Silent Hill: The Dream Machine
by Elliot Bowers
Chapter 7
…
The long gray highway was a stretch of paved gray across the land that went between two grand forests: stretching off into the horizon far left and far right. Wind-fast cars and vans went by, with large trucks rumbling right along with them. Sometimes, an especially massive vehicle would drive by: enormous vehicles that only highways could hold. Some trucks actually carried dangerous machines strapped to flat-beds or hazardous materials in long cylindrical tanks: a crack in the containment could kill people for miles around. That, and the occasional madman tried to transport things that ought not be trucked anywhere: legally or otherwise. They would even protect their shipments of automatic weapons or worse. There was no telling what was sometimes going by on highways: those long stretches of busy roadway that went from place to place. Highways were especially dangerous places, going place to place.
So of course it took more than just town-based police officers to keep the highways safe; it took higher-level police officers known as "state troopers" to handle the job: sometimes called state police for that reason. Such broad-purpose police had jurisdiction over the highways and could enter towns as necessary. They were more intensely trained than the police officers of just towns and cities: almost military in training. And there have been times when they have had to use such training. Times were occasionally dangerous, as shown by the highways…
Two such state troopers were sitting within in a standard-issue car, parked in a small paved alcove and rest-stop that allowed them to keep their eyes on the roads. Both were in proper uniforms and equipped with holstered pistols, both were broad-shouldered and strong-looking men. And as required by regulations, both had the same hairstyle. These two even had identically blank facial expressions as they watched the highways, just waiting for something to happen. And guess what? Something always did.
The sound of the car's radio chattered, communication between other state troopers investigating miscellaneous incidents miles away. If these two state troopers were needed, they would put this car in gear, turn on their sirens, and go. But since today was a slow day, nothing much happening, they were just a bit more relaxed than usual. So they talked. Particularly, they were talking about local lore. One trooper was asking the other about something that happened some time ago. It was about a town…
"It just keeps coming to mind, and I can't shake it. A whole town full of people just disappears… Just like that?" asked Jake, the trooper in the "shotgun seat": known in civilian terms as the passenger-side seat. "Jim, you're from around here and you can accept something like that. But no matter how many times I hear it, I just…can't. Just can't! Why wasn't it in all the newspapers or on television? Or what about the Army? The National Guard? The governor had to know about it."
Jim, the state trooper in the driver's seat, just smiled. Ah, the National Guard, he thought, always ready to answer the call in times of trouble. Too bad, the National Guard could not do a damned thing about what happened: not without consent.
"Sure, the governor found outabout what happened. Know what happened next?" Jake shook his head once. "No? Well, okay… It went like this.
"She was phoning one of the Army's generals when some guys in black business suits drove up to her mansion. These three guys were secret agent-looking men in shiny blue cars. They had a conversation with her, see. Whatever was said to her is now strictly between her and whatever organization plants the paychecks of those guys in black suits. You remember her, right? She was one tough old lady: used to be a state trooper herself before becoming a millionaire. Those men in the suits probably didn't scare her, if anybody could. No, they probably convinced her to keep quiet about the mess. So maybe it's best we don't know why. And that's why Silent Hill is no longer an issue." He paused. "Things make their own kind of sense."
"How the doodley-fuddle is that good enough?" began Jake. "It's just supposed to be forgotten? We're talking about people here. It used to be a tourist town, too. So what about the tourists who came from all over the country, probably from all over the world, who went there every year? I've got too many question and…"There was a rumbling sound, and something caught Jake's attention: something that zoomed by along this highway. "Now that's illegal!"
Jim agreed, seeing what Jake had just seen. Riding motorcycles without helmets was certainly illegal. If they so much as hit a pebble in the road, going at that speed, there was the high chance their motorcycles would go flipping out of control, sending the riders airborne. And when they landed right on their helmet-free noggins, it would make for quite a mess. A mess was good for no one. So Jim thumbed the switch to turn on the sirens and started up the car's engine. Jake picked up the car's radio-handset and called in an bulletin: where they were, what they saw and what they were planning to do about it. Four big men on even bigger motorcycles and riding the highway without helmets could not be good news. And were those flames shooting out of their motorcycles' tailpipes?
…
The state troopers' car siren wailed and blared noise as the engine roared, going along the road in pursuit of four men on especially large motorcycles. And yes, those really were flames blasting out of the tailpipes: an obvious violation of air-emissions regulations to boot! To increase this car's speed, Jim put the car's transmission in a higher gear. Jake had both hands atop the dashboard and was leaning forward as if he could will this car to go faster, his uniform-covered chest pressing against his seatbelt as his eyes focused on the four riding the motorcycles. Even the loud wailing sound of the siren was not enough to drown out the sound of the engine revving hard in pursuit of those four speeding daredevils: riding without helmets at ridiculous speeds.
Jim was driving this car and did not have to glance at the speedometer to realize how fast they were going. His face was calm as his experienced hands kept the steering wheel steady as the road blurred with speed. Up ahead, those four wild-haired men in jeans and flapping leather jackets continued to zoom along as if they were enjoying any old day of the week, crazy manes fluttering and leather jackets flapping, their motorcycle engines thrumming as flames flared out from exhaust tailpipes. Those four never even glanced back once or turned their heads to look in their rear-view mirrors. Jim then noticed something not quite right about the flames from the motorcycle tailpipes… Something was not right here.
