I
Henry Townsend lazily rolled around in bed, his hand pasted to his forehead. The dreary rays of sun were dispersed unevenly throughout the room, creating more shadows than lighted areas. He opened his eyes slowly to the dim room then looked at his watch. It was eight o'clock in the evening.
How long have I been sleep?
Henry sat up and looked around. His tussled brown hair was messy and unstructured, yet somehow, it fit him. The slight stubble on his face, healthy complexion, and muscular tone all combined to give him to look of some actor from a popular television show, yet Henry chose to work as a free lance photographer.
He threw his legs over the side of the bed letting his feet adjust to the hard wood floor then stood. He quickly dressed in some jeans, a gray t-shirt, and a button down, white, collared shirt. He rolled the sleeves to about the middle of his forearm, threw on his brown boots and headed out of his bedroom.
Henry threw a glance toward his door just to see if anything had changed. It hadn't.
He had awoken yesterday morning to find that his door had been bolted, barred, chained, nailed, screwed, locked from the inside, which prevented him from leaving his apartment. No matter how much he screamed for help or banged at the door, no one would help him. It was as if they couldn't hear his pleas. Or maybe the entire world had turned against him and he was the only sane person left.
Either way, he was stuck with no way out. The windows wouldn't open or break. The phone didn't work. His cell phone didn't work. The television didn't work. No outside communication was capable in his apartment.
Henry thought he was having a bad dream, but when he awoke and found the same circumstance, he knew that something was wrong. Besides that, he had this uneasy feeling...it wasn't anything he could exactly pinpoint, but he was apprehensive and edgy. Something was horribly wrong and it was only a matter of time before something bog happened.
Lucky for Henry, he had enough food and water to last him another three weeks. But he didn't expect to be trapped in his apartment for three weeks. He didn't expect to be here for more than one day, but here it was day two and still no way out.
A quick glance at the space under the door revealed something that Henry didn't think he would ever see: a communication from the outside world. Well, maybe it wasn't that dramatic, but for Henry, it changed his entire outlook on the situation. Someone knew he was here—someone left him a note—surely they would realize that Henry hadn't replied to the note and send someone to check on him. Maybe it was the landlord leaving him a note or his neighbor, Eileen Gavin.
Henry rushed over and snatched the note from under the door. With trembling fingers, he opened the note, but was instantly disappointed by what he read.
HARRY IS DYING. HELP HIM.
"Harry is dying?" Henry said aloud. "Who the hell is Harry?"
Henry studied the note, trying to see if he recognized the handwriting. He then realized how he didn't know anyone that lived around him all that well to be able to recognize their handwriting.
"How can I help Harry when I can't leave my apartment?" he said again to no one but himself.
He padded into the living room, still undecided on what to do about the note. It was a strange note, written on crumpled paper that was smoothed out to slip easily under the door. Black ink, scratchy handwriting—the person could have been in a hurry. But who left it and who was Harry?
As Henry neared his couch, he suddenly felt a wave of dizziness over take him.
"Henry," a slight whisper resounded in his head. He turned in multiple directions in an attempt to find the origin of the voice. His eyes moved slower than his body, making everything have an afterimage. He felt like he was moving in slow motion underwater. Then it hit him, a wave of fatigue. He felt so tired, so drained. There was no way he would be able to stay on his feet.
Henry felt his body tumble forward toward the couch. However, instead of the overly soft comfort of the couch, Henry fell through the couch and tumbled onto a hard wood floor.
The fatigue was instantly gone and the dizziness passed. He looked up from his spot on the floor to find that he was in another apartment.
Henry got to his feet quickly and surveyed his surroundings. He was in a living room, nicely furnished. It opened into a kitchen, clean, no dishes in the sink, sanitary. A door was closed toward the back of the living room and another was on the opposite side. The thing that caught Henry's eye the most was the chained door in this apartment as well.
"So it's not just my apartment," Henry commented, glad that he wasn't the only one, but slightly apprehensive that something much bigger was happening, something he may not be able to have control over.
Henry took cautious steps toward the door near the kitchen. He put his ear to the door in hopes of hearing another person talking or at least breathing. Touching the doorknob gingerly, Henry waited a moment then turned it slowly.
