I.
Michael stopped all motion completely—breathing, blinking, and thinking. His mind was a complete blank as he stared into a dirty visage that only partly resembled Trey Harrison, now only inches away from his own face. It could have been fear that kept him from moving, or maybe it was a natural reaction to assess the next course of action. Regardless of the various possible explanations, Michael stood frozen in place as the face blankly stared back at him.
Michael knew exactly what happened. The Butcher—that evil bastard—he had somehow overpowered Trey and then his gruesome blade sank into Trey's neck and completely severed his head from his body. And just to taunt them, the Butcher had thrown the head down the shaft just so they could see what was in store for them. The Butcher wanted them to scream, he wanted to taste their fear, their panic, and their anguish. It's what fed his relentless pursuit and now they were next.
Michael shoved the gruesome thoughts out of his head, trying to concentrate only on Trey, who had given his life to save someone else. But they were all supposed to make it out of this alive. No one else was supposed to die. First his roommate, then Stacy, now Trey, Michael felt like he was distinctly responsible for these people's deaths. He felt a massive knot form in his stomach and nausea swept over him.
Then the face moved. Its expression changed from a statuesque grimace to a forced smile. "Are you going to help me out of here or what, Mike?"
"T—Trey?" Michael stammered, his motor functions finally responding. "You're—"
"Stuck. This thing is a pain in the ass to shimmy through," the smile was less forced now as Michael grabbed Trey and pulled him out in the same manner as he had done for Christine and Heather.
Christine rushed over and threw her arms around Trey. She sobbed and blubbered several words, but no one quite caught what she was saying.
"Yeah, whatever you said," Trey winced as Christine hugged him tighter. She felt his body suddenly stiffen and she pulled back. A ragged tear in his shirt, soaked with fresh blood, now existed between his left shoulder and tricep. A closer inspection revealed a few more cuts and scrapes, but nothing else too serious. At least nothing she could see.
"Trey, your arm," Christine motioned for Michael to hand her the first aid kit. Once she had the kit open, she cleaned up the wound as best she could and applied a clean dressing. The gash wasn't as deep as Christine initially thought, but it was still serious enough the he would have to get medical attention, if they ever made it to a normal hospital. Trey winced once or twice, but he stayed quiet during the entire procedure.
Once he was wrapped up, Heather approached him and Christine. "You're stupid!" she blurted out, unmindful that someone—or something—could be alerted to their presence. "What the hell were you trying to do back there?"
"I thought I was saving your life," Trey met Heather's gaze but spoke calmly.
"Don't do me any favors! You could've gotten killed—none of this is a game or some kind of movie. People die here and you can die too!" Heather kept her face stony, her hand motions accentuating her points heatedly.
Trey lowered his eyes. "Look I was only trying to—"
"Don't give me that. I've seen enough people die and if you had died—" she trailed off, her expression softening.
Michael walked forward and placed a hand on Heather's shoulder. "We're in this together. We're not going anywhere. I said it before and I'll say it again," he now shifted his gaze toward each person, "we're all going to make it out of here. Alive and together."
He turned from Heather and offered a hand to Trey. Michael pulled Trey to his feet and then Christine. He then focused on Heather.
"Are you okay?" he quietly asked.
She opened her mouth to speak, but couldn't. Heather simply nodded. He gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder and turned back to Trey. "So, you fought against the Butcher and survived."
Trey nodded as he approached Heather. He held the gun out to her. "I think this is yours."
She studied him for a moment. His disheveled brown hair, goofy grin, amicable attitude—how did he get pulled into this? Did any of them deserve to be in Silent Hill? She couldn't imagine the three teens that she now relied on, not only as fellow sufferers in Silent Hill but almost as friends, being like some of the fanatical strangers that wandered the streets. They were normal kids who didn't know what they were involved in. But they were survivors. Despite their own fears, misgivings, and flaws, they stood together to help Heather.
Heather reached past the gun and embraced Trey, missing his bandaged wound by only a few inches. No words were spoken because none were needed. Trey returned the embrace then pulled back. Heather took the gun and checked the bullets.
