It's my very first time writing a Silent Hill fic, enjoy :)
I was reading a crap ton of SH fics yesterday and suddenly this idea just popped into my head. I knew I had to write it then. I just edited this today and so if you spot any errors, please do point it out!
Make it stop.
Please, make it stop.
She was crying again. Harry tore his eyes from the floor, turning to the crib where the white little bundle lay, a pair of tiny fists raised in the air, accompanied by that same annoying cry.
Loud. So loud.
The ticking of the wall clock right across the room was drowned out by her cries, and he no longer found the comfort he used to as the high-pitched noise made his head pound. It was as if someone was hammering on his skull.
It was all too loud.
This thing was too goddamned loud.
I just want the quiet.
The baby screamed. Harry groaned. She must've soiled herself again.
He got up from his seat and approached the crib slowly, so very slowly, the pounding in his head somehow fooling his vision — the walls stretched ahead and the crib moved farther away from him. It took him some seconds to reach it, and when he did, he started to feel sick.
Why can't she shut the hell up?
The baby's big blue eyes found him. Harry grasped the edge of the crib and watched as the baby flailed her fists, seemingly reaching out to him. He clenched his jaw, the throbbing in his head growing worse.
"Stop," Harry begged. "Please, just stop crying."
She ignored him. She raised her voice, her little mouth trying to cry out at the very top of her lungs. Harry shut his eyes, rubbed his temples and gritted his teeth.
"Stop," he whimpered, voice on the verge of breaking.
She ignored him again. Harry inhaled, exhaled, and inhaled again, glowering at her and hearing a voice somewhere only he could hear. His vision darkened and he lifted his hands, clasping his calloused fingers around the baby's throat.
There was a small gurgle from the baby as she struggled, fists slapping aimlessly around Harry's wrists. She began to choke and her eyes rolled back. She was already turning blue —
Harry let go in an instant, breathing hard, eyes wide, heart beating fast — his shaking hands finding the edge of the crib again. The baby resumed crying.
What am I doing?
"No," he spluttered, holding his head. "No no no no no. Stop — please just stop — for the love of god, just stop!"
Another high-pitched cry.
"SHUT UP!" Harry bellowed. "Stop it! Just stop it! Why can't you stop?"
The baby screamed again, and Harry did too, and it became a contest as he tried to drown her screams, slamming his hands on the crib and shaking it as if it was going to help. He screamed at her until his throat hurt and he turned away, back to his armchair, holding his head and sobbing.
Make it stop!
Harry slammed his left fist on the wall, punching and punching and punching until his knuckles bled and he fell on the floor to his knees next to the armchair, the tears blinding his vision and his sobs hurting his sides. He rested his head against the wall, knelt on all fours, looking pitiable and pathetic and stuck with a baby that wasn't his across the room begging to be fed, to be changed, to be cared for, only to be neglected.
Make it stop, please make it stop.
Help me. Help me. Anyone.
It wasn't always like this. He wasn't always like this. Everything made sense once. His life had direction once.
Where did it all go wrong?
Harry shifted on the floor and faced the crib again, straining his ears to hear the wall clock despite the writhing little thing's pleas.
He tried to think back on the days with his wife, Jodie. He missed her. He lost her to the sickness. He had a daughter too, an adopted daughter he and Jodie found on the road, one they chose to raise and love as one of their own, and it had only been the two of them then when he lost his wife. Harry had to be the child's father and mother at once for there was nobody else he could rely on, and Jodie wasn't someone he could ever replace.
He learned to cherish every moment with his daughter. Every single moment.
But then the crash happened.
And that town . . . that damned town . . .
It has been two weeks since he returned from that cursed town, two weeks since he escaped hell. It always felt like he was still there, however, like he was still stuck between two worlds, and he could still feel the grasp of bloody fingers pulling him back.
Ever since he returned, things weren't just right anymore. He started questioning whether or not it happened at all, but the baby was proof that he had been there, and that he lost his daughter there. He lost his sanity there. He lost everything there.
Harry looked up at the ceiling. Funny, the memories were quite blurry to him now. Not unless you count the fog, the gun, the smell of blood and rusted metal, the sound of static and the monsters, the ungodly noises they made . . . and the lady in white, handing him the baby.
That thing.
That baby lying feet from him still crying helplessly in the middle of the living room, where no light was turned and no windows were open, and where the dust was starting to gather on every undisturbed spot. Harry wasn't quite sure anymore, but it must have been weeks — perhaps a month? — since he last vacuumed the floors. He thought of carrying the baby to his dead daughter's room, but the thought made him sick. He could not even take her to his room, not wanting to see or hear her as he slept, but he always found himself wandering around here anyway at night because being alone frightened him.
But every time he was near the baby, he always felt angry — threatened.
I don't want to be here anymore.
The baby quieted. Harry saw her lowering her arms and she was once again a white little bundle lying within an old, mahogany crib. He stared, eyes red and knuckles still bleeding. He stood once more, holding on to the armchair for support. He slowly traipsed back to the crib.
She was looking at him again. Her eyes were red too and she still looked uncomfortable.
Harry shook his head. He turned to look at the foot of the crib where a duffel bag lay open containing packets of diapers and baby clothes he bought this morning. He grabbed a packet and changed the baby's already smelly diaper, cleaning her up before setting her back down on the crib. He grabbed the bottle feeder at her feet and gently brought it to her mouth.
She looked comfortable now; happy even. She raised her left fist, and Harry absentmindedly lent a finger. She held onto it, proceeding to prod his hand, his wrist, whatever she could reach as he fed her, and for the first time the ghost of a smile formed on Harry's lips.
He frowned. He shut his eyes as the tears fell again. He stifled a sob as the baby held his hand. His shoulders shook.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I'm so sorry."
He remained there for hours then, watching over her and trying to find peace in her presence.
Harry then began to call her Cheryl.
Confession: The only Silent Hill games I ever got to play are Shattered Memories and Origins, although I've seen playthroughs of the first three. SH2 is my personal fave, and so imagine my surprise when I ended up writing this. I still wanna play the first three SH games though, but I don't know when I'll be able to do that since I'm a scaredy cat oops
P.S. I didn't know that Harry actually did try to strangle baby Heather until I looked it up. I just Googled Harry Mason to know what his wife's name was until I ended up reading the Wiki.
I also took inspiration from Lunais' "Nightmares" SH oneshot here on FFN! Such a good one!
P.P.S. It's my first time writing something this dark, too, damn.