow mockery of their former selves. Another intersection came into view on the left, blocked by police barricades.
What were these people trying to protect themselves from?
Forcing himself onward he could see something ahead, a kind of rise in the road followed by a sharp dip. As he got closer he saw that the road ahead had collapsed!
For a long time James stood there, How do I reach the park now? he thought.
He was reaching once more for his map when he saw it. Another bloodstain branching off down another narrow side street. Every part of him screamed that he should leave now, while the path back was open but he found himself moving forward on leaden feet.
Slowly he followed the winding path, anticipating and dreading each streak of crimson fluid that drew him on, guided him like ghastly arrows. All to soon they came to an end at the entrance to partially boarded tunnel. A low hissing sound came from its darkened interior, drawing him ever closer.
Standing at the opening him peered into the gloom, the hissing was louder now, it was definitely emanating from the tunnel.
Stepping threw a hole in the barrier James felt around the floor as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Eventually his hands encountered a small, cold, rectangular object. Picking it up he held it to the light, examining it.
It was a small pocket radio, dropped when or by whom he had no idea. Turning the tuning dial he held it to his ear but it continued to spit nothing but static. Perhaps it was broken.
Standing there with nothing but a defective radio to show for his troubles thus far, James felt a mixture of annoyance and embarrassment replace the quiet dread he had been feeling following the trail of gore.
"Probably wasn't blood to start with", he stated, as if vocalising his thoughts gave them greater weight, running a hand through hair already slick with sweat, "Get a hold of yourself James…"
Hitting the power button he began to turn to leave, but the tunnel didn't sink into the expected silence. Without the distracting crackling of the radio he was now aware of another noise, a kind of wet tearing and slurping.
Rotating stiffly to face the sound his adjusted eyes could now see its source. Crouched over the lifeless, deformed body of what might once have been one of the townsfolk was a…thing. That was the only way James could think to describe it, its outline was vaguely female but that was were its similarity to a human being ended.
Two legs of charred flesh poked out from beneath a torso and head that seemed to be covered by a burned plastic sheet. Its 'mouth' was the only exception, all of its unnatural size covered in warm, fresh blood, steam rising in delicate wisps from both body and monster in the chill air.
As if sensing someone watching it, it stood and turned to regard him.
James froze with fear, maybe if he didn't move it would leave him and return to its meal.
Ponderously it began to move toward him on stiff and awkward legs, its entire body twitching unnaturally in the grip of some powerful seizure.
Frantically he scrabbled backwards until his back hit the barrier, spinning round he grabbed a loose piece of wood and yanked it free with a panic driven tug.
Turning back showed that the creature was closer now and still coming. Raising the plank above his head he brought it down on the monster's cranium with all of his might. A sickening thud and crack brought the thing to its knees, its head splitting open like an over ripe watermelon, splattering the ground with its unspeakable contents.
Slowly it slumped over, thrashing wildly before gradually becoming still. It was then; as he stood there shaking and breathing raggedly that the smell hit him. It was like all the worst smells in the world combined, the smell of a corpse. Restraining the urge to vomit over himself, James scrabbled out of the hole and back into the meagre light offered through the mist.
"What was that thing", he said aloud, shaking so badly that he dropped both his impromptu weapon and the pocket radio. Landing on its side depressed the radio's power button and it promptly sprang to life with a burst of static.
However something was different this time, through the hissing he could almost make out a voice. Stooping to retrieve it he turned up the volume and listened closely.
"…James I'm here….aiting for you….why…".
"Mary? Mary!" he shouted, shaking the radio, "What's wrong with this thing, is it broken… I better keep it anyway".
Realising he was talking to himself and still trembling from the adrenaline rush of his recent… encounter, he pocketed the radio and hefted the plank he had defended himself with over one shoulder.
It had been an unconscious decision to carry it with him but after what he had just seen… He had to find Mary fast, she was all alone out there, one of these streets had to lead to the park. Making his way cautiously back out onto Lindsey Street, James peered as far ahead into the mist as he could, but no further abominations lunged from the fog to assault him, the silence was once more unbroken. Moving carefully along the pavement he crept his way along the road, the houses that had seem so sorrowful moments earlier now seemed pits of hidden menace. Slowly he reached the first junction and came to a halt, the safe, secure police barricades had been knocked aside leaving the way open.