"I took Heather's gun and told her to go. I couldn't leave her there," Trey began to explain. "The Butcher broke through before I could get into the vent. I tried to shoot at him, but it was like it had no effect on him. I circled back out into the storeroom, but not before he gave me something to remember him by," Trey motioned to his wound. "He followed me out there, but I managed to catch him off guard and push one of those shelves on him. I ran back and dove into the vent praying that he couldn't grab my leg and pull me back in."
"Well, that passage is too small for him to go through, so we're safe for the moment," Michael presumed. Michael then turned his attention to the door he noticed earlier. "Maybe we can get out through there."
Michael's hope disintegrated along with everyone else's as they neared the door. The solid door had no visible door knob. He and Christine pushed against it, but it stood strong against them. It had to be at least a half of foot of iron.
"How are we supposed to get through here?" Christine asked.
"When the sun hovers over the stars, earth, air, and water will align to reveal the path of the maker," Heather read aloud. While Michael and Christine were dealing with the door, she spied the scribble on the wall.
"A riddle?" Michael asked.
Heather moved from the inscription to the door, studying it closely. She ran her fingers along the door and found five round indentations: one on top, one in the middle, and three on the bottom. The riddle obviously alluded to the door and its five empty indentations, but where were they supposed to find the keys?
It took only a moment for Heather to recall something from earlier. "Michael," she turned to him, "do you still have the coin from the church?"
"The coin from the church?" Michael repeated.
"The cursed coin. The one with the stars and strange writing on it," Trey clarified, remembering Christine pointing it out then studying it for himself. Though he disagreed, Heather insisted on taking it along. If it indeed was one of the missing pieces to this puzzle, he vowed not to question Heather's need to take everything along ever again.
Michael reached in his pocket and produced the silver coin. He remembered it now as he turned it over to Heather. She returned to the door and pushed it into the middle hole. It clicked into place, held fast by some unseen force.
"So now, all we have to do is find the other four coins and the door should open?" Christine clarified.
Heather nodded. She suddenly spied a set of stairs, hidden in a dark corner of the four-sided room they were now in. Besides the vent and the locked door, the ascending stairs were the only way in and out of the room.
"I think the rest of the keys are up there," she motioned to the stairs.
Though filled with trepidation and doubt, Michael, Heather, Christine, and Trey slowly climbed the rickety stairs to the house above.
II.
The dark oak door squealed in protest as Cybil gradually pushed it open. She warily stepped into the next room of the funhouse, not expecting to only moments later be knocked off her feet by a strange monster.
Cybil flipped onto her back to at least see her attacker before she fired off shots. The writhing creature took a menacing step toward her, its short legs shaking under the shifting posture of its upper body. If Cybil could have described the torso, it would have been a person, trapped inside of a thick layer of skin struggling to get out. However, the gaping, jagged mouth opened to reveal a dark interior, void of any trapped victim.
She took aim and fired three shots, which pushed the monster back against the wall. A feeling of complacency settled in. The slow creature wouldn't get within several feet of her without being fatally dealt with. But when it recovered quickly and leaped in the air toward her, Cybil realized she had underestimated the small creature, and now, she was going to pay for it with her life.
Three more shots rang out, blasting the creature out of its trajectory. It sailed lifelessly away from Cybil and landed several feet away with a sickening plop. Dark blood pooled around the creature as it went into a helpless spasm.
Douglas stepped from the doorway, passed Cybil, and stomped his heel into the creature's upper body. There was a sickening crunch then it was still.
"You okay?" Douglas extended a hand toward Cybil
She gratefully took it and in the next moment was on her feet. "Thanks," she sheepishly offered. "I didn't see it coming."
"Don't worry about it. It happens."
Cybil let her eyes fall to the floor. She realized in that instant that she had misjudged the older man that now stood before her. He was a far cry from some of the characters floating around Silent Hill. He may very well be one of the good guys.
She took a moment to survey the room they were in. Besides the fallen creature now surrounded by a shallow, yet wide pool of thick blood, the room itself was normal, considering that it was a room in a funhouse in Silent Hill. How normal could it really be?