"I'll try the bullhorn!" shouted Jake as this car's engine roared louder. He reached for the handset of the radio console, which also doubled as the microphone for the bullhorn when a switch was toggled on the dashboard console. He toggled that switch, and his voice was soon amplified threefold as it was blasted through the siren speakers. "This is the state police! You are in violation of the posted speed limits and two-wheel vehicular safety laws! Pull over no-o-ow!"
"Oh, Hell! That won't do any good!" declared Jim above the roar of the car's engine. As there was now no visible traffic on this stretch of highway, he put the car's transmission in its highest-speed (and least maneuverable) gear. By now, this vehicle was going at a speed worthy of stock-car racing. But unlike tracks that went around and around in circles, this particular race track was a prolonged one with curves that went up and down. There was no official finish line, either. Jim was also taking on the idea that the motorcycle maniacs up ahead would probably not care to hear about NASCAR, anyway. They probably didn't watch television or go to sporting events.
Then the road ahead faded into fog. Jake slowly reattached the handset back on the dashboard radio console as the change occurred. Before his very eyes, the concentration of humidity in the air was radically increasing. It suddenly becoming hard to see the road ahead. The air was soon clouded with a yellowish-tinged smokiness that could have been fog…or something else. He was reminded of the time he had once visited his sister and her husband in the City of Los Angeles. There were some summer days in which thick concentrations of air pollution mixed with airborne water vapor: smoke mixed with fog. That evil airborne concoction even had its own name: smog.
Now they were driving madly through something that looked a great deal like that smog stuff. Only this airborne chemical soup looked worse than that: the color being a sickly brown that was mixed with streaks of red . A whiff of the stuff could probably cause an unhealthy selection of lung conditions. It was probably luck that he wasn't gagging; the stuff probably hadn't gotten into this car yet. Why weren't those bikers up ahead affected?
Bzzt…! Jake looked at the radio-console"It's too late!" blared the interfering voice, the sound full of static. "We can't…" Bzzt! "…Forever… The place is going to be contaminated!" Bz-z-zt… Blam! "They broke into our shelter! Oh, God-d-d-d! They're uglier than we could know! Run for it! The lights, stupid. Fix the…tone and… Wrong color!" Bzzt!
That was it. The noise was too much; whoever was on the other end was now thoroughly drowned out by interference. Jake tried fine-adjusting the radio's tuning while Jim kept this car going. "Cry-y-y their troubles away…!" Bzzt! "Goin' do-o-own to Lonesome Town… Where the broken hearts…stay-y-y…" sang the radio, a guitar strumming in the background, as clear as any radio station. "… A dre-e-eam or two, to last you a-a-all through the y-y-years…!"
"Great, radio's out of whack!" shouted Jake, shouting because the car's engine was so loud now as this chase continued. "Now it's picking up Western stations and cowboy songs!" He tried fiddling with the tuner and occasionally glanced up to look at the smoggy mess. Some of it was now beginning to cling to the windshield, making for a fine layer of reddish dust streaked with sickly colors of greenish-yellow. Those lunatic bikers were now almost totally lost in the smog.
Jim had all the clues he needed. This was as dangerous a chase as he would ever want to be on. He knew this. He also knew now that it was humanly impossible to keep up with those things that resembled wild-haired bikers on motorcycles. "Call in that we're breaking off pursuit!" he said above the engine roar, which was now decreasing as he slowed this car. The sound of the car's engine became a rumble. It was soon a hum as he slowed it down enough to ease it over to the shoulder of the road.
He slowed it down to a stop. Jake picked up the radio handset and held it in his left hand while he used the fingers of his right to reset the car's radio back to the originally assigned frequency. A sudden glare in his eyes forced him to give pause. He squinted and looked up from his efforts: looking through the front windshield.
The thick and nasty smoky fog had vanished so suddenly that it was like the pulling aside of curtains: odd-colored curtains of fog. Now, the highway ahead stretched off into the long distance and towards the horizon. It took a moment for him to realize that it was the orange-reddish glare of sunset that obscured the horizon. Cars were riding along, and now traffic was just about normal for this time of day.
But…how was it sunset already? It was around afternoon-time when they began the chase. The chase could not have been more than ten minutes at the most. When things were intense and dangerous, as they occasionally became for state troopers, three minutes could seem like thirty. Three hours was a stretch. He glanced at his electronic wristwatch: which was stopped. "Jim, could you give me a time check?"
Jim shook his head. "Sorry, but I can't help you there, partner. My watch is as broken as yours. A call to the station can probably help us out." He was going to add, If we're still in range of radio communication, that is. Yet he did not want to confuse or make Jake nervous about what the Hell just happened. And as it turned out, thank goodness, they still were in radio range of headquarters. The dispatcher told them to drive back and report on the missing gap in their radio silence. They also wanted to know why their car's assigned frequency was broadcasting sounds of screams and fire.
On the way back, Jake was riding with his arms crossed and an angry look on his face. It was a look borne out of frustration and confusion: as if he had been presented with a complicated three-dimensional puzzle that could only be solved by someone with advanced college degrees in anthropology, astrophysics, philosophy, and a dash of political science thrown in for good measure. Jim tried allaying Jake's frustration and confusion by saying something along the lines of things having to make their own kind of sense, like the mystery of the Borley Rectory, or Stonehenge, even the Bermuda Triangle… Now he would not have wanted to vacation in any of those places.
