Chapter 3: Stu Matheson
Matt turned around with a bewildered face. "What?"
The man who had asked him the odd question looked weary and worn out. Caucasian. Probably about the same age as Matt. Dishevelled, blonde hair. His worn trousers, tie and shoes were black, but his crumpled shirt was white, except for a few red stains (blood?). Standing at the two dead Stewardesses, he was partially concealed by the thick white fog. "Are these yours?" the man repeated.
"What do you mean?" Matt asked, approaching the man.
"These monsters – they're yours, aren't they? I've never seen them before," he said.
"No, they're not "mine". What do you mean, anyway?" Matt said.
The man with the tie glared at Matt for a while. Then he began muttering: "Of course … You must be new in town. You have no idea what's going on, do you?"
Matt shook his head. "No," he answered, suddenly remembering all the questions that had showed up in his brain and had been flying around in there ever since the plane crash. "Do you?"
The man with the tie nodded.
"Okay. Then why is it snowing in June, why is this town so … why does this town seem so deserted and what the hell are these … these monsters? And who are you?"
"I'm Stu Matheson," the man replied calmly. "I was an anthropology teacher in Boston until six months ago."
"Well, what happened six months ago?"
"I came here. To this town. Since then, I've been trapped here …"
"Trapped?"
"Yes, trapped. I can't get out. All the roads leading out of the town are blocked somehow."
"That's not true," Matt replied and pulled the map out from his pocket, showing Stu the path leading from Sanders St. to "Observation Deck". "You could just follow Wiltse Rd. and go through the forest here, for instance, and …"
"Nope. I've already tried that," Stu said and produced an old-looking map of his own. Matt observed that Stu had drawn crosses across some parts of the streets with a red marker. "You see those crosses? That's where the road's caved in or blocked," Stu said.
Matt studied the positions of the red crosses and then deduced: "But if that's true, then we're trapped in the town! … Hey, wait a minute. You've also drawn a red cross where Sanders St. meets Wiltse Road."
"Yeah. The road's been obliterated there, ever since I arrived half a year ago," Stu explained.
"That can't be true. I just walked over that cross when I entered this town from Wiltse Road," Matt said and placed his map in his pocket again. Then he wandered through the mist, back to where Sanders Street should meet Wiltse Road, intent on showing Stu that there wasn't the slightest gap in the road there, that they weren't trapped, that they could easily leave Silent Hill if they wanted to …
He stopped walking abruptly when he saw that Stu was actually right. The road had collapsed. It had been replaced by a huge, misty pit – as if a minor comet had fallen down right there while Matt had been checking out the flower shop and chatting with Stu.
The latter soon catched up with Matt. The two men stared into the abyss for a while. Then Matt broke the silence.
"What the fuck? That's … impossible …"
"Yeah," Stu mumbled. "When you end up in Silent Hill, you'd better get used to impossible things."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, this town isn't just an ordinary resort town – not anymore. It's … how shall I put it … Hell on earth. People who are lost in the dark forest of sin are brought here to … to atone and be punished for what they have done."
"Huh? The dark forest of sin?" Matt said, dumbfounded.
"You haven't read Dante Aghlieri's Divine Comedy, have you?"
"Er … no," Matt replied, somewhat ashamed of the fact that he didn't know much about classical literature, "but … what are you trying to tell me?"
"This town is a place where anything can happen, because the old Gods are here," Stu said, "Metraton, Xuchilphaba and Xuchilbara, Lobsel Vith, Phaleg, Ophiel and the Creator of Paradise herself, God. They pass the time tormenting sinners like us, until the day of reckoning, the Time of the Awakening …"
"Well, that's just great," Matt mumbled. "That's just SO FUCKING GREAT! I'm standing in a ghost town, I've just killed some creatures that look like something from a painting by Dali, it's snowing in June and I'm talking to this CRAZY FUCKER WITH A TWISTED RELIGION!" he shouted and walked away.
Stu quickly catched up with him and followed him down Sanders St. as they passed Gonzale's Mexican Restaurant. "Where are you going?" he asked.
"To Neely's Bar. I need a beer," Matt replied.
"You can't get a beer there. The place is utterly deserted and decrepit."
"I'd rather check it out myself before I believe you," Matt said and continued walking, although he wouldn't be surprised if Neely's Bar really was as desolate as the flower shop had been.