Regardless, it resembled an office with a large desk in the middle of the room, flanked by another desk with a computer on top. Couches, chairs, and a coffee table sat in front of the desk, arranged as if the person sitting behind the desk had frequent meetings with either his or her co-workers or subordinates. Magazines were strewn about on the table, and shelves which should have housed books were strangely empty. Two doors led out of the room, one to the immediate right and one on the far wall behind the desk.
"Why is there an office in the middle of the funhouse?" Douglas spoke softly as he searched the room.
Cybil shrugged. "Not much of anything makes sense here. The one thing I do know is that it may be here for a reason. I'll check the desk."
While Cybil rumbled through the drawers, Douglas tried the door to their immediate right. The lock was broken and the door didn't budge.
He turned to say something when he heard a high-pitched giggle. Douglas spun toward the door they entered from and he heard a bolt lock into place. He turned to Cybil with a puzzled look. She stood frozen in place, obviously caught off guard by the sudden disruption. Douglas stepped forward and tried to open the door. Locked.
He pounded on the door, "Hey, little girl! Open this door!" His raspy, yet mellow voice didn't seem to quite portray the urgency that his face displayed. Cybil ran up behind him and started banging on the door as well.
"Honey, open the door. We're not going to hurt you. We're trying to find your bear."
Another giggle was the only reply then silence.
After a few more cries, they stopped beating on the door. Cybil sighed and rubbed the back of her hand across her forehead, taking off some of the sweat. "Why did she lock us in here? I should've never trusted that girl. I thought there was something strange about her."
"Don't beat yourself up over it. You were doing the right thing. It's just that the right thing in this hell hole may not be the thing that will keep us alive. Let's just find a way out of here."
Cybil crossed back to the desk, but frowned as she realized the top drawer was stuck. It opened only a fraction and would not budge any farther. She pulled her Leatherman from its holder and used her leverage to pry open the drawer. Something small slid and hit the side with a clang.
She reached in a pulled out a strange coin. Despite the rusty, dirty drawer, the coin shone as if recently polished. On the front was a picture of lines. At a second glance, she realized they weren't random lines but a representation of a gust of air. Strange words written in some language long-forgotten encircled the air.
"What's that doing in there?" Douglas asked.
Cybil flipped it over, frowning. "I don't know. It's best if we keep it though, there's no telling whether we'll need it or not."
A deep rumble cut off Cybil's sentence then a deafening, continuous roar drowned out her next words. The room rocked unsteadily as cracks snaked along the walls, floor, and ceiling. "What the hell's going on!" Cybil screamed. She stumbled into the wall and winced as pain shot through her shoulder. She looked in time to see Douglas thrown to the ground. Cybil took an unsteady step toward him, but instead of flat, carpeted floor, she felt and uneven, jagged edge. The floor was breaking apart.
Cybil shouted to Douglas, but he was struggling to get onto his feet. The rumbling drowned out her voice as the shaking intensified. She took one more step then belted forward. Douglas turned to her with panic in his eyes as he suffered the same fate.
They were falling into a pit of darkness, which happily swallowed their screams.
III.
"A house?" Trey asked as they glanced around a kitchen.
"That's what it looks like," Michael replied. "If it is a house then the coins are probably somewhere around here."
"And not in one place," Heather added.
Christine frowned as she noticed the left over pots and pans strewn about. Most were filled with something insalubrious and filled the kitchen with a repelling stench. The counters had remnants of whatever the pots held smeared across their surface. Even the cabinets looked unsanitary with something dripping, hidden behind their closed doors.
"This is gross," she complained.
Though they didn't voice it, everyone else agreed.
"Let's just find these coins so we can get through that door," Michael said. Trey walked past him and tried to open the back door, but it seemed the lock was broken and the door wouldn't budge. The single, small window in the kitchen wouldn't open, despite Christine's best effort. Despite already knowing that it wouldn't open, Heather tried the front door and several other windows, while Michael tried to open another door that presumably led outside. They too were unsuccessful in finding a way out.
Frustrated, Trey took the poker from the frigid fireplace and tried to break a window. The effort was rewarded with a dull thud and a stinging pain that shot through his arm. The window held fast as if it was reinforced by steel.
