Disclaimer: The characters and events are fictional, and are copyrighted by
Microsoft and Sony and a host of other companies who probably couldn't care
less that I'm using them in this fan fiction. I claim no part of ownership
of the characters, settings, or events contained herein, but as this is my
work of fanfiction, I do claim ownership of it. Anyone who wishes to use
this fanfiction for another site may do so. I do ask that you credit me for
the story, and notify me that you are posting it somewhere else.
Writers opening: This'll be my first major piece that I hope to actually finish. I invite anyone who wishes to review or flame me.
1
'Our Special Place'
He splashed the murky water on his face, trying to clear the grime from his eyes. He had driven nearly all day yesterday and all through the night, arriving just after 4 in the morning. He had slept through sunrise, and the car clock had told him once he had awoken that it was just after 1 pm.
The bathroom was horrendous. Green-black grime stuck to everything. The smell was a cross between decayed excrement and rotten timbers. The tiling was cracked so badly the foundation was showing through most of the floor. All the toilets and urinals had already fallen into complete disrepair, leaking gray water everywhere. The sinks still had water flowing through them, but James didn't have enough faith in his immune system to try actually drinking it.
He stepped out of the bathroom, raising a hand to shield his eyes. Walking over to his car, he popped the front door open again, catching the road map as it suddenly fell due to a sudden gust of wind. Silent hill was circled several times on the maps corner. He tossed it in the back seat and sat, resting his head against the chair, feeling exhaustion start to creep back into him again.
What the hell was he doing here? He was either on the verge of insanity, or someone was playing one of the cruelest pranks he had ever heard of.
Or.
He stared at his reflection in the rear view mirror, seeing the tiredness all but etched into his face, and then shook his head. His brain could not logically comprehend another 'or'. He was either cracking up, or cracking from stress. Still, he could not discount that last 'or' entirely. Logic or not, he had enough faith and superstition to fill in several more 'or.' possibilities.
He hesitated as he reached into his pocket, drawing a folded piece of paper free with all the tenderness and care as someone might treat their firstborn child. or a stick of dynamite.
The paper was thick, cream colored, and rough to the touch. Not that shoddy printer paper stuff, this had the look and feel of hand made. Faint scrolling cursive script traced the page in a style and hand that he could've recognized with his eyes closed. It was a delicate hand, demure and soft, with carefully drawn letters and even spacing. He felt his heart start to speed up as he read the page for what must've been at least the hundredth time since he'd received it two days ago.
He'd found it in his mailbox, of course. It hadn't been delivered by the hand of an angel, deposited on his forehead while he slept, or suddenly discovered in his back pocket, it had just simply been placed in his box along with his morning paper. There had been no return address on the envelope, nor was there a postmark or stamp. Written across the back was the word Mary. He thought it had been a hallucination when he first saw it.
But here it was in his hand, and he traced the script with his index finger while he read.
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.
He sighed heavily, letting out a breath he didn't notice he had been holding. There was no salutation or closing, nor did he need one. The handwriting, the wording, even the kind of paper told him innately that it had really been written by her.
Mary.
His wife was dead. He was certain of it. He had arranged the funeral. He had given the eulogy, the same hollow claptrap he had heard spouted from a dozen other mournful friends and family members. He had watched her go into the ground. There was no way she could be here. It simply wasn't possible.
Yet here he was. Silent Hill. Their "special place."
True, the whole town had been there special place. They had originally come here as part of a weekend vacation, yet had ended up staying two whole weeks. There weren't many things to do, outside the amusement park and the small handful of museums. But there was just. something about the town. James had never felt more tranquil or at peace than while he had just sat in there motel room, strolled along the park, watched the children play outside the elementary school. He could even clearly remember the clear, dulcet tone the tower bell had made, calling the kids back in from recess. Having Mary there simply made the experience feel like he had walked into a small piece of Heaven.
He rose from the car seat and walked across the asphalt toward the entrance tunnel. Wire mesh gates, padlocked together and boarded over with sheet metal covered the entrance to the town. He had seen the roadblock last night, and thought that it was possible that they denied entry to anyone coming into the town that late, but it still struck him as incredibly odd. He pulled at the gate links vainly.
