Chapter 9: Order
We were walking through the clock tower, talking of our life before the madness started. I figured I had nothing better to do during our hike to the bell.
'How come I've never met you?' I asked. 'I've been friends with Emily since high-school, yet she never introduced us to each other.'
'I don't know,' Blake said. We climbed up the steps towards the lounge room. 'I suppose she never thought to. I've known her from when she went to Midwich Elementary school in Silent Hill. They did some damn freaky things in that school; our parents pulled us out. She moved to Ashfield, I moved to Brahms. I came to Ashfield in my twenties to become a police officer.'
'You're a cop?' I asked.
'Yeah,' he said with a chuckle. 'I never was a good one, though. My aim is awful, and it's actually quite a dull job. Anyway, what do you do?'
'Me? It's complicated. I'm interning for a job in medicine, but after this, I doubt I'll make it. I've missed work for several days.' We stopped in the lounge room. 'To pay the bills I got a job at the recording studio.'
'What?'
I laughed nervously. 'I'm the studio drummer, and it pays good.'
'I see. A musician that can heal people. Now that's a combination.' I laughed once and pulled a drink from the bag. Unscrewing the cap, I offered him it. He shook his head. I drained it in six gulps.
We continued until we came the door leading to the clock face. Upon it was a placard. My heart dropped, and despair surged up in my stomach. I feebly reached out and grasped the placard, and pulling it out I saw it was blue. Carved upon it was a scale, and underneath was written: Order.
Stuffing it my bag without care, I stood and entered the cellar, and climbed the ladder to the spire. With a great heave, I moved the bell forward and released. A great chime filled the air, and I could hear the grating of metal on stone as the emergency ladder was extended. I climbed back down the ladder, and went back to the door leading to the clock face. Aiming my pistol, I went through it.
Towards the edge there was a large, red square, and the ladder extended down. I looked down, and back to Blake.
'Blake, I'm going to save you. Now, I don't know what's down there, but if it's dangerous, I'd better go down first.'
'Okay,' he said, visibly shaken. 'I'll fire off a shot if anything goes wrong.'
'Alright.' I gripped the ladder: the metal was freezing cold, and the perspiration on my palms wasn't helping. I slowly descended down each step. All of them felt as if they lasted a lifetime, and the ladder didn't seem to end. Granted, I was going slowly. I wanted to hear if Blake was in trouble.
Sure enough, I did.
From the top there came a blast, powerful and echoing. Cursing I raced up the ladder, and I took a moment to withdraw my pistol. Taking a breath, I climbed onto the top and saw Blake with another figure, his height and with a long, thin club in hand. He slammed it into Blake's waist, and the cop reeled backwards, loosing one more round into the Man. The Man staggered back with a cry, and Blake fell off the brink.
I then did the bravest act I think I'd ever done up to that moment, and the most reckless: I launched myself forward and leapt, sliding across the floor and extending my arm down. Blake barely caught it.
'Oh my God!' he cried, and he shook. He reached up and put his shotgun on the brink, and then began to pull himself up. I heard a click. The Man was recovered, and had pulled out a pistol similar to mine. On pure instinct I raised mine as quick as possible, and my finger repeatedly pulled the trigger. Each bullet hit the mark, and the Man was staggering greatly. Unfortunately Blake's grip wasn't too good. He slipped and we were back at the start. My pistol was out of bullets. I couldn't possibly reload.
'Shit!' I screamed.
The Man's gun came up again. One pull of the trigger; one bullet launched from the barrel, and Blake screamed. His hand bled profusely, and he let go. I screamed and grabbed frantically for his hand, but the blood made it slip and Blake fell to his death. I stood and slammed a clip into my pistol. Aiming I unloaded a second clip into the Man, walking closer in fury. When the gun clicked, I grabbed the steel pipe and repeatedly beat him with it. He fell to the ground and moved no more. I walked and picked up Blake's shotgun.