For long, paranoid moments he stood trying to figure out his next move. With this street open he could get to the next street much quicker and hopefully to the park, but what if another of those creatures had opened it?
Deciding that speed was paramount he flung himself down the street with wild abandon and round the corner as soon as possible. Houses and shop fronts flashed past but he took no heed. All to soon he found himself face to face with another barrier. Not a simple roadblock or hastily nailed together patch job, but a towering construction formed from corrugated steel sheets wielded together.
James hammered against the steel wall with his plank in anger until he was exhausted. Panting he leaned against it, frustration churning his insides.
A familiar stench invaded his nostrils.
Spinning about he searched the mist desperately and soon located the smells origin. Not another monster as he'd feared, but yet another of the townsfolk, his head half chewed away, a blood stained diary in his hands. For reasons he could not comprehend he found himself reaching for the book, perhaps it would hold answers as to what happened here.
With an effort, James was able to prise the book from his cold, ridged fingers. The first few pages were stained red and illegible but soon he found a few undated pages that had been used;
There's no way out, I've been everywhere, the apartments where you said you'd meet me but never di,d everywhere. God they're everywhere, I got to find a way out!
Apartments? thought James, Could he mean the Woodside building, what could be there?
It's no use, I went back there, to find you, to get out, but I couldn't open the door, you must have been there! Only you have the key, if I know you, you'll try to reach your house, our rendezvous point on Martin Street, I'll have to stay at Neely's Bar again, its getting dark, that'll make it easier to find me, I'll try to meet you tomorrow…
…I went the wrong way, now I'm lost, I can hear them in the distance, getting closer, oh please god help me. If anyone finds this, if you want to stay alive, remember, they are drawn to the light, to noise, if you want to stay safe lock yourself in the dark and stay quiet…but even that won't save you, they always find you eventually…
RUNAWAY!RUNAWAY!RUNAWAY!RUNAWAY!RUNAWAY!RUNAWAY!RUNAWAY!RUNAWAY!RUNAWAY!RUNAWAY!RUNAWAY!RUNAWAY!RUNAWAY!RUNAWAY!RUNAWAY!
The rest of the pages were blank. Dropping the diary by the corpse he traced his weary way down the street, reading his map as he went. Troubled thoughts ran through his head as he walked, if the townsfolk hadn't known what was happening and been able to escape what chance did he have?
A fresh wave of guilt washed through him, Mary was out there to and he was worrying only about himself.
Focusing on the map searched for his next destination. Martin Street was the next one over. Folding the map back up he placed it in a pocket. Now that he wasn't running blind he took notice of his surroundings. Slightly ahead was an old pickup truck, door ajar, keys glinting softly from the ignition.
A car would be a much safer way of travelling through this crazy place.
He was all of a few feet from the truck when a twisted figure shot out from beneath it and with a cry of pure agony vanished into the fog. Instinct took over that instant and James was once more charging blindly toward his destination. Another creature loomed out of the fog ahead but he dodged around it and kept running. Whipping around the corner and into Martin Street he barely avoided another lurking in a shadowed shop doorway. Each breath burned his lungs but he refused to stop. Ahead he could see a house with an open door.
Flinging himself through it, the last entry in the diary he had found echoing through his mind;
RUNAWAY!RUNAWAY!RUNAWAY!RUNAWAY!RUNAWAY!RUNAWAY!RUNAWAY!RUNAWAY!RUNAWAY!RUNAWAY!RUNAWAY!RUNAWAY!RUNAWAY!RUNAWAY!RUNAWAY!
Turning he slammed it shut and back-pedalled rapidly.