…
2.
…
The narrow forest road was a great deal more quiet than the highway. Whereas the highway was all full of cars and trucks and noise, out in the open, this road had tall trees and dense woods to the left and right. It made the road seem more like a corridor through nature. And these days, this road was always obscured by fog: a fog streaked with pus-colored mists.
The fog obscured the sign at the right side: a sign that still had the town's name: Welcome to Pleasant River: Population… The rest of the sign was now being overcome with rot and rust: the number for population being covered and obscured. Then came a distant sound of rumbling, a sound like thunder and earthquakes. It became a rumbling, a roaring, a blasting sound from beyond the sheer wall of fog. One odd thing about fog-in-general was how it carried sound: Sounds seemed to come from everywhere and anywhere on such misty days. Now it was as if the fog was full of the rumbling that seemed to come from all around and coming closer, being close …
A haphazard jumble of animals staggered out from the forest at the right. Some of them had two legs, some with six legs. All of them had skin and fur discolored by the toxicity of the mist: that mist which colored the air of the forest at the edge of town. The animal that resembled a purple ape in metal gas-mask raised its head. Whir-r-r-r went the sound from the electromechanical parts in the maskEven with the r-r-rrumbling sound increasing in volume, the sound of the mask's workings could be heard trilling: taking in air and processing it. Then the ape-like animal began to grunt and wave its massive arms about as it loped its way to the middle of the road, followed by the others that slithered and staggered.
"Arwho-oo!" howled the skinless, legless dog-thing. Despite the fact that its head was a haphazard mess of misplace orifices and eyeballs, it was able to produce a surprisingly clear sound with the two mouths that did work. Its multiple eyes squinted before it howled again. "Arwho-oo…!"The dog-thing paused, blinking its multiple eyes.
Arwhoo! Yes, an answering howl sounded in the distance, beyond the trees that lined this road. The message had gotten through. Others of the forest knew that something was coming to destroy the peace of the forest. That rumbling kept coming….
From the brownish-colored fog emerged four dark figures on motorcycles, all of them in leather jackets, jeans and boots, their hair and beards fluttering as they rumbled along. Upon seeing the animals in the road, they drew their weapons and held them one-handed while using the other to steer their thunderously loud vehicles: one dark figure armed an odd-looking rifle, another armed with nunchucks, the third with a massive knife, and the fourth had a long rod with a blade at the end of a metal rod. They were here to kill.
"Hah-h-h-h!"laughed two of the headless deer-things, their necks of horns pointed forward as they breathed from the mouths that lined its ribcage. They charged along the road while the other animals formed a roadblock with their bodies, arms, legs, tails, and such. Even more animals staggered, loped and slid out from the forest If the animals had minds, they were probably thinking, These foolish outsiders would not get past them!
As it turned out, the animals were the foolish ones. Their motley roadblock was defeated in part of a second. The gigantic wheels of the motorcycles squashed the bodies of some animals and sending out splashes of oily ichors, while swung weapons broke the bodies of a few more animals. These additional impacts sent these creatures flying up and away into the misty forest from which they had emerged. The headless deer-things had been obliterated even before this.
The animals were scattered and ruined. Some of their crushed bodies squirmed and writhed in the road itself. Others lie by the side of the road: twitching as their broken corpses leaked oily fluids. One of the apes-like animals was dragging itself along with its two massive arms because the lower half of its body was gone: chopped off. As it went along, dragging along, the thing left a massive streak of oily fluid.
A Hellish squeal of tires, and the four dark strangers on motorcycles were coming back around for another pass. They were back to complete the job, to complete the obliteration of this motley herd of animals. Two parked their motorcycles at the left side of the road, while the other two did the same for the right side. They then entered the road from different ends. By doing this, these bikers trapped the things in the middle of the road.
The one with the odd-looking rifle took aim. There was a whisper of sound, and suddenly three animals just weren't there anymore: bits of ashes drifting to the ground where they once stood. Another stranger held up a knife easily the size of his parked motorcycle: holding the knife with both gloved hands. A great swing of the dull gray blade, and at least four animals were sliced horizontally in half: the upper halves of their bodies sliding off the lower halves: oily dark fluids oozing from their bodies. That dark stranger with the weighted nunchucks made a blur-fast swipe with his weapon, and three more animals were squashed flat: crushed by an a sudden and unseen weight from above.
Then the dark biker with the scythe was standing back, watching the results with a toothy smile at the results. He was especially pleased with the carnage, the death and destruction of that which was alive. One animal tried to stand. Just a look from him, and it collapsed. Dead with just a look… This passed as even more animals were emerging from the forest. It was like a block party: Everybody was invited!
So the four dark bikers repeated their actions: using their various weapons. There were more deadly whisper-like sounds from the odd rifle, turning more animals to ash. The great knife swung to and fro in splitting entire groups of animals into parts and pieces. And the ultra-dense metal nunchaku swung in heavy arcs to crush and bludgeon even more of these foolish things. As groups and herds of animals emerged from the forest, the four dark strangers in leather jackets and jeans continued their savage and barbaric actions. Whereas the animals had horns, bludgeoning weapons, teeth, hooves, and more, these strangers just continued to act much as they did. This went on for some time, sounds of savage growls, snarls, and rendered flesh filled the misty air while the dark strangers themselves made not a single exclamation….
