Silent Hill—The Manipulated Dead

by Elliot Bowers

Chapter 2--Encroachments

Heather had been sort of leaning against the right-side window in a tired half-daze. Bare arms crossed, she looked down and out the window at passing city streets. It took an effort to keep herself from falling into the warm darkness of sleep. She was just so tired, working that all-day job. But if her eyes closed, she fully expected to see something she didn't want to see.

She thought her childhood problems were over. The problems of her past self should have been defeated and gone. Once upon a time, Heather had dealt with nightmares come true, defeated them. Since then, this girl thought she could face anything. Yet anything now seems to have meant a return of those same things, some problems. They were back. She could feel the edges of the darkness trying to return to her life. Now what? When were they going to try and get her? Squi-i-e-e-e-e…!

What! Heather was yanked out of her semi-dozing half-daze as everything seemed to be flung forward…! All around was a high-pitched sound of metallic torture, like something invisible being slaughtered! She looked around. What' going on here?

Oh, never mind. That was the squeak of just poorly maintained bus brakes. The bus decelerating was what jostled Heather in her seat. A look out the window revealed a night-time local city view, a section of sidewalk illuminated by a streetlamp. Yeah, and this was her stop. The girl was sort of lucky the driver just didn't go past since nobody pressed the stop-signal thing.

So Heather stood up and re-slung her purse-strap over her right shoulder. A step left, and she was in the bus' aisle—a few other people sitting in seats. Most of them were men. She carefully stepped in such a way as to keep herself from brushing up against them. The bus aisle was designed for much bigger people, but Heather was on the thin side and had more clearance than usual.

Still, there were times when the other passengers got a little nasty. There were some times when people would sit sort of halfway out in the aisle and brush a shoulder against her body as she passed. Sometimes it was a quick hand… She tried going to the cops once. They told her to also complain to the bus company—which didn't do much. It was one of the problems a girl had in riding public transportation. One of these days, she was going to dress up in big billowing black skirts and a fur coats to keep the occasional set of groping paws off her. But the weather around here seldom became cool enough for that sort of outfit.

Finally, having avoided contact with the other passengers, she stepped down the bus-steps and onto the sidewalk—so entering the warm city night. There was that warm difference between the air-conditioned inside of the bus and the humidity of the summer evening. Standing here, she thought back to that idea of her wearing big floppy clothes.

I'd definitely burn up, she thought. There was the gurgling r-r-rumble of the bus as it drove off. Now there were the five blocks home to walk, walking by the light of streetlamps along streets lined with short buildings. A subway used to take her just over a block from home, but no way would she ever use a subway ever again unless she really, really had to use one. Some cars zoomed past along the street. Those were likely other people going home from work as well.

The girl stepped up to a quick pace in walking, light sneakers padding her footsteps. There was sometimes that feeling of coming home from the mall to find somebody dead—which was why she moved so fast. She could feel the resistance of her tight jeans stretching even more as she lengthened her stride, feeling the air on her face and arms as she sped up. The walk home had just begun.

It was just such a long way home. It was like she couldn't move fast enough. Her breath was coming in quicker gasps as her fast pace continued, her head of hair fluttering and legs moving with as fast strides as possible. Like, maybe I should chill out, she thought. There'd be no need to rush if he was killed.

That thought in mind, Heather deliberately slowed herself down. She clutched her little purse and resumed a saner walking pace going along this sidewalk. Yeah, why move so fast? It wasn't like getting there in a hurry would help much. Besides, there was nothing to worry about other than the usual.

What was the usual? Like, there was always the chance a mugger would step out from an alley, threatening her with a knife or something. Or there was maybe a pervert who decided to follow a girl home from work... But she wasn't really worried about that; her stun-gun was a comfortable weight in her purse. That and she had other ways of dealing with people who directly threatened her.

It wasn't as if she carried much money—as if she ever had much money. Helping pay the apartment's rent, buying clothes and stuff took large bites out of her paycheck--especially at the end of every month. Luckily, she didn't eat much. Food at the local store could be pretty expensive.

It was some minutes before the apartment building was barely in sight. It was just maybe a story taller than the blocky buildings near it, next door to an office-type building and a restaurant after that. There were the somewhat odd smells foods from the restaurant, smells on the wind. For some reason, she thought that the restaurant served roasted meats that ought not be roasted—like dogs or cats. Yeah, and the people who worked in the office-type building probably went there every day at lunch to eat it, too. Ew.