Suddenly his back collided with something; something damp that came away in his hands. Turning with baited breath he found himself face to face with eyeless sockets leering out from a partially devoured face. James' lunch was expelled violently over his shoes, doubling him over with wrenching. When his stomach was empty he wiped his mouth roughly on his sleeve and looked up at the defiled corpse suspended he now saw by a thick brown rope tied about it's neck and to the guardrail attached to the upstairs gallery area. Its hands were frozen in front of its face as if it had tried to protect itself from what ever had attacked it. This person had still been alive when he was attacked.
A glint from one of its hands caught his eye.
Reaching out James opened its hand and withdrew a small steel item engraved with the letters 'WS'.
It was a key.
Some part of James' mind was trying to tell him he knew who this person had been but he refused acknowledge it, it was just a coincidence that this person had a key to the Woodside apartments, there were others like him out there…somewhere.
Silent Hill.
Angela felt strange being back in this town. A place she had been running from for so long.
There were many bad people here, but she couldn't leave before she found here mama, found her and told her…what? It hurt her head to try and remember.
A noise from behind her spun her on the spot, arms hugging each other for protection.
Stupid, stupid, she thought, she had to keep moving, if she didn't…He, would find her.
She hadn't seen him yet but she knew he was there, had been since she had talked to that man, what was his name… James.
Shivering in the cold September air Angela looked up again at the building in front of her. The faded lettering on the steel mesh fence in front of it read 'Woodside, Blue Creak joint apartment buildings'.
If her mother was anywhere in this town then surely she would be here, in the apartment she and Angela had lived in after- Pain ripped through Angela's head almost toppling her.
What seemed like an eternity latter it subsided. Wiping a tear from one eye with the rough palm of her hand she pushed back the rusted steel gate and walked up to the entrance to Woodside apartments.
One hand held hesitantly over the handle.
Should she really go inside? She knew it would only mean more pain but that would happen now anyway thanks to that James, coming here, interfering with things best left alone.
He was a bad, bad man.
Pushing open the door Angela stepped cautiously inside. It was just as she remembered. A tastefully decorated lobby area greeted her painted in bright white and blue hues, luscious flora adorned the area scattered sparingly across the room.
On the far wall a freshly varnished staircase spiralled up into darkness. The lights must not be working on the landings up there. Reluctantly she turned to look at her destination. Standing out jarringly against the pastel purity of the rest of the lobby was a single rotten door. Cracked wood surrounded by blacked peeling paint sat sullenly in the far corner of the room as if trying to cringe away from the light.
Above the door an age-worn sign read, 'Courtyard and Blue Creak'. Taking a deep, calming breath, Angela pulled back the door.
'Woo-s-de –par—ment-' was all of the sign James could make out but he was pretty sure this was the place. Bracing a shoulder against the rusted gate he shoved it open with a nerve-grinding screech of steel on concrete.
Glancing nervously up and down the street he slipped through and closed it to again. It had taken him an hour to work up the courage to leave that house and his silent host. An hour of trying to deny the obviousness of the truth, he was all alone here. When he had finally been able make himself leave he had emerged into a world utterly different than that which he had expected.
A world of emptiness.
The creatures he had feared were lurking round every corner were nowhere to be seen, no threatening growls stalked his footsteps. The silence was deafening. But where had they gone, had they even existed? Or were they just a fevered delusion of his grief-ridden mind.
Reaching out, James went to open the apartment door, but before he got to the handle the door swung ponderously open. It was the smell that hit James first, one of the sewage pipes must have ruptured somewhere covering the floor in random puddles of dank, fowl smelling water.
Age-blackened, peeling paint covered the walls and a creaky looking staircase led upwards on the two different, sparsely lit, landings above. Stepping carefully across the room to the only door accessible at that his current level he turned the handle.
The door's latch mechanism let out a high-pitched squeal but the door itself didn't budge.
Stepping back a few paces James charged at the door full force, and ricocheted harmlessly away again.
Wow, thought James, massaging his throbbing shoulder, That door's jammed good. I guess the only way left is up.
Slowly he made his way up the stairs to the first landing, stairs groaning dangerously under his weight. James let out a sigh of relief when he finally placed his feet firmly on the second floor landing.
The second floor doorway was made of sturdy looking steel that had accumulated a little rust around the push-bar but otherwise seemed ok.