It was all over soon enough. This part of the road was now covered with the crushed, split, broken and generally destroyed bodies of the animals. The dead bodies were nothing but meatnow: diseased, lumpy and wrong-colored flesh. All of their distorted bodies were rendered even more distorted, mutilated, and defeated. As the mist of the air wafted over their still bodies, the ambiance of death covered all.
Crack! The dark biker with the scythe rapped the pole-end of his tool against the road, and the other three turned snap-quick to face him: their leather jackets flapping in the wind. When he spoke, it was a deep and calm voice that echoed with the surrounding air. "The air is full of sweet indications," he growled, his red beard fluttering. "You can smell the color of their heads. It is wrong in this time, this time, this time… They try to take our smiles for a ride. They will all be chopped into endings in this place, them all!"
…
With this declared, the dark biker of the scythe raised his weapon, turned and led the way into the forest. The others followed, their heavy boots trampling the underbrush, some trees knocked over with leather-clad shoulders as they went. In this stretch of forest, they came to a night-darkened clearing: passing by trees and plants so diseased and contaminated that they had lost all of their foliage, the trees slick mucous-like sap. Beneath the biker's boots, the ground was covered with crunchy dead plant-matter that had been blackened from intense and harmful radiation exposure. Brown-tinged mists and wafting stretches of fog obscured everything as darkness covered everything above. The four bikers did not mind the fact that it was still full daylight throughout the rest of this forest, that this clearing should not be the way it was. All that mattered here was that something very wrong was happening here. And they were here to set things right. Things would be made right even if they would have to shoot, cut, bludgeon and kill anyone or anything foolish enough to stand against their purpose in this world: interfere with this world.
They stepped into the busy clearing itself, a circular-shaped open space in the woods that was the circumference of a small house. And like a house, the animals of multiple limbs and shapes were lounging about: lying down in the presence of a rusty red engine. The engine itself had pipes and wires built into the ground of this forest, going down into the dirt and roots. A low and sickly mist hung around the engine and close to the ground: some palls of smoke gushing up into the air. A six-limbed Denier crawled down from a tree to slink along the ground. It climbed atop the engine, its human-looking head vibrating as its six hands twisted small knobs and levers.
Only when one of the four bikers stomped on the body of an animal did the rest of this group become lively and excited. And what a lively bunch they were! "Oblamah! Satyagra-a-aha-a-a!" snarled something that resembled a large hairless dog without legs. It then began to quickly slide and writhe along the ground, its mouth wide open and dripping orange saliva. Some of the nearby slime-furred ape-like creatures picked up various rusty metal pipes and began to step closer while six-legged deer-things stood nearby: getting ready to charge. "Fush-kuttle,oblamah-satyagraha!"
So that familiar and wearying song-and-dance of violence began yet again: a performance just so often repeated many times before. The animals came at the four bikers. Some came at them with horns ahead. Others slinked along the ground with large mouths open. As for the ones that had arms, they brandished their odd bludgeoning weapons as they shuffled and grunted. They sought to surround the bikers to bite and beat and kill…
The biker with the odd rifle took almost casual aim, raised his weapon and turned five of the animal into crumbling ash-statues. A massive air-ripping blow from another biker's nunchaku, and five more animals went tumbling away: all the bones in their distorted bodies suddenly broken. The biker of the great knife stepped forward and was able to cut half a dozen of the animals in half with just a single mighty swipe: the gigantic heavy blade making an audible and deep swo-oosh in the forest air as it cut through the hapless creatures' bodies.
While this was happening, three Deniers clambered atop the engine and tried adjusting more valves on it. Their heads were vibrating as the engine began to produce a hum… The biker of the scythe approached the engine and looked at the creatures atop it. A mere gesture with his scythe, and the Deniers stopped moving, their heads no longer vibrating, beginning to flop off of the engine. They were dead, of course: instantly dead. Their grotesque bodies were stiff with rigor-mortis even before they struck the ground itself. "Round and round about," he said in a low voice. "Bring about the beginning of their end in this world. Dance over here, fellow riders…"
Whatever the other three bikers were doing, whatever they were killing, they were suddenly turned around and coming to stand by the one with the scythe. The animals tried biting the bikers, poking them with horns, hitting them with swung pipes, and lashing them with venom-slicked tongues. Except these four in leather jackets and blue jeans were not affected in the least way: invincible in a very real sense. They could not be stopped.
The four bikers surrounded the engine and raised their weapons: the odd rifle, the great knife, the heavy nunchaku, and the scythe. They then brought their weapons to bear on the engine. Everything came to a stop.
It was such a dead and sharp stop that time itself seemed to ceased. Nothing moved, not even the wind. Everything was stopped in place and nothing at all disturbed this peace. Even the surviving animals were stopped in mid-motion as a florescent…brightness seared down from above. It was painfully bright and burningly hot: very hot! The animals squealed and screamed at their plight as the glow from above burned everything. Some of them made pathetic attempts at crawling or slithering away. Except, there was no escape from the terrible and deadly burning glow from above.
When the brightness…faded, sunlight again shone into the clearing: which was now restored to clear and clean daylight of sunset. There were no animals hereabouts: not even their bodies. Nor were there any bodies of the human-headed creatures that worked the engine. The engine itself was destroyed: a ball-shaped knot of twisted and blackened metal on the ground. A blow from the shaft-end of the scythe, and even that crumbled.