Walking past the office building, the side-entrance to the apartment building was pretty close. She went around the wall and around the corner. The entrance was right here and lit with a single lamp in the gray concrete above the entrance. Somebody stood in the shadows to the right of the apartment entrance. It was a man eight feet tall, a green face, and dressed in a black trenchcoat.

No… No there wasn't anybody. Cool it, she thought to herself. All the same, her footsteps were pretty quick as she went for the three steps up to the side-entrance. She pushed on the familiar weight of the metal doors to go into the building.

Inside the building, she came to the hard and gritty first floor—coming into the apartment's foyer-entrance. It was a familiar view of the gritty blue-and-gray tile pattern of the ceramic floor. Well, the tiles must have been white a long time ago or something. Decades of shoes and boots brought in grit that sort of ground into the floor. Left and right were hard gray concrete walls—the mailboxes the right side of this foyer, ceiling above.

Her place was right of the first juncture, a hallway. She walked past doors with other apartments, the sounds of televisions muffled by closed doors. One door had a thick tangy smell of alcohol wafting from it even though the door was closed. To her, that smell always made her a little sad. One door had the sound of a middle-aged couple arguing and yelling at each other. The husband was screaming. Then the wife started yelling right back.

Sounds like they're at it again, thought Heather. The girl didn't know them personally. But she knew that they had weeks where they argued constantly. Thank goodness they didn't have any kids. They'd be traumatized. Maybe those hypothetical kids wouldn't be any worse off than she would be, but all the same...

Kids, this apartment complex had some kids. They lived on the upper floors. Sometimes when she had mid-day Saturday shifts, she could hear them outside her apartment door as they went out to play with soccer balls and stuff. Yet children were the exception. It was a good thing because there wasn't a playground for miles.

Most couples that lived around here were middle-aged, some elderly. Most of the people who lived on this ground floor were here because it was easier than having to carry things groceries on rickety old elevator trips. Another reason was that it was cheaper to live down here. A person doesn't have much money when old: not able to work much. But a third more immediate reason for living on the ground floor was the fact that it would be easier for emergency medical service personnel to get to you in a jiffy if you keeled over sick or something. Not that Heather knew about too many old people who were that far along, but it was better safe than sorry. Douglas knew more about the neighbors than she did, though.

Then again, Heather didn't know too many people at all. It was better that way. As long as they didn't know her or about her, they wouldn't ask too many questions about who she was and where she came from. Those questions were best not answered since her legal papers weren't exactly legal anyway. They'd probably want to ask inappropriate questions about how a young girl like her ended up living with a middle-aged man.

She made it to her own apartment door. A quick dig in her purse, and she had the door-key—slid the door key into the lock. There was the familiar thick click of the mechanisms as she turned the key to unlock the dead-bolt. The same had to be done for the lock on the doorknob. Now she walked to her own apartment door and unlocked it. The lights were out…

Click! In this apartment, now the lights were on for the living room beyond the short hall. The central air conditioning was on. It wasn't much in the way of air conditioning. But it worked enough to make the air comfortable. Some air conditioning worked until indoor places felt frosty.

She closed the door. Inside, the apartment was largely the same—except for a few changes since Douglas moved in. There was still the small square living room, a carpet with a big blue sort of lounge-chair in front of a big black-and-gray cable-TV. The bookshelf left of the television still had lots of mystery books, beneath which were lots of magazines and video tapes that Douglas collected. A kitchen area was attached to this living-room area. Douglas' bedroom was a rearranged version of the way Dad had it—not that Heather ever went in there too often.

"D-o-oouglas, I'm ho-o-ome!" she sang out. There was no response… Of course he wasn't here. The living room television and radio weren't wasn't on. It must mean that he was out on a case or out drinking, the drinking happening on weekends. He was a private detective and almost never said no to a job. Actually, he seemed to have a lot of cases these days—especially since that time two years ago. And the fact that he was out on a case was proven by the little note on the TV. She read it:

Heather,

Something came up. The client wanted me in Brahms right away. It turns out there was a lead in last week's case. And I cleaned out half the beer from the fridge like you asked before I left.