"Hello? Can anyone hear me?" He called, already knowing it was in vain. The tunnel vanished into blackness several feet in. not a single light he could see was on. They must've closed the tunnel to all traffic, he concluded.
But that was insane. The tunnel was the only main route into town, aside from the local road that ran by the amusement park. While the park road ran into another interstate, he would have to drive almost a hundred miles around town and lake to get inside, and he had to get inside, no matter the cost.
He blinked in surprise at the last thought. No matter the cost? He was starting to sound to himself less and less like a man walking into a cruel joke, and more like a psychotic wandering through a delusion, trying to rescue his dead wife from some pseudo-psychologically prison.
If it's a delusion, then what are you doing here? The rational half of his mind asked. He wished he could shut that voice up sometimes. "I have no idea." He admitted out loud. His whisper didn't echo like he thought it would, instead swallowed up by the still, tranquil morning. Silent Hill indeed, he thought. He turned, and looked towards the lake, looking out at a sweeping wave of fog, slowly rolling in towards the shore. He and Mary had been mired in that gray maze before, and James was loathe to try and walk through it again. There was a good chance he would step in a gopher hole or something and break his leg. If he was going to go, he had to go now.
He walked over the retaining wall of the parking lot, a simple stacked rock wall and formed the perimeter of the lot. He was surprised it was no well maintained. It didn't look like the lot saw a great deal of use anymore. There was one break in the wall, marked with a large purple arrow sign. 'Toluca Lake.' The lake had been one of there special places. He reached into his pocket and drew out a photograph. It was of Mary, before her disease took her youth and vitality. Her skin as fresh and vibrant looking, and seemed to glow with the backlight of the photo. Her gorgeous brunette hair was cropped close to her head, offsetting the soft pink dress shirt she was wearing. She smiled faintly, but the face still gave her a look of energy and life. And in the background.
Silent Hill. Their special place. Their own little paradise. He could clearly make out the lake and another hill rising in the background. He had taken the photo on a perfectly clear day, from the patio of the hotel, so he might've even shot the lot where he was now standing. He took one last look back at his car, and then started down the trail. Whether or not Mary was alive or dead, he had come here again looking for something, and by God, he was going to find it.
Writers opening: This'll be my first major piece that I hope to actually finish. I invite anyone who wishes to review or flame me.
1
'Our Special Place'
He splashed the murky water on his face, trying to clear the grime from his eyes. He had driven nearly all day yesterday and all through the night, arriving just after 4 in the morning. He had slept through sunrise, and the car clock had told him once he had awoken that it was just after 1 pm.
The bathroom was horrendous. Green-black grime stuck to everything. The smell was a cross between decayed excrement and rotten timbers. The tiling was cracked so badly the foundation was showing through most of the floor. All the toilets and urinals had already fallen into complete disrepair, leaking gray water everywhere. The sinks still had water flowing through them, but James didn't have enough faith in his immune system to try actually drinking it.
He stepped out of the bathroom, raising a hand to shield his eyes. Walking over to his car, he popped the front door open again, catching the road map as it suddenly fell due to a sudden gust of wind. Silent hill was circled several times on the maps corner. He tossed it in the back seat and sat, resting his head against the chair, feeling exhaustion start to creep back into him again.
What the hell was he doing here? He was either on the verge of insanity, or someone was playing one of the cruelest pranks he had ever heard of.
Or.
He stared at his reflection in the rear view mirror, seeing the tiredness all but etched into his face, and then shook his head. His brain could not logically comprehend another 'or'. He was either cracking up, or cracking from stress. Still, he could not discount that last 'or' entirely. Logic or not, he had enough faith and superstition to fill in several more 'or.' possibilities.
He hesitated as he reached into his pocket, drawing a folded piece of paper free with all the tenderness and care as someone might treat their firstborn child. or a stick of dynamite.
The paper was thick, cream colored, and rough to the touch. Not that shoddy printer paper stuff, this had the look and feel of hand made. Faint scrolling cursive script traced the page in a style and hand that he could've recognized with his eyes closed. It was a delicate hand, demure and soft, with carefully drawn letters and even spacing. He felt his heart start to speed up as he read the page for what must've been at least the hundredth time since he'd received it two days ago.
