This Inhuman Place
Authors Note:
For someone who is a weenie when it comes to conventional horror stories, it sort of hilarious I ended up such a huge fan of Silent Hill. Particularly the third installment. This isn't strictly canon, but given the fact it's a crossover, and a fanfiction, what else would you expect? I hope you enjoy, and apologize for any errors. I don't have a beta.
One
Memory Lane
Clara clomped into the control room and leaned forward, resting her elbows on an mostly flat panel, and putting her chin in her hands as she watched the Doctor spin and pull levers. It made her grin, especially with how his purple coat flapped out like a dancer's skirt. She had her suspicions about that coat. Namely, that he wore it just so it would do 'the spinny thing'.
"So. Where are we off to this time, Doctor?"
He sprang up on his toes for a moment when he turned to face her, grin large and a touch silly. "You're going to love it Clara! But!" He waggled his finger at her in a way that made one of her eyebrows raise at him.
"It's a surprise."
He seemed tickled pink at the idea.
Clara only looked skeptical.
"Is that 'Doctor' for 'I don't want to tell you in case we end up in the wrong place again'?"
His face fell into an offended pout.
"How can you say that?"
"Well, after what happened with Hedgewicks World – "
He waved his hand. "That was one time!"
"And Sweetville," she continued on, undisturbed by his interruption.
"Clara!"
"And that whole debacle with the shroud –"
"I'm not that bad – !"
"I can't help but wonder if you ever actually manage to land where you mean to. And when you mean to, too."
The Doctor huffed, and spun around again. "She just doesn't understand."
The TARDIS made a sound of approval, to which Clara responded by sticking out her tongue at the console. "You're biased."
"My ship is not biased." He stroked a lever with that same cheerful smile, unable to keep his spirits dampened for long.
"She absolutely is," Clara sing songed.
It was right after she said this, that the TARDIS decided it was time to land. Violently. Clara was tossed to the side like a rag doll, but managed to keep her feet. Mostly. There were sea legs, and there were 'TARDIS legs' and she was lucky enough to have both.
The top of the console suddenly showered sparks, and the whole ship shuddered. If Clara didn't know any better, she might have said with revulsion.
"Yeep!"
Another violent lurch tossed her into a chair, and sent the Doctor hurtling towards one of the rails, which he managed to grab and swing on for a moment as more sparks showered, and the lights began to flicker.
"What's going on!" She shouted.
"Something is dragging us in!" he called back, voice half confusion, half panic. "Like with those salvagers!"
Clara didn't know what he was talking about – not quite anyway – just that the Doctor went running directly for the console again, fighting against gravity as the ship tipped and yawned like a hammock in a hurricane. Warning alarms howled, and it was all Clara could do to cling to her seat and yell, and try very hard not to sick up.
"She doesn't – want to go!"
"I think I guessed as much – "
And then suddenly they were falling, falling, falling, in the dark. Both of them were shouting then. It was like an ominous roller coaster. You couldn't keep silent; it only made the fear worse.
The ship landed strangely soft, for all that, albeit canted to one side. The abruptness alone was enough to land Clara on the floor with her skirt around her hips. She yanked it down, groaning in the flickering darkness.
"Doctor?"
"Here!"
She thought she saw his gangly legs in the air, one hooked around the railing, the other flailing crazily, like some distressed grasshopper. She pushed up to her feet, staggering a bit, and made her way over to him. He was tangled up in a harness that she had no idea where it had come from, and fighting it bitterly.
"Here." she helped him to freedom, then to his feet, waving away smoke and coughing. Unfortunately, whatever was causing the smoke didn't appear to be finding an exit. The choking fumes only grew thicker until the Doctor was grasping her hand and they both dashed out the doors, coughing. It took several seconds for Clara to realize they'd left the smoke for heavy fog. She regretted her short sleeves one the chill settled.
"Doctor? I thought you said the TARDIS was being pulled in?" She'd sort of assumed her meant by a ship. It was when she looked up that Clara realized he was as confused as she was. Gone were the cheerful, almost childish smiles. Instead, was a thoughtful, concerned face. He produced the Sonic screwdriver from his pocket like a magic trick, and was just about to start scanning the area when a scream cut through the air.
They both jumped.
The panicked noise of a shouting woman reached their ears. Neither one of them even had to hesitate before they were running towards the sound.
OooOoOooO
Memory Lane
Plip … plop.
Plip... plop.
Clang!
The sounds of ripping rust tainted water – or worse – was disturbed by the grinding drawn out shriek of twisting metal, and the heavy, damp grunts of a large animal. She remained very, very still behind a large filing cabinet, eyes closed, breath barely a whisper in the close, heated dark as stripes of light appeared with each strip of metal peeled back from the outer wall.
The urge to run coiled the muscles in her legs and made her knees ache. I can do this. I can do this. But her heart was pounding with anxious anticipation high in her throat. It never seemed to get any easier. No mater how many of them, she killed, Heather would always have to face the nauseating pulse of shaky limbed adrenaline.