When they reached the bar, Matt tried two of the three doors of the building, but they wouldn't open. It looked like the locks were broken. The third entrance to the bar was a brown door in the wall between a broken pay station and the "Baby & Kids Super Store". Luckily, this one could easily be opened. As Matt was about to enter the bar, he looked back at Stu.
"I'm not coming with you. Not into Bar Neely's," Stu declared.
"But why?" Matt asked, slightly annoyed.
"Because … that bar … it tells you things. Messages, written on the walls. It gives me the creeps," he explained, "I'll wait here."
"Okay," Matt mumbled, "if you're really so afraid of this place, then fine … By the way, have you seen a little kid around here? A boy?"
"Nope. What does this kid look like?" Stu asked, vaguely interested.
"I don't know. I was in this bathroom in the flower shop, when … Never mind. It's a long story," Matt said and entered the bar, closing the door behind him.
The room he had just entered was dark, deserted and vacuous. Windows covered with old newspapers. Wires hanging from the ceiling. A fluorescent tube was apparently supposed to illuminate the bar, but it was broken. The most interesting thing about the room was the message written in blood on one of the walls:
you don't have any relatives living in South
Ashfield, do you? that is just one of the LIES you
have filled your foolish head with to replace the unpleasant TRUTH
Matt thought about this for a while and recalled that … it was actually true. He didn't have any relatives there, in South Ashfield. His parents were living in the small provincial town of Derry, his grandparents had died several years ago, he had never had any aunts, uncles or brothers, his sister had recently moved to New York … He didn't have any relatives living in South Ashfield.
"But then why did you want to go there in the first place, Matt? Why was it so important for you to catch that plane back in the airport in L.A.? Why were you convinced that you had some family to visit in South Ashfield, when there's not a single relative of yours there?" a voice whispered in his head.
Questions, questions. Flying around in his brain, like butterflies in a cage …
Then he noticed a memo on the counter. He gingerly picked it up and examined it. Someone had written a sort of poem on it with a black pencil:
A place of knowledge,
Entertainment,
Education,
Escape from reality
A place with something for everyone, young and old.
That is what they tell thou.
But don't they know? It is futile to struggle against the cold.
And the hand of death, too.
Now THAT is something for everyone,
Both young and old,
The roaring beast,
The end of their pointless fight
Thy journey is indeed not over – far from it.
Yes, but how will it end?
I do not know, and I don't wish to know. That place –
Yes, thy destination.
"I wonder who wrote this? Some nutty Shakespeare wannabe?" Matt muttered, placed the memo in his backpack and left the bar.
Stu had disappeared. Gone. Vanished without a trace.
Well, almost without a trace.
A blanket of snow was now covering the streets of the town, and Stu's footprints were totally visible. Before he went into Neely's Bar, Matt had forgotten to ask the man whether he had a cell phone he could use, so the shivering veterinarian followed the footprints through the town, intent on finding mr. Matheson, who would hopefully turn out to have a phone on him which wasn't broken.
Matt's teeth chattered. He wasn't dressed for a weather like this. He felt like he was going to die if he stayed on the streets for just one more minute. "And then penguins will show up to feed off my dead body," he thought and laughed hysterically.
As he followed the footprints up Neely Street, past the "Grand Market" and down the narrow Harris Street, Stewardesses would suddenly jump down from the trees and poles where they had been climbing around like spiders when Matt walked by. Luckily, the crackling noise of the radio warned Matt before these assaults occurred. Instead of wasting bullets, Matt merely ran past the creatures, easily avoiding their attacks.
At the middle of Harris St., Stu's footprints led Matt away from the road and across a parking lot, towards a large building with dark windows. One of the cars parked there was a scratched Pontiac with smashed windows. An ordinary small axe was stuck on it, the blade buried in the hood, as if an insane lumberjack who really hated Pontiacs had recently visited this particular parking lot.
Thinking that the axe would come in handy against those weird monsters, Matt (who was no Arnold Schwarzenegger) spent 30 frustrating seconds pulling hard and cursing, until the axe finally came free and he clumsily fell backwards, landing in the snow. He scrambled to his feet, stuffed the axe into his backpack and then continued following the footprints that went into the large building.
A sign above the entrance said "CARPENTER LIBRARY – books, music, movies, videogames". The glass doors below the sign automatically slid aside as Matt approached them. He smiled. It was good to know that at least one piece of machinery was working in this town.
"A place of knowledge, entertainment, education, escape from reality," Matt muttered as he entered the warm library.