The scene before Henry was now a bedroom. It was clean as well, but there was a sheet draped over the bed, and the shape of a body on that bed.
"What the hell?" Henry said as he fully opened the door and stepped slowly into the room.
He glanced around for anyone that may have been responsible for covering the body with a sheet or the perpetrator that put the body in its condition. He could feel sweat building in his palms and under his arms. Something wasn't right with this whole situation.
He moved slowly, suddenly aware of his own vulnerability in the situation. He hadn't checked the other door in the apartment, nor the bathroom off to the left, or any of the other hiding places that killers could hide. The killer could be under the bed, waiting for Henry to get close just to have another victim.
Henry shook his head, getting rid of those thoughts. Still they crept back and quickened his pulse.
He stepped slowly and carefully, listening for any sound that might give an intruder away: a cough, a wheeze, a shuffle, a sneeze, even a blink.
Henry made it to the side of the bed without incident. Carefully he reached for the sheet. Slowly. He was ready to jump back if anything happened. Closer. His heart was pounding in his ears now, disrupting his acute hearing. Slower. His hand touched the cotton sheet. Careful. He pulled back the sheet, ready to use it as a distracter if something happened.
Henry was relieved in a sense to find a motionless body underneath the sheet. A man lay on the bed with street clothes on: jeans, a gray t-shirt, brown jacket. The only thing that was wrong with him was the bloody wound in the middle of his stomach.
He then remembered the note.
"If this is Harry, then he's already dead. That note was garbage."
Henry went to drop the sheet, but he felt a cold grip tighten around his wrist. Henry's eyes went wide as the dead body had somehow come to life and now held him in a firm grip.
"Let me go..." Henry whispered, his breath short and ragged. He tried to pull back, but the wide-eyed man stayed with him, keeping his wrist imprisoned and suddenly becoming more active.
"H—h—he—hel—p—m—m—e—" the man stammered.
Henry could now tell the overly pale face, the dark circles under his eyes, and the cold, clammy feel of his hands. This man had lost a lot of blood and someone had left him for dead.
"H—Harry?" Henry said, trying to help the man back into the bed.
His eyes showed recognition of the name, but he didn't respond.
"I—I'm going to call an ambulance," Henry said and grabbed at his cell phone.
No reception.
He glanced around the room for a phone.
"Hold on," Henry said. He dashed into the living room and grabbed the phone, but it too was dead, just like his phone at home. He looked toward the front door and saw that the chains were gone—he had a way out.
He ran back into the bedroom. "Harry, I'm going to have to take you to the hospital," he pulled the man into a sitting position, then wrapped Harry's arm around Henry's shoulder. Henry then put his arm around Harry's waist.
"I know you might be in pain, but this is the only way I can save you," Henry apologized. He staggered out of the bedroom with Harry toward the front door. Harry managed to point to keys lying on the counter in the kitchen. Henry scooped them up and put them in his pocket. He then opened the front door and after a little bit of a struggle got Harry out of the door.
The apartment building was dark and quiet—too dark and quiet.
"Anybody here?" Henry shouted, but directed his voice away from Harry. "Someone's hurt and we need help!"
Silence was his only reply. He went to the first door he came to and kicked it. "Hey, we need help!" There was no response.
Henry didn't want to waste any time. He made his way down the hallway, concerned that Harry might start bleeding again. Before he knew it, he was out of the muggy apartment building and in the evening fog.
He figured that the lone car in the parking lot had to belong to Harry. He moved toward it, taking it as slow as possible in consideration of Harry. Henry propped him against the car as he unlocked the passenger door. Harry started to fall to the ground, but Henry managed to catch him and carefully place him in the car. Once Harry was in, Henry ran to the driver's side, got in, started the car, and roared out of the parking lot into the street.
"Just keep your eyes open," Henry coaxed as Harry's eyes began to roll into the back of his head. His head swaggered and Henry thought Harry was going to pass out.
Henry shook the man's leg. "Come on, stay with me—we're almost to the hospital."
Harry responded slightly and blinked a few times. They were slow and sleepy, but he managed to keep his eyes open.
II.
