::Lies Spoken from Silent Lips::
A/N: This is just a strange little fic based on a theory of mine. I know it can't really be possible in the world of Silent Hill, and I've changed some things from the way the game went, but what if Mary, knowing she was going to die, decided to have a little fun and see if she could keep up with two husbands? I wrote this a long time ago, so excuse any mistakes…if I get a lot of reviews, then I'll consider revising it and continuing. Oh, right…I don't own Silent Hill, and if you sue me, all you'll get is a scratched copy of SH1, a tattered green notebook, and an extensive collection of sparkly gel pens…and perhaps a candy bar or two, if you're lucky, but never mind, on with the story…
Cheryl was screaming.
The blood flowed out of her; thick, red, the essence of life, and she screamed. The walls, the ceiling and floor were rusted brown, ancient and dangerous. Cheryl lay helpless and prone, crying "Daddy! Help me, Daddy!" over and over so desperately, until finally she could hold on no longer...
Harry Mason woke up.
My room, he realized. My floor and table. My walls, my ceiling. My room. My house. My . . .
My daughter!
Cheryl!
Harry stumbled out of bed, tripping over his own two feet, grabbed onto the doorknob and literally fell into the hallway. Not two steps away was Cheryl's room. The door hung slightly ajar, the interior dark and threatening. Expecting the worst, he took a deep breath and entered--
And found his daughter, only his little girl. She was alone. No blood, no demons, no rusted-over hell waiting to claim her young life. Harry let out a sigh of relief.
Must've been one heck of a nightmare. Note to self: never tell Cheryl about that one.
Asleep in bed, Cheryl resembled a baby cherub resting among the clouds. A halo of raven-black hair framed her round face; long, dark lashes locked over her clear sky-blue eyes. One small thumb rested in her mouth. Harry wouldn't have been surprised if she suddenly sprouted lacy white wings and rose in a blinding beam of light to the heavens above.
However, this angel remained down on Earth, snug in her warm, cozy bed where she belonged. Where she was needed, where she was loved.
Harry wondered if Cheryl missed her mother as much as he did. For five years they'd lived together as a family, and Harry doubted a daughter had ever been loved more. Mary had adored that child, which was no surprise considering she was unable to have her own.
Yes, that's right: Cheryl was adopted. Actually, more like found. But as of yet the girl had no knowledge of this, and Harry didn't plan on telling her any time soon. It wasn't that she was not yet mature enough for the news, in fact she was very advanced and sophisticated for her age. The fact was that Harry was afraid to tell her.
I know she's old enough to understand what adopted means. I just can't help but wonder how she would accept it. What if she . . . couldn't love me any more? I've already lost Mary; I don't think I could stand losing my little Cheryl too.
Well, she didn't need to know right now anyway. She slept so peacefully . . . clutched in her right hand, where you'd expect to find a stuffed animal or security blanket, was a travel brochure. The dim light obscured Harry's view of the pamphlet's lettering, but he'd long ago learned its contents by heart. "A Traveler's Guide to Silent Hill: City of Peace and Relaxation." Cheryl was so excited about their trip that she slept holding that paper every night since they decided on a destination. He recalled that she'd had a hard time getting to sleep a few hours ago; they were scheduled to set off for Silent Hill the next morning.
Of course she doesn't need to know about her crazy past right now. Why spoil the trip for both of us?
And speaking of crazy . . .
Harry glanced around his daughter's room. Still no rusted metal walls, no blood staining everything in sight. Quietly he left Cheryl alone to her dreams. Why subject her to the horrors of his?
Alone now in the unlit hallway, Harry tried to make his way back to his own room. Upon arrival, he glanced at his digital bedside clock. 3:54, claimed the blinking red numbers. Closer to morning than night. Not that he'd be able to get back to sleep anyway.
He leaned back against the wall, closed hid eyes, and pressed a hand to his forehead. Two hours till I get to leave, and then, Silent Hill, he thought. Just two more hours and Cheryl and I will be gone, long gone, and I won't have to worry about dreams or Mary or whatever for a whole week. He reentered the hall and flicked on a lamp before proceeding to the kitchen.
