Chapter 6: Narrow Escape

I went through another gate, continuing along the path, until I came to a point where there were four poles stuck in the ground in a square formation right in the middle of the path. I saw a dog wandering around in the distance, and it caused me to stop in my tracks, just short of the first set of poles.

It was a good thing I did. A sudden movement caused me to jump and stumble backwards. Had I not, I would have been impaled on several wooden spears that were attached to a canopy-looking apparatus that was apparently rigged to slide down the poles and impale whoever was in the middle.

As for the dog, it didn't seem to notice me, so I managed to sneak past it, through the next gate.

Unfortunately, I was not as lucky in the next area.

I saw a dog wandering around close by, so I readied the pipe and began to quietly advance on it—I knew I wouldn't be able to sneak past another one, so I didn't bother trying. I just hoped I'd be able to kill it as quickly and painlessly (for me) as possible.

Suddenly, I felt a familiar vice clamp down on one of my ankles from behind. In the split second I took to glance down at the dog that was doing it, the first one was upon me, knocking me to the ground. Once it had me pinned, I screamed as it lunged at my throat, but I was able to block it with the pipe. The doglike creature bit down on the pipe instead, its hideous, rotten, eyeless face far too close to mine for comfort. And as bad as it smelled on the outside, its breath nearly made me pass out. Meanwhile, the second dog was trying to gnaw on my left arm—I tried to keep moving so it couldn't get a grip, but my movement was restricted by the weight of the first one.

Before I knew it, I felt something tickling my lower leg and I realized that a third one had appeared and was also considering taking a bite out of me. If I didn't act soon, I was done for. A primal terror set in and I focused it on driving the first one off of me by holding the pipe with both hands and pushing upward as hard as I could.

The sudden motion did cause the first dog to tumble off of me, but it also upset the second dog, which began savagely attacking my left forearm. I screamed, thinking for sure that I was done for, as all it would take was one of the dogs to slow me down so the other two could have at me.

Sure enough, the third dog started trying to bite my leg, but fortunately, it merely grazed the skin and mostly ended up with a mouthful of denim. Unfortunately, it was enough for it to get a good grip and it started trying to drag me away. Meanwhile, the one that had my arm snarled and pulled in the opposite direction. I continued to scream as the horror set in deeper—I had basically become a living piece of food for them to fight over.

There was no way I could fight all these dogs with the pipe—I had to get my gun, and I only had one free hand. I dropped the pipe and rolled onto my left side so I could reach behind my back and pull the gun from my waistband, and I did so.

By now, the first dog had recovered from its fall and had sensed my movement. Fortunately for me, it decided to attack the barrel of my gun, instead of the hand holding it, and in a moment of panic, I pulled the trigger—despite all my twitching and screaming, I was able to send the bullet straight through its brain (the fact that it was basically biting the barrel of the gun helped my aim a great deal), and it dropped like a stone.

The next target was the second dog, whose teeth had slipped off my arm and it was mostly pulling on my sleeve by now, but I was too hyped up on adrenaline to notice. This one's head was next to my left hand, so I aimed at its head by bringing my right hand next to my left. Because I was still in a state of panic, it took a few shots, but this one fell too.

Finally, I sat up and aimed at the third dog, hitting it in the head, but not as cleanly as the first—both dogs were twitching and squealing. I was way past the point of being squeamish, so I stood up, despite my legs feeling like they were made of rubber, and I savagely stomped on each of them, finishing them off.

With the danger over, my legs buckled under me, and I fell, unceremoniously, back on my ass. I was shaking furiously, and my heart was pounding so hard, I thought my ribcage would break. My left arm felt like it was on fire. I brought my knees up to my chest and just sat there in a fetal position waiting for my nerves to settle down.

I've always been fairly independent and solitary, and I figured that if there was a way out of this situation, I'd get my self out somehow. But for the first time, I was seriously beginning to doubt my ability to go on alone. There was no one to watch my back. I'd somehow managed to survive this attack, but what about the next one?

