By: Ayame

Silent Hill : A Novelization

~through the gate~

~Sonata

Gingerly opening her eyes, she glanced around. She felt a little dizzy… maybe a slight headache, but aside from that, she felt perfectly fine. Giving a tiny cry of relief that she was unharmed, she let her gaze fall to the driver's side of the vehicle. Her dad was still out cold. A chill seemed to fall around the area as she took in her surrounding for the first time since opening her eyes. The city streets were calm and quiet, as though it were completely deserted, and the ground took on the quality of a wintry ice rink. The faintly cracked glass of the car seemed to have bits of frost lining the edges, and a minute amount of condensation had formed, due to the breathing of herself and her father. Cheryl rubbed her forehead a little, and then her shoulder where the seatbelt had pressed an indentation of red against her skin. Pressing the release button, she moved out of the shoulder harness and sat forward a bit. The jeep gave off strange creaking noises with each movement she made, no matter how slight. Biting her lower lip, she spotted her sketchbook lying on the floor. Grabbing onto it, she looked toward her dad once more before leaning over and shaking him, trying to rouse him from his sleep.

"Papa…" she whispered. A chill crept down her spine. She felt odd being here… wherever here was. Licking her lips, she moved back to the passenger seat. What should she do? Go for help? Or wait until her father awoke? Letting her gaze go through the windshield of the jeep, she could see tiny tendrils of fog slowly drifting across the icy roads, slithering like desert serpents across smooth sand. But despite paranormal setting, she was sure she was in the town that she'd picked as their vacation spot. She wasn't sure just how she knew that, but she did. The place just seemed… familiar to her. It was as though… some unseen power had beckoned her to come… to go where it was safe… Cheryl wrinkled her nose. How could any place be more safe than at her father's side? She glanced over at him. But… how could he protect her if he was asleep and wouldn't wake up…?

"Daddy…" her voice was on the edge of pleading. She'd never been in an accident like this before, and it was frightening. Her thoughts traced back to the girl that they'd nearly ran over. Cheryl wondered if she was alright. Had her dad been able to avoid hitting her? Or… was she crushed beneath the jeep at this very moment? A feeling of dread crept over her. The thought made her want to spring from the vehicle and run far away, but it also made her want to stay put, lest the ghost of the girl try to grab her for revenge. She held tightly onto her sketchbook, wishing that her imagination wouldn't get the better of her. Of course people didn't come back from the dead. She knew that. And she was pretty sure the girl had made it safely away. After all, her dad had swerved quite a ways out of the way. With a sigh, she leaned back, trying to remain calm and patient as she waited for her father to wake up.

But… strangely enough, she couldn't help but think about the girl who'd stumbled out across the road. She wasn't even sure how she'd noticed the older girl in the first place. With a tiny, quivering sigh, she glanced out the window and toward the now fog infested streets. Were they streets? Why are you so sure this is a city? Her mind asked her. The place seemed to transform beneath the thick fog that had grown so rapidly. Could she have really been sure she was in a city in the first place? Maybe her conscience had a point there. It could have just been her imagination… The need to be in familiar territory that made her think she had seen houses and streets before the fog rolled in… Just how was she so sure she was in a city…? I don't know… she replied silently to that little nagging voice. I just am… Leaning over a little, she unlocked the door and pushed it open. The air that greeted her was something of a mix between cold and hot, like it couldn't make up it's mind as to what it wanted to be. Stepping out of the wrecked jeep, Cheryl clutched her sketchbook to her and looked back in the car. Don't worry, Daddy. I won't go too far… she gave him the silent promise, even though she knew he could not hear it. But, as she gave it, she felt the distinct feeling of longing come over her… a feeling that told her if she left the spot in which she stood, she wouldn't be coming back…