"We can't get out of here," Trey said.
"We're being led somewhere. This place won't let us go any other way but where it wants us to go. And right now, it wants us to go through that door," Heather wearily explained, and motioned to the basement. "We should split up to—"
"Split up?" Michael's voice was higher than normal, sounding as if Heather had voiced something abhorrent and repulsive. From everyone's surprised expression, he realized he came off a little more emotional than he meant. "Look, I just don't know if splitting up is the best thing we can do right now. Don't any of you pay attention to horror movies?"
"Yeah, we're right in the middle of one," Trey replied, nodding in agreement.
"Splitting up is never a good idea," Michael reiterated.
Heather looked at him in stark disbelief. "You're not going to split up because of some horror movie you've seen? It'll take us all night to find these coins. The sooner we find those coins and get through that door, the sooner I can find Douglas, and the sooner we can figure out a way to get out of this hell." Heather noticed Michael's steadfast, hard expression, unfazed by her logic. "Look, we're stuck in this house—if we can't get out, those things out there can't get in. We'll find meet back here in ten minutes, and if we haven't found anything, we'll figure out another plan."
"Something could be locked in here with us," Christine ominously countered, looking at the ceiling. It was almost as if she saw something that the rest of them couldn't see, something dangerous lurking stealthily in the upstairs rooms, waiting for the sweet, tender teens to wander right into its clutches. They would be quite the delightful treat.
"She does have a point. There isn't a place that we've been that doesn't have something messed up lurking around the corner," Trey agreed.
"Ten minutes. We have guns," Heather impatiently countered. She started upstairs and paused at the bottom. Her expression basically said, Hurry up, you asses, so we can get the hell out of here.
Michael sighed loudly and against his better judgment, which said that they should stick together and investigate the house despite the added time it would take, he decided that Heather did have a valid point. "At least take Christine with you. We'll split into two groups. We'll take the first floor and you two can take the second floor." He looked at his watch then realized it wasn't working. "We don't have working watches so just find the coins and get back down here as quick as possible."
Heather checked her gun and headed up the stairs with Christine on her heels.
"Dude, this is not a good idea," Trey warned.
"You don't have to tell me that. Come on," Michael replied as he started down the darkened first floor hallway.
IV.
The bathroom was the first open door that they found, but Michael personally wished it had been closed and had a broken lock like so many of the other doors in this town. He felt like every bathroom was some kind of homage to the King of Disgusting Bathrooms. And if that was the case, this one must have set the benchmark for all the others.
Besides what Michael saw as standard in terms of bathrooms in Silent Hill—heavy mildew stains, dirt and grime, rust on anything metal, putrid smell, unidentifiable stains on the floor and walls, faint lighting, and unexplainable blood splattered in every direction—this bathroom had a particularly nasty toilet, which sat open on the far left side of the bathroom.
Trey leaned toward the toilet to look, as if he was curious but scared to get any closer than five feet. The overwhelming stench caused Trey to reflexively gag. He clamped his hand over his nose and mouth, hoping it would somehow block the nauseating aroma from creeping into his nostrils. Trey didn't even want to think about it floating into his mouth.
He stepped back then grinned at Michael. "Hey, if there was something in there, like one of the coins, would you reach in and get it?"
"You must be out of your damn mind," Michael replied without missing a beat. "That Butcher must have hit you in the head too."
"Hey, you never know," Trey grinned, obviously amused with his analysis of a desperate situation. He stepped to the toilet and kicked the lid closed.
As Michael searched the cabinet under the sink, Trey pulled back the shower curtain. He was surprised to find a rather large box sitting in the middle of the tub, as if placed there by the previous residents. Why they would put a big box in the tub was way beyond Trey though.
He was going to leave it alone until he noticed a small tag on it. Upon closer inspection, Trey stood back, puzzled.
"Mike, check this out. There's a box in the tub."
Michael stepped up next to Trey to peer into the tub. "So what? Leave it there."
"But look at the tag."
Michael sighed, wondering why Trey was acting so strangely. "Why am I reading this tag?" Michael asked then stopped abruptly as he read it aloud. "For Trey."
