I.
The metallic odor of blood and something else unsavory lingered about the room like the fog outside the movie theater. The single light in the storeroom leisurely oscillated back and forth causing the shadows in the room to move about, revealing then hiding aspects of the room at their own will.
The room was a storeroom, used to keep extra supplies so they were readily available for the concession stands. Boxes of buttery popcorn, various snacks, and vats of soda populated the metal shelves. The aisles were narrow and constricting allowing only one person to traipse down their length. Besides that, the floor to ceiling shelves created a maze in the room.
Michael entered cautiously, with Trey right behind him. Heather and Christine waited a distance away from the door in case something happened.
"I don't like this," Trey whispered as they studied the splatter of blood on the inside of the door.
The door looked as though it had a target painted on it and heads were used instead of darts to pass the time. Blood dribbled down the length of the door, speckled with unknown other matter, more than likely some kind of human gore.
The odor hit Michael much harder as they investigated the mess, causing him to take a step back. "I don't like this either," he turned and peered into the storeroom. "I'm wondering where the body is."
"I'm wondering what did this. I'd rather not meet it in here," Trey said.
Michael's eyes fell to the floor, observing the trail of blood leading from the door deeper into the storeroom. "It looks like it dragged the body into the back."
"So, we're going out the front, right?"
Michael ignored Trey as he stepped cautiously over the blood then followed the trail. Trey sighed, but followed closely.
The search came to an abrupt end when the blood disappeared under a shelf.
"It just disappears," Trey mentioned.
Michael stuck his gun in his belt right at the small of his back. He grabbed a side of the shelf and began to pull. Trey found an empty space next to a box of chocolate candies then joined Michael.
It only took a few well timed pulls to make enough space for them to slip behind it.
"Find anything?" Heather and Christine approached from behind.
"I thought you guys were waiting outside," Trey said, grabbing the wood plank from the shelf.
"We didn't hear you screaming, so we figured there wasn't anything dangerous back here," Christine replied.
Michael shined his flashlight into the newly found space but had difficulty seeing. "It looks like some kind of room back there. I don't think there's anything dangerous back there."
Heather ran her fingers though her unstructured blond hair, pushing a few strands out of her face. "Let's just be careful."
Michael led the way, squeezing through the narrow space. The four teens ended up in a smaller room different from the rest of the theater.
A fluorescent white light flickered unsystematically, bathing the room in an unfriendly luminance. The bare white walls and tiled floor were riddled with cracks and crumbled patches. The thing that stood out to them the most was the rusty projector atop the small, wooden table directly in the middle of the room.
"Looks like some kind of private screening room," Michael said.
"For what, the Texas Chainsaw Massacre?" Christine crinkled her nose as the smell of blood continued to invade her nostrils.
Michael approached the projector carefully, as if the projector would suddenly come to life and lash out at them. As preposterous as it sounded, Michael figured anything could happen, so it was best to stay on his toes.
Without thinking, Michael touched a button and the projector creaked to life. The turning gears on the projector made creaking and grinding sounds as it wound the film through.
Before anyone could protest about the noise, a scene began to appear on the screen. A white-haired, pale woman appeared, the camera showing her from the waist up. She spoke into the camera, appearing to address the audience. Though her lips moved and her hands made soft gestures, no sound came out.
"That's Claudia," Heather realized.
Michael frowned as the film started to skip and fade in and out of focus. As he watched, the scene changed from the woman to a scene in the streets. A man and a woman walked cautiously down the street. Before he could analyze it more, it changed to a creature, crawling on all fours, its appendages bent at odd angles as it plodded across the floor. Another scene—a blood splattered room, dripping with gore and other fluids that he dared not think about. The scenes still blurred in and out of focus, and the film still skipped and moved, so details were hard to make out. Sometimes, the scene itself was tricky to perceive.