Looking in either direction, despite how beneath the mask of the misty haze the appearance of both routes seemed identical, she felt compelled to move one way. It was as though the beckoning that had been telling her where safety was, came even more forceful now that she'd left the shelter of the jeep. Biting her lower lip, she took in a small breath, her tiny fingers moving to smooth away stray strands of her short black hair. She had to go for help. She trusted her instincts. Papa had always told her she was a bright little girl… so she should do what she thought was best… right? Walking slowly into the dense fog, she vanished from view, seeking what she felt was to be help… and seeking… something else. What was it…? What was it? She couldn't explain it, but whatever it was she felt, the pull towards it was overpowering the need to find help. With a small whimper, Cheryl kept walking.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The iridescent lights danced and flashed in spasms of color beneath his eyelids. The pain was almost unbearable, making him wonder if he'd ever come out of it. It had rendered him motionless for a time before he was actually able to gain feeling in his joints. Bit-by-bit he managed to open his eyes, to reclaim his movements… to see. He thought he'd heard Cheryl's voice… calling him in a tone of anxiety… With a slight groan, he leaned forward, his arms moving to hold onto the steering wheel, or rest on the dash. His dark brown hair fell across his face a little, shadowing his eyes as he started to come to his senses. What had happened…? He couldn't quite remember. He could only hear the distant and chilled sounds of the screaming. His muscles tensed as he saw the look of utter horror pass through that small girl's eyes just moments before he pitched the car out of the way… The motorcycle on the side of the road passed over his semi-darkened vision, a vision which only saw though half-closed slits. The thoughts and memories oozed into his mind and stuck to the crevices like that thick golden liquid collected by bees that slid over every inch of a honey-comb. It had been his foolish actions led to this accident. He'd crashed. He'd lost control of his vehicle, not only endangering the life of the girl on the road and himself, but also his… His eyes flew open as the thought of his daughter came to mind, the need to know of her safety hitting him like a tidal wave would the surface of a white sandy beach. Turing toward the passenger side of the car, he met with the shock that she was no longer beside him. The door had been left ajar, and he was greeted by nothing more than an empty seat and fog. Releasing himself from the strains of the seatbelt, he half-fell, half-stumbled from the driver's seat of the broken vehicle, still dazed and fairly pained from the accident.

A chill hung in the atmosphere… but what else was to be expected with the accompaniment of snow? Snow…? Harry wrinkled his brow, puzzled by the appearance of an element completely out of place for the season of summer. A thick blanket of fog had draped itself over the area. It was a mist that promised nothing but a void of emptiness… Rubbing his temples, Harry shook his head lightly, willing away the pulsating headache that assuaged his judgment. Perhaps his imagination was acting up from the collision…? But he knew it couldn't have been. He held out a hand, watching the flakes fall from the sky and dissipate before touching his palm… before making contact with the asphalt road on which he stood. Stillness complimented the eerie setting with the completely utter feeling of desertion. It was the silence here, Harry thought, that was far more disquieting than the misplaced elements of fog and snow. It was just too quiet…

Through the fog, he could make out the traces and outlines of buildings and nearby homes. It seemed as though the drive that his daughter and he had been on had taken place ages ago. Licking his suddenly dry lips, he thought about where his child might have gone to. Surely she would have had more sense than to wander off in conditions like these… but… he couldn't be sure. She was a feisty child that insisted she knew better on some occasions. Turning back toward the mangled jeep, he ducked inside momentarily for any items that would have been used for an accident under normal circumstances. Normal circumstances…? He thought about how odd all of this was as he pushed what luggage was left in the back of the vehicle off of the back seat and yanked out the emergency provisions equipped in the jeep from beneath the vinyl seating. Flashlights, flares accompanied by matches, a flare gun, two AM/FM radios, and a canister containing liquid… it smelled of either kerosene or gasoline, but he wasn't sure which, and, much to his dismay, it had broken open in the crash, damaging the radios, and flashlights. Of course, the flare gun was missing. It seemed that the only thing he could use from this stash were the hand held flares and the matches. Pulling the pack of flares, which didn't really seem to hold too many, and matches from the case, he slipped them into the pocket of his brown leather jacket and set off into the dense haze that covered the vicinity of the area.

He moved slowly, managing to find his way onto a sidewalk. As he got closer to the buildings, recognition came to him. The area was very familiar. He recognized this part of the town of Silent Hill. But… why was everything so… bizarre? It was true that he'd not been to this place in quite some time, but he knew that any place, unless it were in perhaps Alaska, or the near the poles, should not have had weather like this. Not during this season. It vaguely reminded him from something out of one of his books… Something supernatural. His gazed drifted down the stretch of streets, from one shrouded building to the next, wondering just what had happened to this city to make it change the way it had. A thought crossed his mind. Was this… the reason that motorcycle cop had been in such a hurry to get here? Of course, he wasn't sure if this was indeed where she was going… but it made some strange sense in a way. Shaking his head, he pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind. That was the least of his concerns right now. Right now, he had to find his little girl before she got herself hurt.