While water for instant coffee boiled in a pot on the stove, Harry began to think again about his decision to travel to Silent Hill. The town held meaning, and a lot of it. If he was going to spend the whole time brooding over memories of times past, maybe it wasn't even worth going.
No. I can't disappoint Cheryl. Remember when she saw that the carnival was in town? She was ecstatic. And the pool at the hotel? The look on her face when she asked, "Daddy, will you pleeease teach me how to swim? Pretty please?"
And besides that, though Harry had planned the trip partly to escape the stress of his writing, the memories concealed within Silent Hill contained many novel ideas, no pun intended.
He recalled the first time he'd visited the town, years ago. He had just quit his job as a supermarket cashier and was a young aspiring novelist, out seeking adventure and danger . . .
Flash--seated on the patio of a busy restaurant in the shopping district, scribbling on a yellow legal pad and sipping a heavily sugared iced tea without thought of tooth decay or diabetes, when he looked up and saw her.
Mary. Of course, he hadn't known her name at the time. All he knew was that she was blond, blue-eyed, and beautiful.
And at the time Harry was twenty-seven and single, so he was allowed to let his eyes wander.
She was sitting by herself, staring off into space. Harry approached her cautiously; his "mating skills" had become a little rusty in their five dormant years since college.
"Pardon me, but do you happen to live here in Silent Hill?"
The woman gazed pointedly at the numerous tables packed with other people who might live there before replying "No, I'm...on vacation."
For someone on vacation, Harry thought, she sure didn't seem too relaxed. "Me too. Nice place, isn't it? I'm Harry Mason. I'm here researching a novel."
From another woman, Harry might have gotten a reply like "Oh wow, you're a writer?" but it took this particular one a while to even realize her name was expected. "My name is Mary Shepherd-Sunderland," she spoke as if from a script.
Damn! She was married. "Oh. Are you and Mr. Sunderland here on your honeymoon, by any chance?"
A strange, excited glint suddenly sparkled in her glazed-over eyes. "No . . .I'm not married. We were just divorced..."
So that could be why she was acting so depressed. "I'm sorry. Is there any way I can help? Need something to take your mind off of it?"
"That would be . . . nice."
And from there, it skyrocketed out of control . . .
Flash--Newlyweds Harry and Mary Mason(sounded a little silly, but they didn't care) left the town of Silent Hill together. Destination: Harry's home. He drove a sleek silver Corvette down the highway, maybe a bit too fast for Mary's taste.
"Wait a second, Harry, pull over!"
"What is it? Are you sick?"
"No, I thought I saw something."
To satisfy his new wife, Harry slowed down and pulled off the street. They came to a stop on a deserted stretch of road, near a creepy, fog-enshrouded cemetery. "Do you hear that?" Mary asked.
It sounded like crying, the cries of a child. Harry said "I'll be right back," swung out of the car--and seconds later, returned with a baby wrapped in a yellow blanket. Now that the baby was safe in Harry's arms, it was quiet.
Mary watched on in wonder as the baby wrapped its tiny pink hand around Harry's forefinger, and he proudly announced "I'm a daddy..."
One year later, Mary Mason, mother of Cheryl and wife of Harry, died of advanced leukemia. Cancer. It had already been eating away at her system the day they met, and was not detected until it was too late.
Now the Masons would return to the town where they first came together, burdened with memories of the one they left behind. Cheryl, now seven, was barely two when her mother passed away. Harry had been twenty-nine.
He had never really gotten over the death of his dear wife, and as well it had taken him a while to get used to caring for a young girl on his own. By now he had mastered the art of childcare and carefully buried Mary both in the ground and in his subconscious. Was it really a smart idea to go back to where it all started, letting the memories resurface?
Yes, it is a good idea, and even if it weren't, I'd still go. For Cheryl. And although Harry didn't want to admit it, there seemed to be something else pulling him toward Silent Hill, an invisible force beckoning him, calling Harry, come here . . . we're waiting for you, Harry. . .
Hold it. Someone, or something, calling me to Silent Hill? he thought, pouring his coffee. Guess that dream messed with my mind more than I thought.
Dream. I remember how Mary thought dreams were prophetic. Well, for Cheryl's sake and mine, I sure hope this one isn't.
Harry sat still, lost in thought over coffee for a while. The dream was not trying to tell him anything, except maybe that he had a few screws loose, and a vacation would be the perfect thing to tighten them.