Then another scene—a yellow eyed, masked surgeon reached toward the screen. Switch. It looked like four people walking along a darkened path. Could that have been them? But that wasn't right. Michael didn't remember anything like that up to this point. Scene change—a woman with a gun firing away from the screen at something. Then a child appeared—a little girl from what Michael could see. Then a teddy bear flashed on the screen.
Michael was ready to turn the projector off when a set of eyes appeared on the screen. Deep red, burning eyes now stared at them, peeling off their layers one by one. No, the eyes weren't staring at them. It was on the film, the eyes were staring at the camera. But this scene continued to play out. The camera zoomed in on the eyes until the two red ovals took up the middle of the left and right side of the screen. No other features could be seen, it was all black.
"Turn it off," Christine's voice trembled.
Michael realized that it wasn't just him that felt strange about the eyes staring at them. They studied the teens, undressed them down to their souls. It somehow saw their lives—their sins, hidden flaws, suppressed desires—and fed off what it could. Michael wanted to tear away from the evil eyes. Evil, that was the only way to describe the crimson ovals of judgment staring at them. Blinking obviously wasn't important, only studying them, intruders in its domain.
Michael didn't know why he felt all those things, but he did and he didn't like it. A sense of peril suddenly began to form a knot in his stomach. The longer he returned the gaze of the eyes, the heavier and larger it grew.
"YOU!" a voice bellowed then everything went dark.
II.
"I don't like this one bit, lady," Douglas half-whispered in Cybil's direction.
It was only a few minutes ago that they found a strange girl standing outside of the funhouse. Cybil tried to talk to the girl, yet all the girl managed to talk about was a teddy bear. The girl then pointed in the direction of the funhouse. Cybil decided that the girl was in shock, but couldn't bring herself to simply leave the girl without helping her. Not in this place.
Though every instinct told her something was wrong with the whole setup, Cybil decided to enter the funhouse to find the lost teddy bear. Douglas proposed that they leave the girl outside and though Cybil didn't agree at first, the unsettling feeling inside of the funhouse told her Douglas had made a wise suggestion.
Now, they found themselves in an upside down room. Rather one of those rooms that was built to give its patrons the feeling that they were walking on the ceiling. It was supposed to provide a sense of disorientation, but the room failed at the attempt.
Cybil stepped over the blades of a ceiling fan as she kept he gun pointed toward a door which probably led to the next room. She chanced a glance toward Douglas who positioned himself in the same manner.
"I don't like it either, but I don't think we have a choice," Cybil replied as she drew closer to the door.
Douglas made a sound between a snort and a disgruntled groan, "So now, we're stuck finding a lost girl's teddy bear in a place like this."
"You have a better idea?"
Douglas decided not to fall into Cybil's trap. He simply kept his attention on the room and the door. His muscles were tense, ready to react instantly against any perceived threat, and his senses were at their peak now. If anything happened now, Douglas felt for once in his life prepared to handle it.
III.
Michael couldn't figure out where the screams were coming from. The screams were like a symphony of fear as they continued to ring out. Then he realized where one of the screams came from. His own voice added to the cacophony.
He forced his mouth closed and fumbled for his flashlight. Something brushed against his cheek. There was something else in the room, something else lurking in the darkness slithering through the air. It was taunting them, teasing them, toying with them. It brushed past Michael's back again. Michael tried to bat it away, but he almost lost his balance. Falling to the ground would mean certain death and for some reason, Michael believed this undoubtedly. He stumbled, but regained his balance.
The flashlight danced around in the bag, Michael's fingers only gently caressing the smooth handle as it jiggled out of reach. Michael clenched his teeth together as something—no more than one something—brushed against his knee and arm. He realized that he was trembling and shaking the bag.
Michael steadied himself and finally got a hold of the flashlight. A quick twist produced a welcome beam of light. Michael flashed at around himself, hoping the light was a weapon against the dark creatures that swirled around them. Either they evaded the light or there was nothing there, but either way, Michael caught not even a glimpse of a slithery wraith creeping about through the air.