They gave each other a perplexed expression. Trey was the first to move as he reached over and opened the box. It opened without much work at all, and when they saw what was inside, they were even more confused.
"An automatic crossbow?" Michael muttered.
Trey handled the weapon carefully, studying every aspect of the new weapon. "I've only used something like this a few times back when I visited my grandpa in Georgia."
"What were you doing? Squirrel hunting?"
"Those rascally devils sure can run, but a crossbow will stop them right—"
Michael sighed and slapped his forehead. "Nevermind, just figure the thing out. I wonder who left it and how they knew you were going to find it."
"I'm through trying to figure this place out," Trey replied as he snatched an instruction sheet from the bottom of the box. He hurriedly read through it then tossed the paper back into the box.
Trey got used to the weight quickly then practiced aiming a few times. He was glad that he still remembered some of the major details of how to use a crossbow. This one was probably a little different since it was an automatic, which sounded kind of strange talking about a crossbow. But if someone wanted to give him a crossbow that fired 180 arrows a minute with a single trigger pull and without having to reload the thing, then he wouldn't complain, even if it did sound impossible.
"This is definitely better than a wooden plank," Trey whipped around and pointed the weapon toward Michael.
"Don't point that thing at me. I don't want to be your first victim," Michael flatly stated. He happened to glance at the lights above the mirror then paused for a moment. Out of all the bathrooms he had been in, this was the first with the vanity lights over the mirror. There had to be something significant about that.
Michael looked at the middle bulb and noticed it was darker than the rest. He looked closer. It wasn't darker. There something was inside of the bulb. Michael grabbed a soiled washcloth from the counter and ran some water into it. He then wrapped the towel around the bulb and rotated it a few times.
"What are you doing?"
"There's something inside of this bulb. We don't have time to wait for the lights to cool down after I turn them off, so I'm simply unscrewing it with this wet towel. I'm going to crush the bulb in the towel too."
Trey watched as Michael did everything he said he would then he set the washcloth on the counter and carefully peeled it open. Among the broken shards of glass lay a silver coin with strange writing around the edge and the sun in the middle.
"That's what we're looking for," Trey said.
"We'll try to find the other one real quick. We still have about five minutes before we meet back with Heather and Christine," Michael slipped the coin into his backpack.
"See, nothing's going to happen. You were worried for nothing," Trey mentioned as they stepped back into the hallway. However, a muffled moan stopped both teens as if they had been frozen in place.
"Did you hear that?" Trey's whisper was more like a rushed breath.
"Shh—" Michael snapped as he tried to pinpoint where the sound was coming from.
The muffled moan sounded again and this time Michael could tell it came from the last door on the left. Michael still thought it was his imagination, the stress of the current situation mixed with his over-active imagination. But when the moan turned into a stifled grunt for help, he knew that someone else was in the house with them.
Michael waited until Trey had positioned himself, angled toward the door from across the hallway. Trey would make sure that whatever decided to dart through that door would have a face (or upper torso for any headless creature) pin-cushioned with arrows.
They gave each other a confident nod as Michael slowly opened the door. He shined his flashlight in the dusky room, but he immediately didn't see anything that could have possibly been groaning for help.
He took a step into the room, ensuring he kept a clear shot open for Trey if anything—and he did mean anything—wanted to stumble out of the darkness. If it was another sane person trapped in Silent Hill, Michael figured they could apologize later.
The room was the size of three bedrooms put together, which completely threw Michael off. It didn't make sense for such a large room to be at the very back of the house. Someone must have had a flash of creative stupidity during the designing phase. The rest of the room extended off to the right of the door, disappearing into a fog of shadow.
Michael shone his flashlight through the room. From what he could see, the room was in complete disarray. Books from a floor to ceiling bookshelf were scattered about, the curtains only handing on their rod by a few threads, drawers hanging open or completely thrown out of the dresser, and other indistinguishable clutter on every horizontal surface in the room except one.
The bed. The simple sheet covering the bed undulated perversely, rising and falling and swaying from side to side. Then Michael made out the outline of a body then saw the hands tied to the metal grates at the head of the bed.