Giving it an experimental push it refused to budge.
Ok he thought irritably, beginning to sense a pattern, one left.
Trekking the rest of the distance to the third level he didn't pause, simply placed a foot on the door's bar and lashed out with all his strength.
The door flew open and hit the opposite side of the wall its hinges were attached to with resounding force.
Wincing at his own headstrong carelessness, James stuck his head into the corridor. Cheap neon lighting sputtered fitfully on and off casting random shadows along the deserted hallway.
James went to heft his weapon but realised suddenly that he hadn't brought it with him, it was still lying at the feet of the corpse back in Martin Street. Cursing himself silently he began tracing his way down the corridor, one hand kept on the wall, using its solidarity to reassure him.
Door after door he past, and each one, like its fellows, was locked or inexplicably bared in someway.
Just as he was about to abandon hope and return to the lobby when he found it. The final door in the row opened with barely a noise and James couldn't resist gaping as he strode inside.
Lit by a small torch the room was in an advanced state of disrepair and decay, but this was not what drew his attention. Tiny holes puckered every wall and surface and James soon saw why. Lying discarded in an abandoned shopping trolley was a smallish handgun.
Gathering the torch and fastening it to his jacket he picked up the gun and examined it carefully. James was by no means a gun expert, in fact everything he knew of guns came straight out of the detective shows he sometimes watched on television, but with a bit of fumbling he found the clip release and hit it. Nothing happened. Frowning he pushed it again with the same result. Turning it upside down he found his answer, there was no magazine in the gun.
James' face scrunched up with disappointment, he might not know how to use a gun but he would have felt safer. Still it was his only weapon so tucking it behind his belt like the cops on T.V did he made to leave, plunging the room behind him into darkness.
A scuttling from down the corridor made him pause and listen closely, but the sound wasn't repeated. Edging back into the hallway he shone his torch down its length, but its comforting light revealed nothing. Walking back down the corridor he stopped when his torch illuminated something he hadn't seen before. Just opposite the stairwell door the corridor was blocked by a large iron grating, and just beyond that, lying just in reach, was a key.
Crouching down, James reached out for it, but it was no use, the key was just out of reach. Unwilling to concede defeat he lay prone on the floor, straining through the bars as far as possible he stretched toward it, his fingers brushing it.
Nearly, he thought, face contorted with effort.
A pink sandaled foot lashed out to hit the key bare millimetres before he could reach it, sending it bouncing musically down the hall. James glared up at his erstwhile tormentor, his face twisting with frustration, straight into the eyes of a little girl.
Surprise more than anything relaxed the muscles in his face, leaving him with an oddly slack jawed expression. The little girl, no more than seven or eight years old, was dressed in a blue denim dress over a long sleeved, striped jumper, her long blond hair tied out of the way of her youthful features in a simple ponytail, features that were currently lit up in the grin all children display when they get away with something they know is wrong.
"Haha", she said, her innocent laughter mocking both James and the desolate decay around him. Turning around she ran, soon vanishing from the pitiful scope of light offered by James' torch and the hallways failing lighting.
"Wait", he called into the darkness, "Its not safe, come back".
No answer came back.
After what he had seen in his short, but eventful, jaunt around town he had not expected to find anyone else alive, least of all a child. Dusting himself off, James considered his options, there didn't seem to be anyway past these bars on this floor and a quick check of the other doors he could access showed he would be unable to climb over the adjoining balconies of the apartments and get past that way.
The balcony in the apartment he could enter was sealed off by a large steel frame he was unable to move.
James was coming to the conclusion that he was out of options when he spotted the silhouette of someone standing on the third floor balcony.
"Hello" he said, his voice coming out soft and strangled. The shadow disappeared and the sound of footsteps on wood echoed from the stairwell.
"Wait", he cried out, giving chase. A grinding of steel on steel sounded from somewhere below him and the footsteps began to fade into the distance. Running full pelt down the stairs, ignoring their ominous creaking, he rounded the first turn in the stairwell. From this position he could now see that the second floor door was open. Rapidly crossing the remaining distance he had just enough time to see a female outline before he crashed into something cold and hard.