The biker with the scythe grinned at the others, a skeletal look on his face. "We say it here. We say it well, and we say it true. For they know not what they do. Once, they are warned." The biker with the odd rifle raised the weapon skyward. "Twice, they are told." The one with the nunchaku raised his weapon the same way. "Thrice, they are punished" The great knife was raised up. "Fourth,. they are… made…cold." The one with the scythe himself raised his own tool. A blast of wind swooped down from above.
They vanished. The sound of their motorcycles could be heard on the wind. Indeed, there was much to be done in this town as so much was going wrong. And nothing in this world could stop them.
…
Once, they are warned.
Twice, they are told.
Thrice, they are punished.
Fourth, they are made cold!
…
3.
…
The brown-streaked fog was a bit thicker in this residential neighborhood. All the rows of quaint, two-story houses were built close together: as if the structures were huddled against the mists that obscured the air. It was particularly difficult to see along one of the streets due to the wrong-colored fog being surprisingly thick. Parked cars at the sides of the streets in front of houses had their windows grimed with whatever it was that was making the fog that color. That was also true for the windows and metal doorknobs of the houses themselves. No doubt, the stuff in the air was something wicked.
Every so often, there were sounds along this street. These sounds came from the row-houses at the sides. Sometimes the sounds would be the rattling of an erratic damaged doorknob as someone tried to get out. They would pound-pound-pound on their front doors, their screams of frustration and desperation muffled by the grime-encrusted wood. Or they would be screams of pain as something terrible happened in those houses. When suffering sounded out, that was when lumpy dark shapes in the fog would run along the ground. They would go close to house-doors and do something, making holes appear in the sides of the house. Animals would rush into the houses through those holes, there would be a final scre-e-eam…and silence: blessed silence. Then the low-lying and fast shapes in the fog would scamper away again: going back to wherever it was that they came from.
A great deal of the shapes seemed to come and go from one house in particular: where Deniers squirmed and wriggled against one another. This house had been…changed. In place of a structure made of bricks, clapboard wood and the like, this house was made of thick lead blocks. The roof was a massive cone with a blackened pipe poking out of the top, while pipes and wires connected it to the ground: like the roots of an electromechanical tree. The wires hummed with power and the pipes churned with pumping as the dark shapes in the fog scrambled to and from here.
R-r-r-rumble… It was the bass thrumming sound of motorcycles that filled the fog: a sound seeming to come from everywhere at once. Something was going wrong and interfering with the resonance.
That was the sound of something dangerous to progress! Without even communicated, the Deniers collectively decided to gather around the distorted house. They coalesced in the foggy obscurity around the place, their bodies squirming and sliding across one another. Something was going to happen to their great works. Those who disturbed the silence were committing blasphemy.
That r-r-rrumbling sound came closer still. The heavy, quaking sound of four powerful engines shook the air. It was as loud as the air was foggy, sending up vibration and noise. And it became…louder still. The noise was enough to make the ground itself begin to tremble. Any exposed ears would have been deafened by now. Those Deniers at the distorted house squirmed and struggled with themselves, writhing and wrestling as the noise became even noisier. All the world was just a mass of vibrating chaos and distortion…until it stopped.
The four dark bikers stepped into sight from the sickly fog around the distorted hourse and began to approach, their wide powerful bodies implacable and dark in their black leather jackets and blue jeans. Gripped in their hands were their respective weapons: the odd rifle, the great knife, the nunchaku, and the scythe. They walked shoulder-to-shoulder in approaching that distorted house made of metal and surrounded by lumpy shapes.
And they saw the wrongness at work. Dozens of those six-armed, human-headed creatures were conspiring in the obscurity of the fog around the distorted house. There were so many Deniers here and close together that they became unrecognizable: so close and lumped together that they formed odd groupings of clumps with tangled limbs and pressed torsos without heads exposed. They were making sounds as well as they squirmed and writhed: hissing and whispering with occasional grunts as they writhed. Their whispered hisses and grunts became even louder as the bikers came up to the rusty door at the front of this distorted house. Some haphazard clumps of Deniers joined together to form large heaps of arms and flesh to try and block the door.
No matter, the dark bikers were here to do what they had to do. They clutched their weapons and continued to walk shoulder-to-shoulder in approaching the distorted house. Nothing in this world could stop them. Not even six hundred Deniers could stop them. Then the boots of the dark bikers began to come down on one of the things.
"Ergh-ah!" exclaimed the six-armed creature as its torso was stomped: a boot-shaped gap crushed into its body. The other Deniers made quick but ineffective grabs at the jeans-covered ankles and legs of the dark bikers. Yet despite the fact that each of them had six arms, six hands, they were unable to get any kind of secure grip: as if something unseen prevented even the touching of the dark bikers.
Six crushed bodies later, and the dark bikers were standing at the front door to the house itself. The dark biker with the great knife held it up and over his back, poised. He began to pull the weapon forward… A heavy whoosh sounded out as the massive blade ripped through the air and arced towards the thick metal door, which resulted in a squeal of sound as it was split asunder. He yanked back the blade; he had cut the thick metal door clear down the middle.
When he stepped aside, the dark biker of the scythe went through the doorway: through the door. That was literally true; the stranger simply walked forward and the split door was obliterated upon impact with his chest. The others followed: going into the house. Then came noise.