As he moved down the sidewalk, his footsteps were the only thing that accompanied him… or were they? He stopped short at the soft skittering sounds of another pair of footsteps echoing through the streets. His heart skipped a beat. Cheryl! Taking in a breath, he moved more quickly down the street and around a corner, following the sounds as they grew louder with his progression. Slowing to a halt, he squinted, trying to see beyond the dense blanket of white. In the distance, he could make out a tiny silhouette. Is that Cheryl…? The fog, almost seeking to answer his thought out question, seemed to shift, almost lightening up to show him who he wanted to see. She stood across the street, just in front of a row of houses, moving in one direction. She held her sketch book close as she took one step after another. Her dark hair fell in front of her face, blocking any view of it. She drifted in an almost dreamlike quality… appearing as if time and space around her had slowed.

"Cheryl!" Harry called out to her and took a step forward, the need to break this wicked trance danced through him. He cleared his throat a little as he moved toward her, but she did not respond. She didn't jump at the sound of his booming voice soaring across the nearly soundless city streets… she didn't look in his direction… she didn't make a single sound. Instead, she sauntered forward. She hopped off of the curb, letting her footsteps carry her further into the cover of the fog. Harry was momentarily stunned as he watched her disappear. Why… was she running away from him?

"Hey, wait! Stop, Cheryl! Where are you going?" the words left his mouth with the concern and alarm, but also the slight anger of a father wanting his child to obey him. He darted after her, plunging into the dense clouds of fog, only thinking about where she could be going. Why did she ignore him like this? He picked up his speed, but for some odd reason, that dreamlike state of time and space seemed to be working with the escape of his little girl. The escape? Why would I think of it that way? It was as though the shifting, maneuvering fog had wrapped itself around him, slowing his movements no matter how hard he tried to reach her. He felt the air around him grow thicker, threatening to turn into something much more solid than just fog should he continue his ascent… to block him off from chasing the child in more ways than one. With a growl, he shook his head at the thought. But it was the only thing that seemed to make some sort of sense in this senseless world he'd tumbled into. Why else would he have not been able to catch up to his little daughter? He slowed to a stop after a moment. He'd lost sight of her. Taking in a breath, he wiped the sweat from his brow. He felt winded, and it was definitely due to more than just his run to catch up with her.

Wrinkling his brow, he glanced to his left, thinking that he'd perhaps caught a glimpse of her moving through the fog once again. And perhaps the trickling sound of faint laughter…? What was going on here? His mind raced as he picked up his pace again, in the direction he'd seen and heard her retreat to. He had no idea what street he'd just come off of, but he knew that he'd crossed into an alley. Fences and what appeared to be portable garages lined the small passageway, convoyed by old crates and boxes. He could hear the slight scuffling of footsteps ahead of him, somewhere in the distance, submerged in the fog. Dashing forward, the rest of his surroundings melting into tints of rusted red, puce green, and stale grey, he heard the clanging of metal ahead of him. It sounded like the cringing hinges of a gate to an old fence. In front of him was a brick wall that was only as high as his shoulders and to his left, was that chain-link fence that he'd heard only moments ago. An old rusted sign hanging from the links read "Beware of Dog" in dark, unpromising lettering. Harry paused for a moment, his eyes narrowing at the sign, as though waiting for it to come to life. That was all, though. He heard no sounds. No signs of a dog actually being beyond this fence. No more scurrying footsteps from his escaping daughter. Nothing. A thin chill crept down his spine. He'd used that word again. Escape.

Taking in a breath, he pushed open the fence and stepped through the gate, only to be met with a sight that made his blood run cold and bile rise in his throat. Jumping to the side a little, he took in the very first thing his senses let him. A body… no carcass was more like it. One of a mutilated animal. Most likely the dog that the sign had told watchers to be aware of. The mangled flesh of the animal hung around it's lifeless body in chunks of bone and entrails. Blood had been splattered everywhere; against the fence that he'd just stepped through, the dog house against the wall, the hard pavement on which the corpse was situated… The discoloration around the middle, where the wounds… if that could be what they were called… seemed to speak of a horror beyond the imagination of any mortal mind. Whomever… or whatever had done this certainly didn't have to beware of anything, much less a dog. The lifeless stench of rotting flesh hung in the air, sending goose bumps along Harry's skin. His eyes darted around wildly. What if whatever had done this was still nearby…? A crease came to his brow. Why would Cheryl venture into a place like this? How could she have stumbled across this gruesome mutilation without making a single peep? His eyes tailed along the wall opposite where he was standing… that cracked brick wall that seemed to be the same rusted color as the dried blood of the creature at his feet. Along the wall, there was another entrance, leading to another, smaller and much more narrow alley way than the one he'd just been through.