--Douglass

Yeah, this one was big. And with big cases, he was usually gone for a day, maybe three. A yawn came to her mouth, making her stretch and put a hand to her lips. And she now felt as if she was going to be out—feeling herself fall asleep. The thing to do now was have a hot shower, get into a change of clothes, then maybe eat something before taking a nap. She had the habit of skipping meals just from being too tired sometimes and not being hungry too often.

The girl opened her bedroom door and went in. The purse went on her dresser-drawer. Sneakers off, now Heather undressed and picked up her clothes to put them in the hamper… She then stepped naked and barefooted to the attached bathroom. All her shower stuff was in there. Well, maybe some people would probably think her some kind of exhibitionist, habits like this. She slept naked some weekend mornings too, when she wasn't exercising that morning: just wake up and go to the shower. It wasn't as if somebody was going to walk in on her.

This may be a little two-bedroom apartment, but at least she had a bathroom attached to her own room. A bathroom and her bedroom, it was her own little place in the world, inside of the apartment. She didn't have to worry about anybody coming in.

She walked into the bathroom, stepped into the shower. Sque-e-e, squee… Hot water on first, then came a twisting on of the cold. Oh yeah, the water was still hot. There were times when the hot water went on the fritz and a person had to settle for a quick cold one. Not now, though! Nice hot water came down on her, allowing her to stand there and relax in the hot spray. Oh God…! It felt so good! She nearly fell asleep standing up. The water always felt good—soaking her muscles.

And Heather stayed there for who knows how long, her head tilted back and her eyes closed as the relaxing hot shower of water cascaded on her. Oh jeez… What a day this was. As she stood there, thoughts began to play out in her mind. What was up with that vision she had of that freaky guy in the bunny suit? It maybe had something to do with that nap-time night she had. Nap at work, things happen. Things just happen sometimes. Maybe it was just the stress of having to deal with female customers with weird accents. Then again, Heather wouldn't mind meeting the girl again—in full daylight.

Only eventually did Heather come out of the shower. She toweled herself dry before walking back into her bedroom to dress. She stood in front of her dresser-drawer and picked out a set of underclothes—then dressed in loose shorts and sleeveless tank-top shirt, a set of clean socks for her feet before putting on slippers. It was a weird combination: shorts and shirt with slippers. But it was too early to get dressed up in nightgown and robe… The last thing grabbed before leaving the bedroom was a book she bought some time ago on an employee discount—a book about spiritualism and ghosts.

The showered and freshly dressed girl left her bedroom. Cli-click. Her bedroom door was closed behind her. She took a few steps… She stopped. More exactly, she paused. Something didn't feel right.

This was her now standing in the middle of this living room, next to the blue arm-chair. It was usually quiet this time of day, though there was the slight sound of car traffic going by this apartment building. But now it was like there was a muffling of the sounds that usually came through the apartment walls. It was like someone—or something was suffocating the sounds coming from outside this apartment. Heather could slightly sense someone.

"H-hello?" she called out. The only other person that ever came in here was Douglas. They almost never had company over. So who came in? Nobody else had the keys to this place besides Douglas was the supervisor. And the old guy would never come in without knocking first.

There was still nobody. Well…? I may as well go check it out. Walking cautiously, Heather made her way over to the apartment entrance. Of course there was nobody here. There was nobody there—nobody at all. But the noise was just so distinct. Huh, must've been next door, came the thought.

So off she went, retreating back deeper into this apartment to make herself some tea. Hot beverages like tea were only possible this time of year in an air-conditioned apartment. Dad used to make tea and read mysteries at this kitchen table whenever he wasn't working on his next book. Now here Heather was, sitting in the same place she sat when with him—opening a book of her own for reading. It was times like this that made her think of Dad not really being gone. Well, if ghosts were real, maybe he could still be around. She turned to the book's table of contents, picked an interesting chapter, then turned to it to start reading.

2.

Later, Heather was still reading at the dinner table and still sipping tea—her knees together and ankles crossed beneath the chair. Weird stuff, she thought. According to this book, time doesn't matter to ghosts. On one hand, it was common knowledge that ghosts come out from far-flung times of the past. That could mean a ghost may have its origins from ten years, a hundred years, any amount of time… Some countries of the world have well-known historical sites where phantasms have been photographed and recognized as being reminiscent of eras specific to the location. The importance of such locations passed centuries ago, yet the spirits remain.