The beam of light then turned on Heather then Trey then Christine. All three were just as disheveled, confused, and scared as he was. He hadn't noticed, before, but the screaming had died down as well.
"Is everyone okay?" the quiver in his voice betraying his own panic.
Quick nods and tight-lipped expressions were his reply. At this point, that was good enough for him.
Michael turned the flashlight to the screen. The film had run out and now flailed helplessly as it slapped against some part of the projector. The rhythmic slapping, though a normal sound, seeming menacing like everything else in the town. A black square now filled the screen.
Michael peered at the square with interest. The screen was white, so if the film had run out, then there should only be a blank screen. But here was a black square, darker than the rest of the room. Michael stepped toward it and felt a cold draft from it.
"Guys, I think this is a hole," he whispered. He wasn't sure why, but he felt that if he raised his voice, something would hear.
His shaky hand reached for the hole and felt its cool, jagged edges then its cold, metallic passage.
"I think it's a vent," Trey said as he stood on the other side, feeling the newly-discovered hole.
Christine rubbed her arms as if the cold was already getting to her. "To where?" she asked.
Heather opened her mouth to answer when a loud scraping reverberated through the entire theater. The loud metal against tile grinded relentlessly, shattering the silence that once before filled the theater.
That sound—Michael knew he had heard it before. It was when they were in the church. Michael's eyes went wide with realization, "It's him. The Butcher. We have to get out of here." His voice was reduced to a hushed but hurried whisper. And somehow, even that seemed too loud.
Christine's voice matched Michael's, "Are we just supposed to crawl into that dark vent? We don't know what's in there. We could be walking into something more dangerous."
"If you want to stay here and play with the guy with the huge blade, be my guest. I've barely gotten away from him twice. I don't want to go for round three."
Michael put the flashlight in his mouth, knowing that if someone didn't make a move to climb into the vent, they would still be debating when Mr. I-want-to-slice-every-appendage-off-your-body-and-perform-unspeakable-acts-on-your-carcass crashed through the shelf. Whatever was on the other side of the vent could be worse, but they may have a better chance of surviving that than a face-to-face battle.
The vent was smaller than it first appeared, though Michael was able to low crawl on his stomach with room to spare. Heather wordlessly ushered Christine over and basically shoved her into the vent.
"Get in there," Heather commanded.
Trey frowned. "You should go."
"We're in a life or death situation. There isn't any time for chivalry. Besides, I have a gun and you have a piece of wood," Heather pointed out.
Trey looked at the wood then at Heather's gun. Then, he did something unexpected. He snatched the gun out of Heather's hand.
"Now, I've got the gun, so go."
"You ass," Heather cursed. If they hadn't been in such a dire situation, she probably would have slapped him. And that would have been lenient. She knew there was no time to argue. Maybe when they got to the other side, she would cuss him out. That's if they were still alive.
As Heather shimmied down the cold vent shaft, he heard a crashing sound and gunfire.
"No," Heather immediately thought. The Butcher—Michael's name for him—had found them and Trey was still trapped with the creature. Was there enough room for him to follow behind?
Heather tried to turn around, but she couldn't angel herself enough to catch a glimpse of the room they had just left. "Trey's still in there!" Heather's voice echoed down the shaft.
"Shit!" Michael shouted. He clenched his eyes closed as he realized there was nothing he could do. The shaft was too small to turn around in, both Christine and Heather were behind him, he heard gunfire, so that meant Trey somehow got the gun, which also meant that even if Heather could somehow backtrack, she had no weapon to help Trey with.
He couldn't stop now. If they could make room for Trey, maybe he could slip past and jump into the passage with them. That was the only chance he had now.
Michael moved as fast as he possibly could, his body slamming against the sides as he pushed and rocked his way forward. He could feel beads of sweat forming on his forehead and his back, despite the now frigid vent shaft.
