Chapter Seven: Darkness
Why do people desire being a child once more? Is it the untouched innocence? Or the beginning down life's path? Or the belief that good prevails over evil, that good still exists in the world? Does everyone want to undo a foolish action completed long ago? Do people not want to face their judgement and reminisce in youth and time? Time doesn't last forever, not for humans. The past is written, the present is being created, and the future is a mystery.
"Isabel. Isabel. Wake up."
A cooing sweet voice cause Isabel to slowly lumber out of sleep and onto her feet. She coughed allowing the excess fluids in her lungs to exit. The unmistakable flavor of the water lingered on her taste buds and her head felt like vibrating earth.
"Oh no." Isabel reacted negatively to her environment.
It was the same four walls that imprisoned her from the very beginning and she was starting to believe that they would never leave her sanity alone. Once again, the ground was damp where she had laid, but a larger mark of her body outlined the first and her clothes were still wet.
"No no no no no no no..." Her head slumped in disintegrating hope. "Why do I keep waking up in this room?"
Instinctually, Isabel closed her eyes before submerging under the water's surface transporting her into another part of Silent Hill. It probably saved her life. Who knows what lurks beneath the water.
A loud splash of water hit the floor after she wrung her clothing. Puddles accumulated after each clothing item was forced dry and Isabel redressed herself.
"Ow..."A hand touched her neck where the string almost killed her, but no longer existed.
The whole incident seemed like a fey fantasy, completely unrealistic, and now she was back sitting on the floor in some room with a cemented door, a foggy window, and a dripping wet ceiling. Life wasn't going to get better anytime soon, or maybe not at all.
Staring across the room at the single window, she took out the photo that miraculously survived the previous event. It was intact and the words on the back were still there.
"Where is the light in Silent Hill? Is it lost or is it hidden?" She thought to herself, pausing. "What could it mean? What could hide light?"
She looked up again at the window. Fog.
"Fog? Fog hides light, right? But what does it hide?"She let her head hit the wall. "Ow. Bright move, Isabel."
She had no desires to stay in this room. It was cold, small, wet and creepy. Not to mention the questionable noises coming from outside. Remembering how she got out the first time, she figured it would work again a second time and stood to face the wall her hurting head was just resting on. She walked forward, slowly, with her eyes closed, but only met a solid surface inches from where she stood.
"Ugh. I closed my eyes. Why didn't I go anywhere?" Frustrated and confused, Isabel crossed her arms not liking the insanity of her predicament.
Looking at an adjacent wall, she decided to the wall for an escape, but only met the same conclusion. Then she headed for the cemented over door, her original direction of escape. Again, eyes closed, she encountered the same solid surface that made up the wall. The last wall, with the window, was the last one untested.
"I hope this works because I don't want to try going through the ceiling." Finishing the sentence, and a glance upwards, she made her way to the wall with the window.
In the darkness, she assumed she hadn't gotten anywhere. The same cold glass surface hugged the tips of her fingers. She took a deep breath, turned around and opened her eyes in one swift move.
"Oh crap."
The room she was in had the same size and placements as the last, but it was decorated with masks. There was still a window and an oddly cemented door, but the wood was painted black like the room with the candles.
Each mask had a different expression and considerable differences from the next. A moderate gap spaced them unevenly apart from each other. It felt like a circus. There was no blatant pattern or easily decipherable meaning, just randomness.
All together, there were seven.
One wall in particular had only a single mask. It was a child's face, about seven years old. It was joyful, an expression worth the innocence of youth. Short brown cut hair, rosy cheeks, and blank eyes faced Isabel's.
Two masks were on the next wall. The higher one on the wall was a person. Streaks could be seen where the tears were painted. This sadness is normally associated with the pain of disillusionment, after the younger years have passed. Looking into those dark holes, Isabel felt a twinge of sorrow that was her own, empathy. The second mask was lower to the ground. The face was an elderly person, haggard by the worries and suffering from life. Gray hair scarcely covered the deep impressions of wrinkles that accented the sagging aged skin. The hair itself could describe the tortures of life. It was plain, dull and lifeless with no volume or care. The eyes were sad too, but not as sad as the mask before it.