Clenching his teeth, half holding his breath, he stepped past the carcass and moved toward the opening in the wall. Had his little girl gone through here…? The thought cut through his mind with a considerable force of resistance. His little girl? Hah! His little girl wouldn't have come through here at all. His little girl would have run into his arms the moment he'd called out her name. His little girl would have cried at the joy of seeing him alright. His little girl would have screamed in terrified horror had she seen that dog. His little girl… his little girl. But as the thoughts raced through his mind… as he made his way down that creepy alley with nothing but brick lining the walls… as he moved down some steps, and up some steps… as he listened wearily to the dank dripping of leaking pipes… as he clenched his teeth, trying to ignore the stale scent of rust and decay… as he took each step, he had the foreboding sense of dread that that had been his little girl. His little girl, who seemed to be leading him on this chase… this test that would be concluded beyond this gate that he'd come to stop in front of. Trepidation curled at the base of his stomach as he stepped through the gate.

The fog that he'd been traveling through gave way immediately, dissipating into nothing more than darkness. If it had been light out… if he'd been out cold in the wreck for so long that daylight had had a chance to come through… well, that was no longer the case. He seemed to have stepped into a world where light was unheard of. Wincing a bit, the shrill sound of sirens pierced his skull. It wasn't the sound that a police car or an ambulance would make, though. It was far different. It sounded rapidly, with a menacing, threatening tone, as though telling him if he continued, it would be to his ruin. He could still hear the water dripping from broken drain pipes and such. His senses were still filled with that unwelcome odor of decomposition. Swallowing, Harry quickly remembered the flares he'd recovered from the jeep and pulled one from his pocket, moving slowly to ignite it. The area seemed to come to life with the light cast upon it. The alley way continued… but Harry was quite reluctant to. How did it turn dark so quickly…?

Biting his lower lip, he ascended along the path given by the rust colored brick walls. He was careful to stay in the center of the alley, as though afraid that touching anything would lead to his demise. The sound of those sirens still resonated somewhere within his mind, but they'd lessened considerably. Clenching his teeth together, his eyes narrowed as he studied the unnatural pathway. There was absolutely no way that Cheryl had gone through here. No way at all… but he found himself pressing on. For what? he wondered. A morbid curiosity? His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the wail of shrieking metal. Jumping a little, he held up the flare, his eyes drifting toward the source of the sound. A wheelchair lie in a toppled heap, as if it had been thrown aside, against a small cove made by the walls of brick. One of the wheels turned lightly, giving the impression that it had recently been thrown into that position. Grinding his teeth, Harry turned down the next pathway. He didn't have to go too much further before he came to yet another corner, this one containing a gurney from a hospital. Harry froze a little. There was a form beneath the white sheets, which were splattered with the harsh color of blood. It dripped from beneath that bed, creating a pool on the ground. What the… Harry's thoughts came with a whirlpool of shades. Hospital items. A wheelchair… and a bed containing a body… But what were they doing here? They seemed just as out of place as that motorcyclists bike had been on that lonely highway, if not more so. A tingling sense of loss slowly made its way down his spine. He eyed the hospital bed for a moment longer, feeling like an intruder upon a sinister set. Tightening his grip on the flare, his eyes slowly tore from the gurney and slid to his right, where the next pathway took flight. Like the rest of the place, it was hostile and foreboding. Swallowing, he started in that direction.

The light released by the flare began to flicker, threatening to be swallowed by the pressing darkness. The brick wall on either side of him gave way to a rusted colored chain-link fence. His empty footfalls, which had been echoing along with his excursion, telling the story of his journey, now suddenly sounded muted… sounded as though he were no longer stepping along a concrete ground. Harry's dark brown eyes drifted to his feet, where he found he'd been walking through puddle after puddle of crimson blood. His pace slowed, faltered, a bit. The sloshing sound came to his ears with the unpleasant feeling of nausea. The metallic smell filled his senses as the path created by the fences gave way to a small opening. The scarlet liquid plagued the ground almost as though it had been the result of a rainstorm. Chunks of what appeared to be flesh lie sporadically in the liquid puddles. His thoughts went to the dog he'd encountered earlier. Was this the rest of it? His question was answered as his eyes went to the surrounding fence. His breath caught in his throat as he nearly lost hold of the flare he'd had in his grasp. What is going on here…?