I know what'll get my mind off it all. Finishing the last drop at the bottom of his mug, Harry padded on the cold tile floor to his computer.
It made a familiar whirring noise as he started it up, a comforting noise that he heard nearly every day. It was a noise that said "I'm alive, I'm okay, and I haven't lost my job yet." Harry was ready to write.
Harry had been a novelist since his early twenties, and he had published several popular detective tales chronicling the adventures of Trent Jackson, private eye. However, a few months ago he had been struck with an idea for a horror story. He tried to forget about it-he knew his publisher wouldn't like a sudden change in genre-but the idea stuck in his mind until he finally gave in and began to write.
He shivered again when he reread the title of his current work. Restless Dreams.
Oh well. It doesn't mean anything.
It was a story of loss, much like the loss that plagued him every day of his life. He had barely begun work on it; the tale had been recently inspired by his return to Silent Hill. While real life and fiction shared a few things(Both told of a man who had a wife named Mary, who had died of a disease several years before, and were now returning to the town where they met), there were also many significant differences. Harry was going to Silent Hill because he and his daughter needed a break. James, protagonist of Restless Dreams, was childless, and made his journey for this chilling reason: He received a letter from Mary, telling him to meet her there.
Harry had dubbed the wife in the book Mary, and the town Silent Hill, but only because at the time he had been unable to come up with anything else. He would go back and change that when it was ready to be published.
Restless Dreams started off with the letter sent to James by his dead wife:
In my restless dreams, I see that town...Silent Hill.
You promised you'd take me there again someday, but you never did.
Well, I'm alone there now...
In our special place…
Waiting for you…
Short, but sweet. It continued on to the third chapter or so...James was in the town of Silent Hill, but found that maybe it was a bit too silent--nobody lived there. The town was abandoned.
Harry scrolled down to a page in the second chapter. He reread what he had written the previous night.
It was far too much to comprehend at once--a city, minus the citizens. What had possibly caused this strange phenomenon? The girl he'd met in the graveyard moments before had warned him of "something evil" waiting for him there.
If there's something wrong with this place, James thought, Then that's all the more reason to find Mary and get out of here.
Determined to find his wife, no matter what horrors this place had in store for him, James set off for . . . well, he wasn't sure exactly where he was going.
At that point, while writing, Harry had begun to feel like he was losing steam, so the next part written was a little later into the novel, disjointed from what came before it.
James stared in horror at the endless chasm he'd very nearly lost his life to. A sudden drop in the middle of the road--what had caused it? An earthquake? Some other natural disaster? Was that why everyone in town had evacuated at a moment's notice? For reasons he couldn't discern, James was suddenly filled with fear. What was wrong with this place? What could've possibly--
Harry stopped reading. "Crap," he muttered to himself. "Total crap. Who would want to read this stuff? 'A sudden drop in the middle of the road'? I mean, it is supposed to be a horror novel, but . . ." Come to think of it, he couldn't recall writing that. It had appeared as suddenly as the strange chasm in the road itself. He began to delete it, but at the last second decided to leave it there for now. What could it hurt? I have an editor, don't I?
Harry continued reading and, upon reaching the current end of his manuscript, leaned back in his chair to think. Inspiration, come on, inspiration . . .
He looked at the clock next to his computer. One and a half hours to sunrise. Time was creeping by slowly.
Time . . .
James slowly opened the door, expecting to find another one of those hideous creatures (they would haunt his sleep for nights to come)--but to his relief, the room was empty.
Empty. Completely. There was nothing in the room at all, save for a grandfather clock near the back. He got closer to the clock, examined it. It was finely made, antiqued wood paneling and all. It seemed to be in good working order.
Something was written on the side in blood.
I'll do anything to save Mary, he thought--
When Harry opened his eyes, the sun was beginning to peek over the horizon, its first morning rays streaming in. I guess I fell asleep. He saw the computer, his writing from the past night cut off abruptly. He knew Cheryl would just be awakening, too.
Hope arose in him when he realized he hadn't fallen victim to any more nightmares. Cheryl was safe. Mary was too, safely in the land of the passed on. And Harry was safe too.