Moreover true was how some of the most bizarre and horrific manifestations are some of the oldest. For example, in one country, there are eyewitness accounts of shadowy entities with bizarre shapes. Late-night security guards and workers at one historical site sometimes encounter "twisted" entities. These figures appear to be walking shadows that manifest themselves both indoors and outdoors. The "twisted" descriptions come out of how these figures will appear to walk as if deformed with horrific injuries. Some of these shadowy forms stride with arms wrenched the wrong ways. Worse still are the figures that walk the night with their upper bodies bent completely back, or those that move as if their heads cannot remain straight on their necks. The security guards who report seeing such figures also claim that, even on nights where the figures do not appear, howling sounds can be heard on the winds.

It so turns out that these "twisted" ones are presumably the ghosts of people who have been victim to collapsing tunnels. There were points in history where people sought escape and secret travel by way of hastily dug tunnels beneath the earth. They were dug in such a hurry that there was no time to make them any wider than the width of a human being. Likewise, such tunnels were made with little to no concern for safety: the tops of these small underground tunnels barely held up by way of empty barrel-shells or pieces of wood. The wood would collapse, and people would be trapped underground. The injuries from collapsing tunnels killed many.

Yet many more slowly suffocated to death—screaming in pain and suffering as the tunnel air went stale. It was death and dying in darkness underground. They screamed and died for the help that would never come. And they scream to this day.

Ugh… Heather crossed her arms. Like, that's freaky, she thought to herself. The idea of dead people walking around like twisted shadows was a messed-up thought to her. They died terrible deaths. Then it sounds like they suffer even after their death. She read into the next section.

According to this next section, there are those who claim that ghosts can sometimes appear from the future. It again returns to the notion that the dimension of time does not matter to spiritual entities. If the past is merely one extension of time, then the future is more of the same. Spirits can therefore move "forwards" and "backwards" through time as easily as one may two ways along a pathway. Such sightings are less common than entities presumed to be from the past. Nevertheless, instances of phantasms from future times have been recorded.

One such case involves a middle-aged man in a Western city. He reported to authorities that he saw a troubling young woman sitting in a subway car as the train sped through tunnels, a young lady dressed in bloody and torn clothes. He tried asking her questions, only to find her looking sadly at him. She would then stand up…and disappear as fast as a blink. Consequently, he stopped riding that particular train. The train was destroyed in a criminal act six weeks later—the suspects not found, though official suspected the children of a disgruntled transportation employee.

Someone was at the door. "Be there in a sec!" sang out Heather. She used a slip of paper for a bookmark to mark her place in the book. Walking to the apartment doorway...suddenly made her feel sad for some reason...and a little bit woozy. Whoa, maybe she needed that nap after all. Never mind that. Soon Heather was at the door. She opened the door a crack, just enough for her to see. The bronze door-chain kept it from opening all the way. Douglas would just look through the peephole, but Heather wasn't tall enough to look up into the little security peephole. The trouble with everything in this country was how it was designed for people six feet tall.

Looking through the space between door and jamb allowed her to see the person. It was a sharp-faced girl dressed in tight-fitting corduroy pants, along with a sweater that clung to her upper body—a dark-haired sort with dark eyes to match. Her outfit clung to her slim form in such a way that it revealed all the contours of her body in a vaguely obscene way--even though it covered everything.

Heather thought to herself, What gives? What was up with dark-haired strangers today? First at work, now one is here. And wasn't it a bit hot out there for a sweater and jeans together?

The warmly dressed dark-haired girl folded her hands primly in front of herself. "Um-m-m... Uh-h... Hi in there. I, uh, have s-s-something to tell you. I-its about a certain town. Y-y-you know what I'm talking about?"