There were sounds of crashing and obliteration in there, sounds of engines being crunched, bashed and destroyed as the bikers went to work. Between sounds of destruction, there were erratic clank-clanking sounds as parts and pipes began to malfunction. Sunset-colored smoke began to billow out from the doorway: changing the color of the fog from brown to a florescent yellow color.
"Eklric, edgeknowle krakatoa!" screamed a Denier as it struggled to get away and crawl away from the noise and destruction of the engines. "Krak-k-katoa edge-knowle! Ohnn oblamah" The others followed suite, trying to get off of the porch and to the ground. They began to use their multiple arms to dig at the dirt as the sunset-colored smoke began to cover their grotesque bodies. The sunset-colored smoke began to make their heads vibrate and their bodies twitched. "Edge-knowle, edge-knowle!" grunted the last one as its body was overcome with rampant spasms. Before long, all of the Deniers were having runaway seizures as the sunset-colored smoke overwhelmed their bodies: making for grotesque blotches of purple and green as their skin was being eaten away. Dark oily fluids beginning to ooze and splatter out of their quivering mouths. Then their bodies began to shrivel…
There were soon no more sounds of obliteration and destruction within the distorted house. The smashing sounds were silenced: until the distorted house collapsed inward. Its walls of lead bricks fell inward as the conical roof fell downward and inside. Metal collapsed on top of metal as everything went downward and inward. The inside of the structure had become a pit, a blank and infinite hole in the planet: a massive gaping mouth into which everything built around it was being swallowed whole.
When the last few metal pieces fell in, there was a quaking r-r-r-rumbling of sound as the edges of the pit began to move and narrow. Ever-so-slowly, the abyss became a ditch. Then the ditch shrunk, becoming closed. This went until there was nothing but flatness again. What was once a distorted house and the deniers, that was gone. There was to be no more sound of that Machinery. The sound of those motorcycles fading off into the foggy air: a fog that was now beginning to lift.
The air was soon cleaned and made crisp again. Along with it went the crusty rot that sealed all the doors shut. A woman in pajamas ran barefooted out the front door of her house. Never mind that her hair looked wild and unkempt, and never mind that she looked bedraggled. She was just so damned happy to finally be out of her house! Better yet, the air was different. It was…clear!
"Hey, everybody! We're free! Come on out!" she shouted. "It's gone!" As more front doors opened, more people cautiously emerged from their houses to see that it was true. The air was clear, and everything was fresh. They were too happy to pay attention to the now-vacant lot between two houses where there was once a structure: where there were also oily patches staining the dead grass where there were once the bodies of Deniers.
…
4.
…
"Don't dawdle, child," said the tall severe woman in black dress and hat: Miss Gauche. She was accompanied by two maids in servants' clothes and white aprons: their faces covered with gauzy red veils. The way they stood, there was something slightly odd about it. "One should think that you would be pleased for the opportunity to be up and away from the hospital bed. I can understand how you would be disoriented following the transition. But what we need from you is coherence and stability! If you are to be a proper young lady worthy of the Longhorn name and power over the land, you must act appropriately and with the proper pride. So… Up you go! Out of the wheelchair! Would you have the chauffeur and servants waiting even longer for your emergence?"
Selena's head was bowed in dizziness and nausea: lengths of her long silken hair curtaining her face. It hid her facial expression, but she likely had an expression of weakness and continued suffering. The large padded wheelchair she was in seemed to make her seem even more frail and delicate. The red dress they put on her was of a thin material: clinging to her thin body and not at all keeping in heat. Not only did she feel cold, she was also disoriented: feeling as if she was barely here.
This was the front entrance to the hospital, and the dying rays of sunset filtered through the glass doors. It was near sunset. And a red limousine was indeed parked out there. Out there was troublesome to her, because the sunset was irritating her skin. Still, this "Miss Gauche" woman would not relent until Selena was able to get up. She closed her eyes, inhaled, and…concentrated.
The wind outside the hospital picked up slightly. Nurses at the nearby front-counter looked around nervously when a small radio they were listening to became overcome with static: a different song playing through the static. And the maids standing next to Miss Gauche stood up straighter, swaying on their feet in big clunky black shoes. They even began to make small mewling noises from behind the red veils over their faces. Then the lights flickered.
She opened her eyes and climbed out of the wheelchair, turned to face it: her large green eyes staring… That wheelchair began…to move, going backwards, rolling over to the counter: the sound of radio static in the air. The human nurses over there were visibly nervous as it rolled closer to them, making their little portable radio become even louder with static. One of the nurses even looked ready to run away. After this, Selena turned her gaze to Miss Gauche.
"That was exquisite, child," said the tall woman. "I would not have expected such discipline and control from you at such an early stage. There was some excessive leakage into the local ambiance, yet that can be improved with the proper instruction. There will be more time for that following your arrival upon the estate. So… Come along." Selena did, walking towards the entrance on her own two feet. The doors opened with a deep whirring sound: the electrical motors humming to open the way.
…
Outside the hospital and parked across the street were several patrol cars: each of the vehicles with janitors in jumpsuit-uniforms: ready to come out and deal with any potential threat to the precious girl coming out of the hospital. The janitors' vehicles resembled police cars from another place. Except, the car headlights were modified halogen-arc lamps strong enough to deter blasphemers. And the "sirens" mounted on the vehicle's roof were cylindrical resonators: calibrated to call hordes of animals and other janitors as necessary.