The closer roared, it's long eyeless thrown back, then it punched through the wall like it's remnants were tinfoil. With a gasp Heather ran, using the cot she'd put between herself and the monster as a spring board, and slammed her katana down in through the top of the thing's head.
It felt like punching through an eggshell into gelatin and had made her nearly vomit the first time she'd used a sword instead of wasting bullets.
Under her, the thing twitched and gurgled like a pinned butterfly. Heather held her breath and counted waiting for it to go still. She made it to thirty before the last of the body's spasms ended. Her shoulders slumped as she took scant seconds to regain her equilibrium. Then she braced booted feet against the monster's shoulders and yanked until the sword came free.
A normal one probably should have broken by now, she thought. It didn't bother her over much that her sword behaved unlike the way it should have. She'd long since realized that Silent Hill was not the real world.
She had her theories about the place, but with no one to voice them to, it was pointless to dwell on them. Need to get home. She scooped up her backpack full of scavenged supplies, and climbed out of the little boiler room over the monster and into the long silent halls of Midwitch Elementary school.
Her old school, when she'd been Alessa. The memories were still fuzzy, like she was looking at them through a fog of seriously good drugs, but they were there.
Her boots clomped on the bowed wooden floors, unknowlingly tracing the same path her Father had when she'd been Cheryl.
So many different lives stacked in her head.
I'm so tired. As she moved, it was hard not to let her posture slip and curl forward, hard to ignore the persistent damp chill of this horrible, lonely town. Sometimes she almost regretted that Claudia and Vincent were dead. Then at least she'd have the strength of purpose of her hatred to propel her forward, and it's heat to keep her warm.
One person Heather tried not to think about was Douglas.
She never visited Lakeside Amusement park, no matter how desperate she was for supplies.
Lead us to paradise with blood stained hands.
Well, she knew what they meant by that, now didn't she? It was maybe a blessing that when she'd come to the end of the road leaving the town there'd been nothing but a wide and uncrossable chasm delving down, and down into the dark where she sometimes thought she heard the distant drumbeats of something's beating heart.
Outside now, she turned left, and moved toward the residential side of the town, to the apartment with the door chained and locked in seven different ways that she could only enter through the fire escape. The pictures on the walls there were all blank, but sometimes she thought she heard a man calling out for help. And rarer still, if she peered through the hole in the wall near the kitchenette, she would see a pretty young woman going about her life.
She had no idea of this was something real, or the last vestige of another prisoner's nightmare.
Heather paused abruptly, still a few streets away from the home she'd claimed, and listened over the faint static crackle of the radio clipped to her vest. It was a new sound. Not a roar, or the endless churn of machinery that accompanied the other world of rust and blood. Or the air raid sirens that never failed to send a chill through her blood.
It was a wheezing, groaning sound. Almost like someone sawing down a tree, but too – irregular?
Her stillness cost her dearly, because the static suddenly roared, and a dog leapt out of the fog. Heather had time only for a startled yell before it was on top of her, claws rending the skin of her shoulders like butter. It's head split open, and snapped closed an inch from her own. Her head cracked against the pavement, making her ears ring, and bursts of multicolored light explode in front of her eyes. For a moment every thing was muzzy, distant... slow.
Teeth.
No!
Thump thump thump! Her heart beat a maniac's drum,a nd she screamed bloody murder.
"No! Get the fuck off of me!"
Hands up, fingers spasming as they dug into it natty coat she tried to hold it back. The dog snarled and closed its teeth around her shoulder, shaking its heat until it ripped free a chunk of cloth and flesh. Blood pooled,s teaming in the air, and Heather's screams reached a whole new pitch.
Rage and terror tightened her throat and she fought like hell, nails breaking where they caught, muscular arms straining as she tried to keep it away from her throat.
"No! No! No!"
She didn't want to be eaten! Her legs kicked, and she flung herself bodily from side to side, trying to loose the monster. But strength was draining from her right arm along with the blood.
Centimeter by merciless centimeter, the dog's pinked teeth drew closer to her face. Tears exploded out from her eyes, and she shrieked in defiance right before her arms slipped and it's face collided with her too tight panic drawn throat.
Time seemed to slow down.
One hand grasped for her sword, too late – too late –
The other lifted a second time to be caught in the things meat grinder of a mouth –
In her state of hyper awareness she heard a dizzing buzz.
The dog yelped, flinching back and wining, and suddenly it's hideous weight was off of her. Heather's mangled arm fell to the ground hard, making her flinch violently, and starting up a brief high pitched tiiiinng in her ears. The pain's brief shock of awareness faded quickly, and she realized that her eyes had fallen shut at some point.
I'm dying, she thought, almost giddily. Heather Mason, dying at last... Daddy –
Something cold and wet splashed against her face, making her jerk up from the pavement. A girl – very cute – was saying something, concern knitting her dark eyebrows together. She turned abruptly, and called out something.
"Doctor!"
I could use a doctor.
"Doctor, help her!"
"I'm trying, Clara –"
Clara. That was a nice name.
That was her last thought before the ringing in her ears grew too loud and a phantom chill of pinpricks ripped across her body. Heather's eyes rolled back into her head, and her body went limp.
"Back to the TARDIS – !"