The following wall had two masks as well. The mask, closest to the ground of all seven and adjacent to the old hag face, was wet. It was physically wet to the touch. Isabel's fingers pushed the water between them from the mask. The whole thing was soaked. The skin felt cold and clammy. Parting the long hair out of the masks's face, Isabel noticed how terrified the person looked. It was so fearful that Isabel was taken back for a moment and quickly scanned the room, then her eyes reached on the second mask on the same wall. It was pure crimson red in both blood and anger. Some of the facial feature were recognizable in rage, but others were too disfigured to determine what they were. An aurora of hatred emanated from the mask, Isabel felt it with one hand and dared not to touch it.
The final wall was home to the last two masks of the seven. The left mask, near the bloody person, was completely white, blank, nothing but two ebony eye sockets. There was no expression, nothing extraordinary just a certain stubborn face to fight the masses of oncoming troubles. It extremely contrasted all the other masks. It was colorless and it was nothing. And then there was the final mask of the seven. The newborn's face was stained in blood. A rusted knife clung to the fleshy parts of the forehead and hair. Despite the horrible fate, the face assumed the expression of sleep, peacefulness and tainted with a hint of pain. The size was remarkably smaller than the rest, but then again...
"Is that real?"
Isabel looked closer at the child's head. It was in fact real, or as real as Silent Hill gets.
"That's so cruel!" She looked the knife up and down closely. "Is that the same knife that hit me? It must be, just a miniature version of it, but it's the same thing!"
Isabel touched her body were the Great Knife claimed its pain. Looking back up, she realized something.
"Why is this baby the only male here?" She twisted acknowledging each of the other masks.
She was right. The Child, the Old Hag, the Blank, the Depressed, the Bloody and the Drowned Mask were all women. Not a single other male figure, but the boy. Isabel stared at the boy. It seemed similar to the one in the picture, so she took it out again.
"Is this the same child? Was this the one crying?" Shuddering, a chill scurried down her spine. She felt like she was being watched.
While inspecting the room, it seemed like the masks were watching her every move, every breath of life. Out of fear and paranoia, she took them down in the order she first saw them and left the baby's head on the wall. After she gathered them, she set them on the floor with the Child Mask staring up at her. That mask made Isabel feel happy as if a long lost happiness was reconnected with her from the past. Glancing at the baby head made her feel as if something was lost forever, never to return and it brought a tear to her eye. She quickly caught it with the edge of her sleeve and tried to ignore it. Dwelling on uncertain and saddening events is unhealthy, but she did feel sorry for the kid. She would rather have her sanity than get caught up in unearthly thoughts.
Round about the room her eyes went again. This time there was no definite exit. Sitting down on the floor once again, she stared at the baby head. Then the stood back up, heading over to it. The head was real and so was the knife. A confidant hand gripped the knife and yanked it out.
"Thank god it's real. I needed a weapon!" She slipped the knife into her jean pocket after a sigh of relief.
The baby head came to life and opened its eyes to stare up at Isabel. Blue, blue, water blue pale eyes they were that stunned her on the spot. Too frightened to move and too shocked to speak, her green as dead grass eyes fought a terrifying fight before the blue eyes swelled with tears and began to cry. The wailing sobs answered Isabel's previous question, she was able to recognize the voice from the previous sobs.
She panicked having no idea what to do, bearing the pain again was too much to relive, and she threw the head to the ground along with half the wall that was fused with it. The hidden bond was strong, but not strong enough for the boards that made the wall. Isabel had no recollection of ever seeing the two being connected, but ignored that thought when the baby stopped crying.
The only remaining noise was her own unsettling breathing. The hole in the wall opened up a pathway into a prison and the masks disappeared. She took a daring step into the unknown cell, complete darkness.