By this time, Trey was right on Michael's heels with the crossbow pointed directly at the bed. He nodded as Michael stepped closer to the bed. Another moan made Michael leap back and point his gun at the bed.
He stayed in that position for a full minute before taking another unsteady step toward the bed. Then another until he was right next to the bed.
With his right hand holding the aimed gun, Michael reached down with his left hand and pinched the sheet between his fingers while still holding the flashlight. The light bounced around the room, not quite lighting the bed. Then, he pulled the sheet back.
The flashlight revealed a woman writhing on the bed, her clothes covered in blood and her exposed flesh covered with abrasions. Even her unrecognizable face was bloodied and appeared raw. Despite her disposition, she continued to move her body in a disgustingly inviting manner. She still mumbled something through the gore that was stuffed in her mouth.
Michael spied a pencil lying on the nightstand. It was better to use that than his hand to move whatever it was that was in her mouth. He closed in with the pencil and flicked the meaty and fatty nugget out of her mouth.
"He loves me, he loves me not. He loves me, he loves me not. He loves me, he loves me not," the woman's raspy voice continued to drone on.
"This is beyond weird," Trey whispered. "I don't think we should be here."
Out of the frying pan and into the fires of hell, Michael bitterly thought. The rope was too knotted to simply untie, so Michael glanced around the room for something to cut it with. A knife, broken glass, metal shard. Anything would do at this point.
"Trey do you have—" Michael stopped talking abruptly. He turned back to the door then suddenly realized how far away they were from the door. They had crossed the entire length of the room to investigate the bed, and now, they were too far from the door. But when it began to close, Michael didn't think about that. He was glad for the space between them and the door, but that was the only way in and out of the room.
The door fully closed to reveal that someone else was in the room with them. Someone with a long blade. Michael quickly concluded that it wasn't the Butcher, but someone—no, something—much more sinister.
Notes:
Sorry for the long delay—I just got moved into my apartment and finally got hooked up to the internet. Hope you all like the new chapter!
The coin that Michael produced in the room was found in Chapter 8, as they investigated a strange bedroom in Father Tom's church
Bounding Jackalope: I appreciate the review and I'm glad you like the story.
Richard B. Sampson Jr.: Sorry we haven't talked in a while—but thanks for the review. Yes, it was about time the butcher came back, but it looks like the kids are faced with another sinister figure, and this time, it's not the Butcher!
Skittlefratz: Thank you, thank you, thank you! I've tried to improve my writing over the time I've been working on this story, so I'm glad that it is noticeable. Hopefully, you're happy that Trey made it through his situation, but it looks like they are stuck right in the middle of another, and this time, they may not be so lucky.
duelist-17: Glad you liked the screen scene. It was a little difficult to actually write, so I'm glad that it came off well on paper (well, on screen—oh, you get the idea). I've been offline for a while now, but I'll check out your story as soon as I can.
two-bite-brownies: This is the first horror story that I've written and I'm glad that you like it. Hopefully, you've checked out my other Silent Hill story. The two stories are related and they will be crossing each other quite soon.
Rodarian: LOL. I actually write with horror music in the background—it helps me focus...
As for the girl, we'll have to see who or what she actually is.
: More is written!
Shortey: Well, our favorite comic relief did make it out of his bind. Cybil and Douglas's journey through the funhouse isn't over yet!
Crazyb1tch85: I actually wasn't thinking of the Ring when I wrote it, but now that you mention it, it is kind of similar. I wanted to have some kind of forewarning for them and I originally planned to have it happen in a big theater, but I think the projector in the small room was more Silent Hill-esque. The one that yelled "you" will surface very soon. Cybil and Douglas will definitely have a bigger part as the story goes on—this chapter was just the beginning for them. I really don't know how man chapters I'll have. It's funny—this story really has a life of its own and you guys reviewing just gives me new ideas and keeps me motivated. I tried to cap it at three more chapters, but I have so many ideas running around that I think I'll have a few more than that. It has been a long way, but even for me, it feels like the beginning. But trust me, our heroes will be nearing the end of their journey soon. And just to let you know—the Butcher and Pyramid Head are two separate monsters—and the end of this chapter may just prove that...