I can make it. I'll be okay. I'm a lot better off than a lot of others, and so is Cheryl.
Silent Hill, here we come.
A/N: This is just a strange little fic based on a theory of mine. I know it can't really be possible in the world of Silent Hill, and I've changed some things from the way the game went, but what if Mary, knowing she was going to die, decided to have a little fun and see if she could keep up with two husbands? I wrote this a long time ago, so excuse any mistakes…if I get a lot of reviews, then I'll consider revising it and continuing. Oh, right…I don't own Silent Hill, and if you sue me, all you'll get is a scratched copy of SH1, a tattered green notebook, and an extensive collection of sparkly gel pens…and perhaps a candy bar or two, if you're lucky, but never mind, on with the story…
Cheryl was screaming.
The blood flowed out of her; thick, red, the essence of life, and she screamed. The walls, the ceiling and floor were rusted brown, ancient and dangerous. Cheryl lay helpless and prone, crying "Daddy! Help me, Daddy!" over and over so desperately, until finally she could hold on no longer...
Harry Mason woke up.
My room, he realized. My floor and table. My walls, my ceiling. My room. My house. My . . .
My daughter!
Cheryl!
Harry stumbled out of bed, tripping over his own two feet, grabbed onto the doorknob and literally fell into the hallway. Not two steps away was Cheryl's room. The door hung slightly ajar, the interior dark and threatening. Expecting the worst, he took a deep breath and entered--
And found his daughter, only his little girl. She was alone. No blood, no demons, no rusted-over hell waiting to claim her young life. Harry let out a sigh of relief.
Must've been one heck of a nightmare. Note to self: never tell Cheryl about that one.
Asleep in bed, Cheryl resembled a baby cherub resting among the clouds. A halo of raven-black hair framed her round face; long, dark lashes locked over her clear sky-blue eyes. One small thumb rested in her mouth. Harry wouldn't have been surprised if she suddenly sprouted lacy white wings and rose in a blinding beam of light to the heavens above.
However, this angel remained down on Earth, snug in her warm, cozy bed where she belonged. Where she was needed, where she was loved.
Harry wondered if Cheryl missed her mother as much as he did. For five years they'd lived together as a family, and Harry doubted a daughter had ever been loved more. Mary had adored that child, which was no surprise considering she was unable to have her own.
Yes, that's right: Cheryl was adopted. Actually, more like found. But as of yet the girl had no knowledge of this, and Harry didn't plan on telling her any time soon. It wasn't that she was not yet mature enough for the news, in fact she was very advanced and sophisticated for her age. The fact was that Harry was afraid to tell her.
I know she's old enough to understand what adopted means. I just can't help but wonder how she would accept it. What if she . . . couldn't love me any more? I've already lost Mary; I don't think I could stand losing my little Cheryl too.
Well, she didn't need to know right now anyway. She slept so peacefully . . . clutched in her right hand, where you'd expect to find a stuffed animal or security blanket, was a travel brochure. The dim light obscured Harry's view of the pamphlet's lettering, but he'd long ago learned its contents by heart. "A Traveler's Guide to Silent Hill: City of Peace and Relaxation." Cheryl was so excited about their trip that she slept holding that paper every night since they decided on a destination. He recalled that she'd had a hard time getting to sleep a few hours ago; they were scheduled to set off for Silent Hill the next morning.
Of course she doesn't need to know about her crazy past right now. Why spoil the trip for both of us?
And speaking of crazy . . .
Harry glanced around his daughter's room. Still no rusted metal walls, no blood staining everything in sight. Quietly he left Cheryl alone to her dreams. Why subject her to the horrors of his?
Alone now in the unlit hallway, Harry tried to make his way back to his own room. Upon arrival, he glanced at his digital bedside clock. 3:54, claimed the blinking red numbers. Closer to morning than night. Not that he'd be able to get back to sleep anyway.
He leaned back against the wall, closed hid eyes, and pressed a hand to his forehead. Two hours till I get to leave, and then, Silent Hill, he thought. Just two more hours and Cheryl and I will be gone, long gone, and I won't have to worry about dreams or Mary or whatever for a whole week. He reentered the hall and flicked on a lamp before proceeding to the kitchen.