In one parked patrol car, the janitor in the driver's seat looked at the girl and her entourage as she walked towards the red limousine. He could only get a slight and diagonal look at her from this distance. That was definitely the girl: her face obscured by the large hat she had on and her long moon-silk hair cascading down her back. A chauffeur held the limousine door open for her, and she climbed in. He sat up in the seat and leaned forward as if he could get more of a look at the girl: wanting to see more of her. The tall woman in black said some words to the chauffeur before herself going into that fancy red long-car. A glimpse was all he had, a glimpse before the limousine door was closed and the chauffeur walked around front to prepare driving.
"Yes, indeed… It looks like the old stories were right," commented the other janitor as he leaned back in the shotgun seat. "Except I would've thought they would have been taller…and dressed in green instead of red." He leaned an arm out the open car-door window: fingers feeling the late-day breeze that blew along the sidewalk. "I suppose they'll do what they want with her: if she lets them, I mean. She could probably bless them any time she wants."
The janitor in the driver's seat said nothing immediately. He looked on longingly as the red limousine drove off. Three other patrol cars went to follow. This car was not going to follow; it was assigned to stay here. Oh, how he wanted to be near the girl-to be in that group! He wanted to be blessed for so long: since he heard the stories at religious gatherings. Now it would be possible. "For so long…" he mewled. "Such a long time."
"Wa-hey! Take it easy, buddy," said the janitor in the shotgun seat. "We all knew she would come. We've been waiting forever and a day, so another few days won't matter much in the long run. Right? You've got your faith. I've got mine. So just mellow out. We'll get our blessing just like everybody else…when the right day comes. Then everybody will be together."
"…Together with paradise on this Earth," completed the janitor in the driver's seat. "Ever since I was a small kid, over and over, they kept telling me that she was going to come down and bless us all, make the world wonderful again. The rest of the world seems like a rotten and stupid place. And it seems like only the towns with our religion are any good! Some of the tourists used to come here during the Warm season and say the dumbest things. Those outsiders… Why did Mr. Longhorn bother, continuing tourism? Some of them won't ever understand the truth until the day of the Descent!"
"I agree," responded the janitor in the shotgun seat. "But Mr. Longhorn has his reasons. For one, he needed some expertise from the outside: some people from those fancy schools: to help with his Great Works. Then there's how spreading the religion is good for us. Where else would newcomers go? They wouldn't dare go to Silent Hill now. Too scared and ignorant, most folks. As you said, they just wouldn't understand…"
"They'll understand, alright. They'll understand when the faithful are blessed!" exclaimed the janitor in the driver's seat. He was worked up into a frenzy now, his hands and jaw clenched. It was the very same kind of fanaticism seen in some places of worship. "We'll be the ones blessed while they are left to pain and suffering! Perhaps the Flesh Lords will find something to do with them, the unbelievers. And we will be the ones enjoying everything forever, in eternal bliss!"
…
The passenger compartment of this limousine was like a miniature living room. On the vehicle's floor was red-pile carpeting. Seats were plush and wide, like sofas. A miniature chandelier made for dim lighting in here, shining over a small coffee table fastened down. It was just comfortable enough that Selena could tolerate the things in the other seat.
She was trying to ignore the guttural muttered and grunting sounds that came from Miss Gauche's assistants, the two women-things with their faces covered in reddish veils. They were things, not real: thinly disguised to resemble human beings, and sitting to the left and right of Miss Gauche. The red veils covered their faces and red gloves covered their hands, while tight maids' dresses and black stockings covered up any otherwise possibly exposed skin. Oh yes, Selena certainly knew that those two truly were; she could sense their true nature with her mind. Those things were blessed: muttering with covered mouths that probably had far too many teeth, their covered skin probably blotched over and bumpy with insane tumors: runway cancers. Every so often, their heads would begin to twitch.
As the sky took on shades of dark blue and mists began to roll along the ground, this red limousine drove through the open gateway: then went along the curving roadway that meandered through the front grounds of the estate: trees at the sides. Selena had never been into the Longhorn Estate herself in her lifetime. At least she did not ever remember doing so. It seemed that the forested property surrounding the grand house itself was larger in this world: darker and wider than what she had seen in just driving by. The encroaching darkness of night seemed to make the woods out there seem darker and larger. And yes, the figures in the periphery of the limousine's headlights were certainly animals: their bulbous bodies glanced loping along in the sunset-shaded underbrush and standing by trees as this vehicle passed byEven if some of them looked vaguely human, there was nothing but animals in the woods this close to sunset. The mists were just beginning to roll in…
This vehicle emerged into a cleared field beyond the forest: a field easily large enough to accommodate multiple football matches. Except instead of athletes at play, there was a gigantic grand house: resplendid in architecture and dominating the landscape. As the car slowly curved around the half-mile bend in getting over to there, the lights fronting the grand house faded on and dazzled the entranceway. It took a good several minutes before this long car arrived at the front entrance itself. Selena heard Miss Gauche speak. Saying, "This is the very core of the Longhorn Estate. I trust that you will conduct yourself as befitting a proper young lady of your blessed status." Selena's eyelids narrowed slightly at the word, blessed. She was beginning to have a hatred for the word. They went in.