Rolling roughly to the ground he found the unknown object had somehow ended up atop him. Panicking he grabbed it and thrust it away from him, scrabbling to his feet he pointed his torch at where it lay.
A headless dressmakers dummy lay rigid and unassuming about a foot away.
Feeling his face flush James walked over and set it upright against the wall. He was about to leave when the clothes it modelled caught his eye. A pink cardigan covered a white dress decorated faintly with flowers.
Exactly like those Mary used to wear, he thought stroking a woollen sleeve sadly.
For a moment he forgot to question just how such a thing came to be here…
A blood-curdling scream, cut off abruptly, pierced his melancholy and broke him out of his quiet reflection. Pulse pounding in his ears, James found his feet drawn inexplicably toward its source.
Perhaps it was morbid curiosity that drew him on, or perhaps the constant level of fear he had experienced since coming to this accursed place had driven him mad, looking back he would never be sure, but something moved his feet.
A piercing burst of static erupted from his pocket. Still drawn closer, he removed it from his pocket and examined it as he walked. Screeching as if under the sway of pure terror it spat white noise from its tiny speaker at an alarming volume.
James tried to turn it off but found that it already was. Soon however this was forgotten. As he had walked James hadn't noticed the slow change in light source, the slow change from a dirty white to a blood red. A light that came not from the pitiful lights above but from the creature that now stood before him. Separated from James by iron bars like those on the floor above it looked vaguely like a man garbed in a melted plastic trench coat, if said man had a liking for giant, pyramidal, steel helmets.
Warped, rusted and twisted steel enclosed the thing's head giving off a faint crimson light. Although he couldn't see its eyes, James knew intuitively it was looking at him. With a shriek of stressed metal as if it's very bones were made of the same twisted substance, it turned its head to look at something on the floor.
Following its gaze James breath caught in his throat. Revealed by the creature's unearthly glow were bloody handprints, handprints that smeared the floor and lower walls around a shattered door.
"NOOO!" an agonised voice reverberated through his skull. Hand clapping to his head, James spun back to the creature, but it was gone and with it its eerie light, plunging everything unlit by his torch back into darkness.
My god, he thought, what was that?
Shinning his torch at the floor he traced the bloody handprints deeper into the apartment. Darkly decorated in simple browns and greens the apartment reeked of rot and of something else, a scent he had become uncomfortably used to in his time here.
Quiet static hissed in the darkness but a quick check showed that its source was not his radio but a moderately sized TV in the corner of the room, and in front of that TV, in the apartments only visible furniture, a small armchair, was the town's latest victim.
Head lolling over the back of the armchair as if to watch James with death glazed eyes, James needed to approach no closer to see what had killed him. A large vertical slash was gouged into the back of the chair, blood creating a hauntingly intricate waterfall on its way to the floor.
Gently, James closed the corpse's eyes with a surprisingly steady hand, no one should have to view this horror for eternity.
A loud crash sounded from the other room. Running in, ignoring his natural urge to flee, James shone the torch frantically around the room. A large grandfather cloak lay on its side against the wall, and where it had obviously been was a gaping hole.
Cautiously, James approached the hole and shone his torch through. The apartment on the other side was as deserted as this one, no sign of who, or what for that matter might have made the hole or smashed the cloak.
Stepping through, grunting as his shoulders scrapped along the edges of the broken dry wall, James played his light along the dusty contours of the room finding nothing but broken furniture.
What am I doing?, he thought as he located the rooms entrance and stepped warily into the corridor, Chasing monsters through darkened halls, deserted towns, murders.
That word echoed oddly through his skull, stirring something unpleasant just at the edge of his consciousness. Dismissing it as nerves he carried on, of course he had a reason to do this, "Mary…".
---Authors Notes---
So there we have it folks, the reworked and extended Chapter One, I'm working on Chapter two and three as we speak, so expect those shortly. Hopefully this version flows better than the original, but let me know what you all think. Review button's there for a reason amigo's hehe.
Till next time, Betweenheavenandhell