Behind him, he heard Christine grunting and pushing just as hard as he was, probably thinking the same thing: the only way they could possibly save Trey was to get as far into the shaft as possible. And behind Christine, Heather trailed behind. She had probably stopped to try to turn back, but her efforts probably failed. It surely only took her a few more moments to realize that Trey could still make it is she made room for him. So she reluctantly progressed after calling Trey's name several times.
There were a few more gunshots then nothing else. Michael couldn't think about anything happening to Trey, but the image of Stacy's hacked up body strewn about in the bathroom stall returned. He instantly remembered the blood. There was so much blood, and the smell—sour metal, putrid urine, and something else rancid—rushing at him. But instead of Stacy's crimson covered face, it was Trey.
Michael fell and hit a hard, cold floor. He took only a moment to peer around his new environment, to assess whether they had leaped from the pan into a scorching inferno. Judging from the still room and large door on the opposite wall, they were relatively safe.
He scrambled to his feet and reached back in. His hands grasped Christine's and he pulled her out quickly, half-setting, half-dropping her on the floor. Heather took only a second or two to reach his hands, but then she too was pulled out of the vent shaft.
Then Michael peered back into the shaft. A cold airstream swept past his face and stung his eyes, yet he kept his flashlight pointed down the shaft and ears perked up, listening for a hint of Trey.
"No, he can't be," Christine moaned. She sounded as if she was on the verge of a breakdown, as if Trey's death would be the last straw. But Michael and Heather felt the same way. Neither one of them knew how they would take it if indeed Trey had been bested by the butcher.
"Trey!" Michael shouted. His only reply was his own voice echoing Trey's name a few times before leaving a void of silence behind.
Michael felt weak. His knees wobbled slightly and he felt as if his body would simply give up on life. There was no way out and only his stubborn mind wouldn't let him believe it, but his body knew better and was already shutting down, not ready to face any more horrors Silent Hill had to offer.
Michael managed to turn and gaze at Heather and Christine. Though crying, Christine didn't sob uncontrollably or even sniffle, yet tears streamed from her eyes and her hands were clenched by her sides. Heather stared past Michael with an expression of disbelief, her face void of any expression at all. It was like she had all the life taken from her and was simply left in her present pose as a warning to anyone else that might care about someone else in Silent Hill.
The flashlight suddenly became too heavy, like trying to support a three-hundred pound weight in one hand.
Michael turned back to the vent and was met with a face right next to his.
Notes
Nianko: Thanks for the review. I appreciate the comment about the cliffhanger (and then I go and put another one in this chapter). I will definitely work on ending a chapter in the middle of something big happening. I hope I can continue to write as well as you say I do
Shortey: Thanks for noticing the graduation note I left. It was a tough time, but I made it through. I'm just taking a break now before I start work either next week or the week afterward. As for the story, glad you liked the last chapter. Yeah, the mysterious girl is fishy, and I have a feeling Cybil and Douglas are going to be in a bit of trouble as they explore the funhouse. Hope you enjoy the new chapter
Crazyb1tch85 (Kaworu85): Nice name yet again. Yes, I did go off your suggestion for the kid—see some people take reviews seriously. Glad you're rooting for Cybil and Douglas—hopefully, you'll see what happens to them in the next chapter
wiezerdgamir: Hey, no matter when you read the story and leave a review, I appreciate it. Yes, the mysterious little girl is no good (is any child in the middle of a horror situation ever good?). Enjoy the update!
Skittlefratz: Thanks for the review. I'm glad that the story isn't just dragging along. It was actually one of the concerns I had before starting to write this (I have one story that has 70 chapters). Hope you get the chance to check out this new chapter
duelist-17: Glad you liked the chapter. I did like the funhouse in SH3 (I reactively shot at the hanging corpse when it dropped from the ceiling—it scared the crap out of me). It's been a while, so I'll check to see if your Silent Hill story is up. Good luck with it and if you need anything, just let me know