While water for instant coffee boiled in a pot on the stove, Harry began to think again about his decision to travel to Silent Hill. The town held meaning, and a lot of it. If he was going to spend the whole time brooding over memories of times past, maybe it wasn't even worth going.
No. I can't disappoint Cheryl. Remember when she saw that the carnival was in town? She was ecstatic. And the pool at the hotel? The look on her face when she asked, "Daddy, will you pleeease teach me how to swim? Pretty please?"
And besides that, though Harry had planned the trip partly to escape the stress of his writing, the memories concealed within Silent Hill contained many novel ideas, no pun intended.
He recalled the first time he'd visited the town, years ago. He had just quit his job as a supermarket cashier and was a young aspiring novelist, out seeking adventure and danger . . .
Flash--seated on the patio of a busy restaurant in the shopping district, scribbling on a yellow legal pad and sipping a heavily sugared iced tea without thought of tooth decay or diabetes, when he looked up and saw her.
Mary. Of course, he hadn't known her name at the time. All he knew was that she was blond, blue-eyed, and beautiful.
And at the time Harry was twenty-seven and single, so he was allowed to let his eyes wander.
She was sitting by herself, staring off into space. Harry approached her cautiously; his "mating skills" had become a little rusty in their five dormant years since college.
"Pardon me, but do you happen to live here in Silent Hill?"
The woman gazed pointedly at the numerous tables packed with other people who might live there before replying "No, I'm...on vacation."
For someone on vacation, Harry thought, she sure didn't seem too relaxed. "Me too. Nice place, isn't it? I'm Harry Mason. I'm here researching a novel."
From another woman, Harry might have gotten a reply like "Oh wow, you're a writer?" but it took this particular one a while to even realize her name was expected. "My name is Mary Shepherd-Sunderland," she spoke as if from a script.
Damn! She was married. "Oh. Are you and Mr. Sunderland here on your honeymoon, by any chance?"
A strange, excited glint suddenly sparkled in her glazed-over eyes. "No . . .I'm not married. We were just divorced..."
So that could be why she was acting so depressed. "I'm sorry. Is there any way I can help? Need something to take your mind off of it?"
"That would be . . . nice."
And from there, it skyrocketed out of control . . .
Flash--Newlyweds Harry and Mary Mason(sounded a little silly, but they didn't care) left the town of Silent Hill together. Destination: Harry's home. He drove a sleek silver Corvette down the highway, maybe a bit too fast for Mary's taste.
"Wait a second, Harry, pull over!"
"What is it? Are you sick?"
"No, I thought I saw something."
To satisfy his new wife, Harry slowed down and pulled off the street. They came to a stop on a deserted stretch of road, near a creepy, fog-enshrouded cemetery. "Do you hear that?" Mary asked.
It sounded like crying, the cries of a child. Harry said "I'll be right back," swung out of the car--and seconds later, returned with a baby wrapped in a yellow blanket. Now that the baby was safe in Harry's arms, it was quiet.
Mary watched on in wonder as the baby wrapped its tiny pink hand around Harry's forefinger, and he proudly announced "I'm a daddy..."
One year later, Mary Mason, mother of Cheryl and wife of Harry, died of advanced leukemia. Cancer. It had already been eating away at her system the day they met, and was not detected until it was too late.
Now the Masons would return to the town where they first came together, burdened with memories of the one they left behind. Cheryl, now seven, was barely two when her mother passed away. Harry had been twenty-nine.
He had never really gotten over the death of his dear wife, and as well it had taken him a while to get used to caring for a young girl on his own. By now he had mastered the art of childcare and carefully buried Mary both in the ground and in his subconscious. Was it really a smart idea to go back to where it all started, letting the memories resurface?
Yes, it is a good idea, and even if it weren't, I'd still go. For Cheryl. And although Harry didn't want to admit it, there seemed to be something else pulling him toward Silent Hill, an invisible force beckoning him, calling Harry, come here . . . we're waiting for you, Harry. . .
Hold it. Someone, or something, calling me to Silent Hill? he thought, pouring his coffee. Guess that dream messed with my mind more than I thought.
Dream. I remember how Mary thought dreams were prophetic. Well, for Cheryl's sake and mine, I sure hope this one isn't.