He'd found it in his mailbox, of course. It hadn't been delivered by the hand of an angel, deposited on his forehead while he slept, or suddenly discovered in his back pocket, it had just simply been placed in his box along with his morning paper. There had been no return address on the envelope, nor was there a postmark or stamp. Written across the back was the word Mary. He thought it had been a hallucination when he first saw it.
But here it was in his hand, and he traced the script with his index finger while he read.
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.
He sighed heavily, letting out a breath he didn't notice he had been holding. There was no salutation or closing, nor did he need one. The handwriting, the wording, even the kind of paper told him innately that it had really been written by her.
Mary.
His wife was dead. He was certain of it. He had arranged the funeral. He had given the eulogy, the same hollow claptrap he had heard spouted from a dozen other mournful friends and family members. He had watched her go into the ground. There was no way she could be here. It simply wasn't possible.
Yet here he was. Silent Hill. Their "special place."
True, the whole town had been there special place. They had originally come here as part of a weekend vacation, yet had ended up staying two whole weeks. There weren't many things to do, outside the amusement park and the small handful of museums. But there was just. something about the town. James had never felt more tranquil or at peace than while he had just sat in there motel room, strolled along the park, watched the children play outside the elementary school. He could even clearly remember the clear, dulcet tone the tower bell had made, calling the kids back in from recess. Having Mary there simply made the experience feel like he had walked into a small piece of Heaven.
He rose from the car seat and walked across the asphalt toward the entrance tunnel. Wire mesh gates, padlocked together and boarded over with sheet metal covered the entrance to the town. He had seen the roadblock last night, and thought that it was possible that they denied entry to anyone coming into the town that late, but it still struck him as incredibly odd. He pulled at the gate links vainly.
"Hello? Can anyone hear me?" He called, already knowing it was in vain. The tunnel vanished into blackness several feet in. not a single light he could see was on. They must've closed the tunnel to all traffic, he concluded.
But that was insane. The tunnel was the only main route into town, aside from the local road that ran by the amusement park. While the park road ran into another interstate, he would have to drive almost a hundred miles around town and lake to get inside, and he had to get inside, no matter the cost.
He blinked in surprise at the last thought. No matter the cost? He was starting to sound to himself less and less like a man walking into a cruel joke, and more like a psychotic wandering through a delusion, trying to rescue his dead wife from some pseudo-psychologically prison.
If it's a delusion, then what are you doing here? The rational half of his mind asked. He wished he could shut that voice up sometimes. "I have no idea." He admitted out loud. His whisper didn't echo like he thought it would, instead swallowed up by the still, tranquil morning. Silent Hill indeed, he thought. He turned, and looked towards the lake, looking out at a sweeping wave of fog, slowly rolling in towards the shore. He and Mary had been mired in that gray maze before, and James was loathe to try and walk through it again. There was a good chance he would step in a gopher hole or something and break his leg. If he was going to go, he had to go now.
He walked over the retaining wall of the parking lot, a simple stacked rock wall and formed the perimeter of the lot. He was surprised it was no well maintained. It didn't look like the lot saw a great deal of use anymore. There was one break in the wall, marked with a large purple arrow sign. 'Toluca Lake.' The lake had been one of there special places. He reached into his pocket and drew out a photograph. It was of Mary, before her disease took her youth and vitality. Her skin as fresh and vibrant looking, and seemed to glow with the backlight of the photo. Her gorgeous brunette hair was cropped close to her head, offsetting the soft pink dress shirt she was wearing. She smiled faintly, but the face still gave her a look of energy and life. And in the background.
Silent Hill. Their special place. Their own little paradise. He could clearly make out the lake and another hill rising in the background. He had taken the photo on a perfectly clear day, from the patio of the hotel, so he might've even shot the lot where he was now standing. He took one last look back at his car, and then started down the trail. Whether or not Mary was alive or dead, he had come here again looking for something, and by God, he was going to find it.