Henry tried to think of a hospital nearby. South Ashfield was still about twenty minutes away. Silent Hill—it was only a few minutes to Alchemilla Hospital. That was Harry's best bet of survival.
He made a quick left and two rights and found himself skidding to a stop in front of the hospital. For a moment, Henry doubted his decision. The hospital seemed quiet and deserted, much like the rest of the town now that he reflected on it. There were no other cars on the road nor any nightly joggers, or random animals darting through the darkness.
Henry shook off his concern and got out of the car, then carefully pulled Harry out of the car. He made it up the steps without incident and opened the front doors of the hospital. Much more than coincidence, a stretcher was sitting in front of them.
Even though he was suspicious, Henry carefully laid Harry on the stretcher.
"Harry, I'm going to get help. I'll be right back, just stay awake for me, okay?"
Harry's eyes confirmed that he understood what Henry was saying, but there was also something else—fear. Harry was afraid of something—was it this place? No, it was a hospital. Hospitals heal people, make them better, there was nothing dangerous or scary about this place.
However, Henry failed to fully convince himself of that. The dark hallways and foreboding silence told him that he had made a wrong choice. But there had to some someone that would help him.
Henry took two steps from the stretcher and turned around when he heard the squeak of wheels. A figure was pulling the stretcher into the darkness.
Henry saw the outfit and assumed it was a nurse.
"Excuse me, nurse?" he said.
The nurse continued to pull the stretcher into the shadows, which somehow did not sit well with Henry.
"Nurse, wait!" he picked up his pace. The nurse picked up pace too, rolling the stretcher faster down the hallway.
Before Henry knew it, he was running at full speed down the hallway chasing behind the stretcher and the runaway nurse.
Henry took a sharp left, following the nurse, but then she disappeared into a door. Henry ran to the door he thought the nurse had gone through, but it was locked.
"Open this door!" Henry yelled, suddenly unsure if he had the right door or not. There were so many doors that looked alike in the hallway and it was dark. Surely, the nurse intended to help Harry...maybe she was rushing to get him into the emergency room. Maybe she was so worked up about Harry that she didn't hear Henry calling her. Yes, that had to be it—she was dedicated to her job and went right into emergency mode, completely blocking out any distractions.
Still, Henry felt uneasy about brining Harry here and subsequently losing him. Before Harry could reflect on it any more, he saw a figure standing at the end of the hallway.
"Hello?" Henry nervously said. The hallway suddenly seemed darker and narrower, harder to escape if something happened.
The dim light revealed a long coat, dirty pants with town bottoms, dark shoes caked with mud or something, and a blade. Henry immediately took a step back, suddenly realizing that this hospital—it was infected with the same issues that his apartment was afflicted with. Something strange and twisted had taken over much more than his apartment, somehow this town of Silent Hill was affected too.
The figure stepped forward and that's when Henry knew he was in trouble. Instead of a normal head, a large red pyramid rested on its shoulders. It took one more step toward Henry then rushed at him.
Henry turned to run, but the floor became soft, throwing off his balance. He twisted and fell onto his shoulder. Realized the figure was only a few feet away, Henry flipped onto his back and tried to scurry away using his hands and feet. He hit a door then felt it give away behind him.
Suddenly, Henry was falling, falling, and then landed back in his bed.
He looked around stunned and panicked. What had happened? How was he back in his apartment? What was that thing with the pyramid head? Henry leaped out of his bed and ran towards the front door, but stopped when he saw the chains, bars, locks, and everything keeping him from leaving.
Somehow, he was stuck in his apartment again. And Harry was stuck at the hospital with that figure and the nurse. Henry slumped to the ground, wondering if Harry would be okay and if he would ever get out of his apartment.
Notes:
Skittlefratz: Glad you liked the story. You inspired me to write this second chapter.
Selphie Fan: Thanks for the review. This chapter may just give Harry hope of seeing Heather again...
Cat: Well, it's changed from a one shot, but I hope you like this chapter as well
Kronos106: I'm glad you liked the idea. It seemed that part was kind of glazed over in the game, so I thought it would be good to flesh it out just to see what happened. Now, the story's kind of gotten a life of its own. Let me know what you think
69-Bloody-Valentine-666: Creepy name, but thanks for the review. Glad you like the story.