Harry sat still, lost in thought over coffee for a while. The dream was not trying to tell him anything, except maybe that he had a few screws loose, and a vacation would be the perfect thing to tighten them.
I know what'll get my mind off it all. Finishing the last drop at the bottom of his mug, Harry padded on the cold tile floor to his computer.
It made a familiar whirring noise as he started it up, a comforting noise that he heard nearly every day. It was a noise that said "I'm alive, I'm okay, and I haven't lost my job yet." Harry was ready to write.
Harry had been a novelist since his early twenties, and he had published several popular detective tales chronicling the adventures of Trent Jackson, private eye. However, a few months ago he had been struck with an idea for a horror story. He tried to forget about it-he knew his publisher wouldn't like a sudden change in genre-but the idea stuck in his mind until he finally gave in and began to write.
He shivered again when he reread the title of his current work. Restless Dreams.
Oh well. It doesn't mean anything.
It was a story of loss, much like the loss that plagued him every day of his life. He had barely begun work on it; the tale had been recently inspired by his return to Silent Hill. While real life and fiction shared a few things(Both told of a man who had a wife named Mary, who had died of a disease several years before, and were now returning to the town where they met), there were also many significant differences. Harry was going to Silent Hill because he and his daughter needed a break. James, protagonist of Restless Dreams, was childless, and made his journey for this chilling reason: He received a letter from Mary, telling him to meet her there.
Harry had dubbed the wife in the book Mary, and the town Silent Hill, but only because at the time he had been unable to come up with anything else. He would go back and change that when it was ready to be published.
Restless Dreams started off with the letter sent to James by his dead wife:
Short, but sweet. It continued on to the third chapter or so...James was in the town of Silent Hill, but found that maybe it was a bit too silent--nobody lived there. The town was abandoned.
Harry scrolled down to a page in the second chapter. He reread what he had written the previous night.
It was far too much to comprehend at once--a city, minus the citizens. What had possibly caused this strange phenomenon? The girl he'd met in the graveyard moments before had warned him of "something evil" waiting for him there.
If there's something wrong with this place, James thought, Then that's all the more reason to find Mary and get out of here.
Determined to find his wife, no matter what horrors this place had in store for him, James set off for . . . well, he wasn't sure exactly where he was going.
At that point, while writing, Harry had begun to feel like he was losing steam, so the next part written was a little later into the novel, disjointed from what came before it.
James stared in horror at the endless chasm he'd very nearly lost his life to. A sudden drop in the middle of the road--what had caused it? An earthquake? Some other natural disaster? Was that why everyone in town had evacuated at a moment's notice? For reasons he couldn't discern, James was suddenly filled with fear. What was wrong with this place? What could've possibly--
Harry stopped reading. "Crap," he muttered to himself. "Total crap. Who would want to read this stuff? 'A sudden drop in the middle of the road'? I mean, it is supposed to be a horror novel, but . . ." Come to think of it, he couldn't recall writing that. It had appeared as suddenly as the strange chasm in the road itself. He began to delete it, but at the last second decided to leave it there for now. What could it hurt? I have an editor, don't I?
Harry continued reading and, upon reaching the current end of his manuscript, leaned back in his chair to think. Inspiration, come on, inspiration . . .
He looked at the clock next to his computer. One and a half hours to sunrise. Time was creeping by slowly.
Time . . .
James slowly opened the door, expecting to find another one of those hideous creatures (they would haunt his sleep for nights to come)--but to his relief, the room was empty.
Empty. Completely. There was nothing in the room at all, save for a grandfather clock near the back. He got closer to the clock, examined it. It was finely made, antiqued wood paneling and all. It seemed to be in good working order.
Something was written on the side in blood.
I'll do anything to save Mary, he thought--
When Harry opened his eyes, the sun was beginning to peek over the horizon, its first morning rays streaming in. I guess I fell asleep. He saw the computer, his writing from the past night cut off abruptly. He knew Cheryl would just be awakening, too.
Hope arose in him when he realized he hadn't fallen victim to any more nightmares. Cheryl was safe. Mary was too, safely in the land of the passed on. And Harry was safe too.
I can make it. I'll be okay. I'm a lot better off than a lot of others, and so is Cheryl.
Silent Hill, here we come.