Tied to the fences was a body. Ravaged and skinless, it hung against the links by its arms. It was the head and torso in the mocking position of a crucifixion. The flesh that was on the ground was most likely the rest of it. The entrails and innards hung from the ripped and torn tissue around the waist line. Blood oozed from every pore of what was left of the unfortunate soul that had received this treatment. Harry brought a hand up to his mouth and nose. The stench aggravated the senses and he was beginning to feel light headed. He was at a dead end and Cheryl wasn't here. He knew she wouldn't be as soon as he'd stepped beyond that gate that held the sign telling him to be weary of the dog. Coughing a little, he took a step back only to have his calf meet with the splitting pain of something cutting into the tissue. With a startled shriek, he half-jumped, half spun out of the way. He hadn't noticed the sounds before, but now, they seemed to be louder than an ocean wave crashing against cliffside rocks. Footsteps and crying howls of children… three bleeding children, deprived of clothing and skin, just like the torso hanging from the fence. They held in their tiny hands what appeared to be knifes. They approached with deadly intent, one of the knives already stained with a bit of his blood. The veins and muscles pulsed all over them, still functioning without the tissue around it to keep it from sliding apart and melting to the ground. Harry backed up, away from their swinging blades as they began to corner him. Then he ran.

Springing through them, he darted back the way he'd come. Back through the darkness to whatever fog might have been left beyond the gate he'd stepped through. They were children, yes… if that was what one would call them… but they also were the demon spawn, possessing the speed to keep right on his heels as he ran. He ignored the hospital bed and the wheelchair as he passed them. His world spun out of control as he collided with a brick wall now and again. An eternity stretched on, with the wailing of the children following him before he finally reached the gate to retreat to safety… It was barricaded. That brick wall continued on behind it, blocking his escape any father. Grasping the fence, he yanked on it, as though willing it to open. He'd come through this fence, and he planned on leaving the same way. But Fate told him otherwise. A startled scream ripped from his lips as he felt the slicing of blades rip through his thighs and calves. With a growl, he kicked behind him at the animated pulsing mounds of fleshy monsters formed in the shape of small children and started to climb. He lost hold of the flare and it sank into the darkness below, hitting the ground with a hollow thud. His head pounded as the air around his hands grew thick, as though trying to stop him from leaving, and he started to loose his grip on the fence, as well as reality… But was this reality? It couldn't be… Within an instant, he felt himself falling. He was headed back into the grueling grip of the monstrosities below, wielding the weapons that would cause his demise. He should have listened to those sirens… Pain consumed his senses and thoughts, but whether it was from hitting the ground or from razor sharp knives, he wasn't sure. He couldn't concentrate any more. He could barely hear the disturbing, yet joyful cries of the children who would soon get what they wanted.

This place was not the same world he'd entered from the car crash. If he'd been unnerved in the world of fog… that world where the elements seemed to clash with what common sense told… then here, he was downright terrified. This world was almost what he would deem to be the embodiment of Hell in itself. It wasn't the fire and brimstone that he sometimes came across in his readings and research for the some of the books he'd written. It wasn't the darkness that consumed the senses, swallowing them greedily, and thirsted for more. It wasn't the stench of decay and the hollow sound of dripping water and menacing childish laughter. It wasn't the sight of the mangled body and the chunks of fleshy tissue lying in the small lagoons of ruby blood. It wasn't the idea of three tiny children, as ravaged and skinless as that body chained to the fence had been, chasing after him with deadly intent spelled out with the weapons they carried. It was the idea that he'd entered this god-forsaken territory that could have only been envisioned in a nightmare, and the idea that he'd come here in search for his daughter. A daughter that wasn't here… a daughter that, at the moment, didn't really seem to be his daughter… a daughter that he thought about even as his life was snuffed from the confines of existence. With a tormented scream, as an infinite number thoughts and feelings knotted the precincts his mind, Harry took in a breath, which was to be his last, and whispered her name. Cheryl…