I turned to the ladder and looked down. Suddenly I heard a laugh and a click, and as I turned, the Man was standing! He fired a shot; it missed, but I was startled off the edge. I fell with a cry of horror. As I fell, though, I glimpsed the Man leaping off the edge.
An idea came into my head. I was falling backwards, slowly rotating. I thrust my body forward, and I flipped right-side up. Curling up, I stretched forcefully outward with my legs, propelling myself towards the ladder. My hand grasped the sides, roughly sliding down. I clenched tightly, and my hands stopped as my body fell. It hurt, but my hands stayed and my body stopped, though it bounced slightly. I frantically placed my feet on the wrungs and halted, breathing. Why hadn't everything faded? Blake must still be alive!
I slid the rest of the way down, for I had stopped myself about ten feet above ground, dropping onto stone. I cursed and inserted a clip into my pistol. I walked forward slightly. Through the fog I saw the Red Pyramid – and then another. I cast a gaze up, and tried to calculate where Blake had landed.
Firing at the rightmost Pyramid's legs, I darted to my right, and there came a bend. I turned it, and there was a black figure laying on the hard concrete. His head was completely splattered, his bones twisted and snapped, and above all, the Man was there. He was still alive. He had a switchblade and was carving 18121 into Blake's head.
Enraged, I tore the pipe out and lunged for the man. His head snapped up and he gasped as I swung the pipe viciously at his face. He fell back and leapt up again. With one leap, he jumped away, higher than any mortal man can leap.
I leaned down and searched Blake's pocket: six shotgun shells. His gun was empty: I slid two inside and turned to the Pyramids. They were gone. I felt the world fading, and I looked down to Blake.
'I swear,' I said, choking up. 'I swear I'll kill him, buddy. He won't get away with this.' Blake's eyes were wide open. In the last moments of consciousness I closed them. Then the world went black.
–
How many more deaths until this is over?
16121
17121
18121
What are they? Oh well. I'd better get up.
I sat up in my bed and put the bag down. I laid all my weapons on the table. I was going on strike. I'd wait for my death to come. Not like it mattered, as I couldn't prevent the deaths. I didn't matter if anyone else died. I became numb to everything.
I was on the couch, in a daze, when I noticed something that wasn't there before. There was a piece of notepad paper on the table, written in red pen. I picked it up and read it.
This is the diary of Thomas Iridan, June 10th, 1994. I don't have a clue what is going on, but it's scaring the Hell out of me. Well, nothing is to be gained by random babble, so I'll start with some personal information.
I, as you may have guessed, am Thomas Iridan, a writer for The Ashfield Informer, the local newspaper. Mainly I write local events, and I was working on a big article when I suddenly was thrust into this Hellish existence. I hate to think it, but if you're reading this, you may be in the same situation. I hope that my knowledge of what is happening helps you, however scarce.
Then it ended. I figured there were more, but I wasn't about to look. That helped very little. But it consoled me, knowing someone may have been in the same situation as me. Granted, it may have been different. He hadn't actually explained what was going on. But it fueled the soul.
It was about an hour later when I found another stuck on my bathroom mirror. I plucked it off and read it.
Here follows my problem: I cannot leave this house. No windows break, the doors are chained, and I can't tunnel out. The phone's dead, and the TV and the radio. I thought it couldn't get anyworse.
But then the Hole came.
What the Hell it is, I couldn't initially fathom. Knowing what I know now, however, I know exactly what it is. But I've been trapped in the house, and the only way out is therough the Hole. But through the Hole are demons, ghosts, and . . . them. The Red Pyramids. I shall delve more on that subject too, but my main point is that I'm stuck in a desperate situation.
The note ended there. I stood and sighed. Seeing no more forthcoming, I decided to go through the hole one more time. Gathering my weapons and leaving the plank, I scrambled through the hole, which had grown to monstrous size.
The noises were detestable, growls of humans and moans of other things I cannot fathom. I objected entirely, but I was propelled to go through with this. And so I crawled.