Mentioning a certain town could only mean one place. To that, Heather nearly slammed the door shut just now. It took an effort not to do that, lock all the locks, put the phone-stand against the door and call the cops! A certain town? Hell no! Screw you and the horse you rode in on! But…

But if it wasn't for the fact that Heather somehow felt sorry for that girl, the door would've been slammed the door right then and there. The thought Hell no came from the fact that the last time that damned certain town got into her life, it killed her Dad. And maybe it killed Mom, too. In a past life, the madness of that damned town always somehow reached out to kill off any sort of family she had to begin with. Then the damned craziness of the town reached out to kill her adopted father. The town was all about darkness and killing, disease and death. It was a place of darkness and madness. If the weird darkness didn't kill you there, it made other people kill people—hard to explain to newcomers...or even experienced people with that place. That town? Hah, she'd rather slit both her own wrists and drown her head in the resulting bowl of blood.

Whatever it was about that dark-haired girl in tight jeans and tighter sweater, it kept Heather from slamming the door and such… There was a lost and forlorn sort of feeling from the girl. Through the door-crack, Heather looked into that girl's dark eyes and saw twin pools of darkened misery. And from the way the girl stuttered with some kind of fear and worry, it only made Heather want to reach out even more to help. Maybe the dark-haired girl had nowhere else to go for help? After all, why else would she come to a gritty old apartment building to ask for help from a stranger?

Screw it, came the thought. She pushed the door closed, quickly undid the security chains, then opened the door. Now Heather had a more-full view of the dark-haired girl who was a head taller. But wasn't everybody taller? "Um... Th-thank you. May I come in?"

What're you waiting for, an invitation engraved into a bronze plate? "Sure, come on in," said Heather. She even gestured the way in. "Yes, I'm giving you permission to enter." The place is a mess. "The kitchen's fine."

To this, the dark-haired girl nodded. She walked as so her thin arms barely touched Heather, close enough to make for a quick but chilly breeze. The apartment's weak air-conditioning made things cool against the warm summer night. Yet the chill caused by the girl's passing made Heather shiver. There was another brush of dizziness like the one she had earlier.

"Oh, and you can..." began Heather. "You can..." But then she saw that the dark-haired girl was already walking towards the dinner table next to the kitchen area. It was right next to where Heather herself was sitting minutes ago. Now they could talk with great ease. But how'd she do that, walk to the right place without being told? Whenever a person walked into a new place, the thing to do was ask about. How was this girl so sure about herself in this apartment?

There was no sound when the taller girl walked across the short expanse of tiles to the table next to the kitchenette—careful, mincing footsteps. And when the dark-haired girl came to the table, she just stood there and looked uncomfortably around. It was as if she was too embarrassed to sit down herself. "Umm… What I have to tell you is, uh-h-h… You have to be careful! Some people... They're really mean."

Heather walked around to the table, now standing opposite the girl. "What do you mean? Could you be a little more specific than that? Like, if you came here to talk in puzzles, I'm gonna have to ask you to leave. Now you said Silent Hill, so I'm already expecting some kinda trouble." She tilted her head to the left. "I don't even know your name…"

"M-my name's…Angela," said the dark-haired girl in jeans and tight sweater. "I… I was staying some place and…then things started going wrong. It's h-hard to sleep when things start going so-o-o wrong. Now I'm so-o-o tired…."

To this, Heather shook her head and crossed her arms across her abdomen. "Angela, is it? I know you're sort of nervous and all. But could you please tell me why you're here? Like, I can't help you if you're just gonna beating around the bush. You said a certain town."

"Well, uh-h-h..." began Angela. Wink-flicker! The apartment lights flickered. Heather saw Angela open her mouth. "Uh-h-h… If I told you like that, I c-c-could be in a lot of trouble." Flickety blink-blink! "They might get me."

There went the apartment lights again. Damned old wires, thought Heather. Has the apartment super been slacking again? Now she was getting doubly annoyed. She uncrossed her arms, put hands atop the table. "Okay, Angela… Let's try this one more time. What kind of they are you talking about? Let me know as so I can maybe figure out what to do. Maybe I can help, maybe not. I don't particularly want to deal with any more kind of trouble myself. Those guys already made things screwy enough." She then thought, And maybe I'd better be on the next bus going out of state: new name, new place, and a new me.

"I think…" began Angela. Flick-flicker, went the lights. Suddenly, the dark-haired girl with the sharp-featured face leaned forward. Her voice became a scream. "You can't run, Alyssa! No matter where you go, we will find you! You can die and come back, but we will always find you again and again!"