I don't know how long I'd sat there, but eventually I looked up and saw that at the end of this path was a tall wooden gate with a sign next to it that said: "Silent Hill Smile Support Society 'Wish House'". At least I had made some kind of progress. Even though I still had a case of the shakes, I was able to stand and walk, so I approached the gate.

That's the orphanage run by the cult, huh? I thought as I grabbed the handle and pushed the latch on top with my thumb-it gave easily.

As I entered the next area, the first thing I saw was the orphanage itself. It wasn't terribly notable in appearance—basically, it just looked like a big white house with plain wood trim and a wooden deck for a porch.

But I also saw something colorful in my peripheral vision, so I turned and saw that the fence was decorated with children's drawings that stretched from one side of the fence to the other; mainly grass, picket fences, and flowers done in multicolored chalk. It made sense—I guess if you live in a drab orphanage like this one, you'd fantasize about things like flowers and white picket fences almost as much as a family. I found that to be a depressing thought.

In the very middle of the fence was another hole, only the decorative ring looked like it was drawn with red chalk.

Wait a minute, I thought. I had just gone through the gate, and while I wasn't really looking for it at the time, I'm pretty sure that the fence was a normal thickness—about six inches or so—and yet this hole was a long and dark tunnel, just like its cousins. I also hadn't noticed a hole on the outside of the fence.

I shook my head. It made as much sense as the other holes, including the one that led me here from my apartment. Trying to logically figure out this place could make a person's head explode.

I decided to take advantage of the placement of this hole and use it to go home and tend to my wounds. God only knows what kind of germs and diseases undead dog monsters might carry.

Sure enough, there was no running water in my apartment. I was planning on using peroxide on my arm anyway—I'd just skip the preliminary rinse.

With my long-sleeved shirt off, I held my left forearm over the sink in the bathroom and poured peroxide over it. It burned quite a lot, but it washed away the dirt and blood. White foam collected on the wounds, and once it dissolved, I saw that the scratches weren't as bad as I'd expected. They certainly weren't pretty—that dog's teeth had left some pretty deep grooves on either side of my arm, starting at almost my elbow, then coming together and almost forming a "V" about halfway to the wrist, but I could move my arm without too much pain, and while it was still bleeding, it wasn't anywhere near as profusely as before. Plus, I was right-handed, so I was damn lucky, all things considered. Once the bleeding had appeared to stop for good, I bandaged the wound. Under different circumstances, I probably would have put a different shirt on, since the light blue one now had a big tear in the sleeve and some nasty spots of blood, but I decided not to bother—I wasn't out to win any beauty contests anyway.

Speaking of which, I looked in the bathroom mirror—it was broken (from whatever made the hole in the wall), but there was a big enough chunk left that I could see myself … which maybe wasn't such a good thing. I wasn't looking so good—I'm naturally pale, but at the moment, I was looking downright sickly. The dark circles and bags under my eyes—battle scars from the stress I'd been under—weren't helping. I also had a five o'clock shadow that had been accumulating for a few days—no point in making myself presentable if I couldn't even leave the house. I did keep up with showering, but mostly for the calming effect of the hot water.

I guessed my color would return once the trauma from nearly getting ripped to shreds by dog monsters wore off. I realized that wouldn't be happening any time soon, and a shiver ran through me to punctuate the point.

I took a deep breath and tried to relax as best I could under the circumstances. I'd have to do my best to suck it up and move on—I'd just have to try to learn from the mistake I made and make damn sure I didn't do it again. The dogs were slow-moving when you were facing them, but they moved quickly when behind you. So as long as my back was covered, I'd be okay. Besides, I'd killed plenty of them before.

I checked my leg and saw that the scratches there weren't too bad—I applied some peroxide, just in case, but skipped the bandages.

I put my light blue shirt back on and made my way back through the hole.