…
Beyond the front entrance, janitors guarded the foyer: standing aside to let them in. This opened the way into the grand front-hall: an indoor space easily the size of a theater. A wide-open black-and-white marble-tiled floor lay out and wide, with a grand staircase across the way that led upward. The grand staircase was flanked by two large alcoves furnished to comfortably seat guests around tables: bookshelves and lamps nearby. Six chandeliers illuminated everything from high above.
Selena nodded to herself at the significance of this. Yes, there had to be six chandeliers: no doubt with traces of platinum in the metal-working. Miss Gauche led Selena beyond the grand staircase as the maid-things grotesquely staggered off to the sides: their heads vibrating like mad as their arms bent in ways that were not humanly possible. And now they were making gasping sounds, filling the space as their hard shoes clacked on the marble floor: staggering and making spasms as they walked in that grotesque way of theirs. The maid-things were no longer in public, and so there was no longer a need for them to maintain their vaguely human postures. "Never mind them," insisted Miss Gauche. "Your evening repast awaits consumption. It has been especially prepared for you, my dear: especially given your unique and exquisite dietary desires." The next door opened led into the dining-hall
The dining hall was a space half the size of the front-hall, yet no less elegant. Along the left and right walls were red-marble busts on pedestals that were positioned below various portraits of who were: no doubt: past inhabitants and masters of this place. A six-bulb chandelier hung over the long table at the center. All kinds of covered trays were arranged near the far end, and a trio of black-clad butlers stood nearby. There should have been the smell of food in the air. There was instead the smell of greasy gray and red things that should not be here.
One of the butlers pulled out the seat over there while the other remained by the dining cart. Miss Gauche gestured towards it. Go on, child. Selena did so. She walked towards that seat though part of her mind was screaming at her. Something was very wrong with all of this. If she sat down in that chair and let them reveal what was on those covered trays, it would only be the beginning of something awful.
Run away from this table! She sat down despite her better wishes. Do not do this! That nearby butler announced, "Dinner is served, princess." Oh God no… Please do not lift the tray. His white-gloved fingers pinched the little knob atop the first silvery cover and lifted. The first sight was something to make a person wretch.
On the plate were things that were still alive. They were some gray-skinned slug-things the size of mice, writhing and squirming atop a small bed of black-mottled red leaves. The open air was drying their skin as the light irritated their sensory organs. The things were from darkness and preferred darkness: writhing in pain and irritation.
Selena began to do things before she even understood what was happening. A few quick glances from her, and the slug-things were killed: their little spade-shaped heads crushed inward by unseen forces. Her own slim fingers then gripped the dead little oily gray creatures and brought them to her waiting mouth: saliva dripping from her lips. She squeezed the gray bodies, making for greasy black-and-gray mottled stuff squirt out and into her mouth: thick and gummy ichor. Then she gulped it down as the wonderful taste fill her mouth and swallowed: taking it into her body by mouth-fuls. When the large slugs' bodies were empty, she swallowed the skins.
Oh yes, they were delicious. Before long, the rest of the half-dozen slug-things on her plate were eaten and gone. The skins were barely even chewed when she swallowed them as well. The little girl had quite a big appetite! With that appetite came an even larger thirst.
The butler uncovered a bowl of red liquid: with little black furry things swimming in it. Selena's eyes were wide open in staring at the bowl. Mouth open, she uptilted the bowl and gulped down the contents. Selena was so immersed in her feeding frenzy that she did not even notice that she was not even using her hands: the bowl held aloft by the powers of her mind.
Miss Gauche was pleased despite the rather savage and frenzied activity of all this. The fact that the girl had a ravenous appetite for food from that Otherworld: even extensively "contaminated" food: showed that she truly was a catalyst. No human mouth could even touch that without developing sores or diseases, and even the most blessed human stomach could not even hold it for long without being overcome with cancers and other reactions.
When the last of it was gone, there was somehow not a stain on Selena's face. Her hands were clean: though still damp. The ravaged remains of her meal lay atop the nearby trays as she looked dazed at things. She had consumed everything they had given her, everything and anything. It must have easily been a quarter of her body weight, yet her stomach was still as flat and lean as it was when she woke up in the hospital bed: as if the food went somewhere else when she gulped it all down.
Moreover true was how she was now able to use her mind-touch with a great deal more ease. Her skill was used with so much ease that she did not have to use her hands for much of the meal, after the second tray. Too easy, it was. Only the most experienced members of the religion should have been able to flex such power and so easily. Though she now thought that her mind was even stronger.
She wondered what they had done to her at the hospitalAs Miss Gauche laid her hands atop the backrest of the chair, Selena stared at her own hands: still trying to get used to the idea that she was as petite as a young child and looked so. She knew that beneath her skin and hidden by her physical appearance, she was no more human inside than the slug-things she had just eaten. Then what was she now, if not human?
…
In the Other world, through the darkened and rust-metal halls, red-colored mists floated along the floor: a floor of wire-mesh grating, made crusty with rust and dried grease. Beyond the walls, beneath the floors, the engines of the Machine continued to thrum on in the darkness. Except now the engines hummed somewhat more loudly. "Ergh-ach! Elkric satyagraha-a-a, al oblamah!" cheered the Denier as it crawled along the ceiling, all six arms working as it moved. "Elkrick oblamah krod-dor!" Now the thrum of the engines was somewhat like the sound of covered fires.