What…! Now it was Heather's turn to become nervous, extremely so. "Whoa, hey! What's going on?" Flicker-blinkety! The apartment lights were doing that thing again. Now it was getting hard to see. It was like Heather's eyes were messing up… Then came…the sound of how-w-w-ling outside the sliding doors that led to the fire escape. Something was happening.

Flick-flicker-r-r, went the lights. "Ae-e-ei-i-igh…!" came the scream from Angela's mouth, her mouth open. The girl's dark eyes were open, mouth open, they were like three holes of darkness. Heather, holding her ringing ears shut, saw Angela begin to move. But she was moving without walking and seemed to become taller. No, that wasn't it

Angela came around the table. It was movement without using her legs. That would be because Angela was now floating. She was now floating right around the table and over to Heather, who was now staggering back and clutching her head. Heather's head felt as if it was hurting like Hell. Her vision began to blur as the dizziness overcame her. Flick-flicker, went the lights.

This was a mistake, a damned mistake. That was what Heather was thinking as the floating being that called itself Angela floated even closer. And as the Angela entity floated closer, Heather began to feel even sicker and worse. It was as if some kind of sinister radiation was filling this place and trying…to fill her head. Her brain felt as if it was being pressurized inside of her skull! Then she couldn't take it anymore.

"A-a-h-h-h…!" screamed Heather in expelling all the air out of her lungs, also losing the last of her strength. She staggered, collapsed to fall onto her back. Doing so, she barely noticed hitting her head on the floor. Now she was looking up towards the ceiling as the lights dimmed. Or was that her vision? Either way, it was like the light was being mottled over with muddy and bloody redness. The Angela-thing floated down towards her as she lost consciousness…

Heather…sat up at the table. She sucked in an extremely weak breath and found it hard to breathe. Her body was numb all over. When she tried to stand up, it nearly resulted in her falling to the floor. I feel like crap… My head's spinning like a bottle of bad booze. What's wrong with me? I'm too young for a heart attack or stroke…

But if that was not true, then why did she feel like her chest was being crushed. And why was it so damned hard for her to breathe? There were cases in which even youngsters suffered from maladies presumably allocate for those of the elderly sort. Teenagers tell each other to "drop dead," in jest. Yet that sometimes is the literal truth. Given all the hundreds of thousands of preservatives in factory-packaged foods, think of at least the few hundred chemicals that are not safe. Then mix that with whatever the Hell could be in the drinking water. Indeed, this town's food and water could make for a feast of doom. Maybe her body was reacting to any set of chemicals in the food or water, chemicals with complicated scientific names long enough to take up a few pages of telephone books. Whatever it was, Heather just knew that something was wrong with her. She tried to get up from the chair.

And she instantly stumbled onto the floor. Her legs felt so weak, her body feeling as if freezing and burning at the same time inside… Damn, it would a sucky way to go—dropping dead of a heart attack or something at the age of nineteen. And she didn't even have a girlfriend now! She was going to die single and alone in this apartment because something was wrong with her after that nightmare.

If she couldn't stand up, she'd crawl, damn it! So crawl she did. Luckily she was wearing jeans-pants that let her slide herself along the tiled floor and along the hard carpeting. She wasn't getting any better. And maybe, she was making things worse by doing this. But there was no one else around to help a maybe-dying girl. What the Hell, she bitterly thought. I'm not even twenty years old! I'm too damned young for a heart attack!

She somehow, eventually, successfully crawled her way over to the telephone. Sitting sideways, Heather reached up and pulled the phone to the floor with her. Then what? Say that she called. Also, say that the ambulance people took her to the hospital. They would ask her for insurance. Hell, she barely had medical insurance. And the closest thing she had to a steady doctor was the health clinic up-town. Besides, when they asked her what happened, what would she say? Would she say that a radioactive ghost from a disappeared town attacked her? They would then lock her up in the crazy ward.

Being locked in a hospital was the last thing Heather wanted. Body and brain full of dizziness, Heather slowly lowered the telephone handset back to its cradle. Then she laid herself down next to the telephone as the semi-numbness and pain continued to agonize her. It was getting a little better as she laid down. Still, she was hurting.

Then the pain began to go away. It was fading… Yet there was that feeling of everything going wrong now. She knows that she saw one of them on the bus home from work. Now one of them came to her house. Please… Please… Not again… A tear slid from her right eye, down her right cheek. Not again in this life...