I.
Michael McNeal dashed down the hallway, the feeling of triumph growing deep within his soul. They had found the solution to the puzzle and gained the key to the clock in front of the door. In only a few moments, they would unlock the door and hopefully save the people that were trapped with some horrible incarnation of evil.
The key slipped into the door with no problem and with a click, the lock disengaged. The clock door opened on its own, leaving the face of the clock exposed and totally accessible. Michael gave a glance of reassurance toward his companions then turned his attention back to the clock.
Before he could make another move, Michael heard a voice call out to him.
"Are you there?" the female voice frantically shouted.
"Yes, we're here. We've almost got the door open, just give us a minute," Michael replied. The feeling of triumph slowly vanished as he realized the original puzzle still had to be solved. Only then would the door unlock and the two people could escape whatever horror they faced.
Michael quickly reread through the verse scrawled on the wall.
The key is the clock, the clock is the key
Oh what time should it be?
Twelve or eight or maybe three
Or one hand coupled with a semi
"It doesn't even rhyme," Heather flatly stated. Michael looked back at her for a moment with a cross between exasperation and confusion. "I'm just saying that the stupid riddle doesn't rhyme. The only thing I keep thinking about is a semi-truck."
If they had been in another situation without the lives of strangers hanging in the balance, Michael may have laughed at the sheer nature of what they were doing. In the middle of battling unthinkable creatures and exploring a creepy old house, they come upon a strange riddle and one of the first observations is that it doesn't rhyme. For some reason, it seemed downright hilarious to Michael.
"Wait, that's how I read it too," Trey admitted. "But I don't think that's right. I mean, it could be but—" he trailed off. He felt as if they were missing an important part of solving the puzzle, but he couldn't pinpoint what that part was.
Heather shifted her weight, but then stepped forward. "Wait, maybe we were reading it wrong. Think about a semicircle. It's kind of stupid, but some people say semi-circle, but I've heard some people say semee-circle."
"If you say it like that then it does rhyme," Michael continued to stare at the clock.
Then, it hit him. One hand, well it had five fingers and semi was a prefix for half, like a semicircle. Half a circle. Half in clock speak would be thirty minutes. Five thirty—that time was strangely familiar to Michael. Not because it occurred twice a day, but it was a solution to another clock puzzle, one he had run into before he went to college.
Michael pushed the memory away though. He didn't have time to reflect on that incident. He moved swiftly, pushing the stiff hands to reflect five thirty. Once he had it set, he took a step back.
A chime resounded through the hallway and the door clicked. Before Michael could make a move, the door burst open. A man and a woman tumbled out and the door lingered open for a moment. A girl or something that looked like a girl stood in the middle of the room. Her eyes were completely white and blood seeped from all over her body, covering the room in vein-like appendages. Her head frantically jerked back and forth as her body rocked.
"What is that?" Trey exclaimed.
The girl opened her mouth in a silent O then a hellish shriek escaped her lips. It started as a quiet wail but quickly escalated into a horrendous scream filled with pain and terror.
Henry Townsend seemed to be the only one not frozen in place by the horrific sight. He moved swiftly and slammed the door, hoping to keep the danger confined to that room. He rested on the doorknob for a moment, glad to have escaped but now apprehensive about their saviors.
"Can we trust you?" Henry leaned against the door.
Michael nodded his head, "We're actually pretty sane considering the circumstances."
Henry glanced the three teens over. The one that spoke, a young, Black man, looked like a teenager, dressed in jeans, brown boots, and white, long-sleeved button down shirt underneath a zip up Polo sweater. He also had a black backpack pulled over both shoulders. The one next to him was a dark-haired teen, looked older than the other guy, jeans, short-sleeved and tight shirt, large belt buckle, casual shoes. The girl wore a short skirt, orange turtleneck, high boots, messy and unstructured hair. She was cute but young. There was nothing out of the ordinary about them. Actually, they looked like normal teens in an abnormal situation.
Henry nodded, acknowledging Michael's point. "Okay, before this girl gets out we have to—"
"Where's Christine?" Trey glanced around the hallway. His face paled as he turned to Michael. "Where is she?"
Michael looked toward the room at the end. Didn't he leave the door open when he left? It was then he noticed the smothering silence that had settled about them. The girl behind the closed door made no other sounds, which could have been a good sign or bad. Michael couldn't decide which.
"Christine?" Michael called. The hallway was suddenly much longer than Michael remembered. The door shrank away as if it was trying to escape their prying eyes. He blinked hard then looked at the door again. It hadn't moved. It was just his imagination. But still, there was no answer from Christine.
"Wait, what's going on?" Tina asked. She moved close to Henry and they drew closer to the teens, who crept slowly toward the door, Michael in the lead.
Though Michael may have appeared to be brave, a knot of dread weighed his stomach down and a shiver of fear shook his body. Something terrible had happened and now, it was waiting for them.
II.
For the first time, Christine truly feared for her life.
No matter what else had happened that night, she was with someone. Trey, Michael, or Heather—either with one of them or they were all together. Now, Christine found herself separated and alone. Not really alone if she counted the grisly sight of a man looming in front of her.
Christine tried to swallow, but her mouth had gone completely dry. She didn't even think about screaming. Surely nothing but a hoarse, dry whisper would have barely escaped. She would save her scream for when she really needed it.
"What do you want?" her voice quivered, betraying her panic.
The man simply made a noise, something between a laugh and a wheeze and continued to advance on her.
Christine weighed her options. The man had positioned himself directly between Christine and the door. If she tried to run either way, he would simply back up and cover the door, blocking the way out. There was a window to the right and they were on the first floor. But then again, she could be escaping one danger to fall right into another. Maybe the fanatical stranger simply wanted to talk to her.
Yeah, the same way he talked to Father Tom. A real eye-popping conversation.
Her body moved on its own, reacting to the feeling of imminent danger, she took a step backwards in an attempt to put some distance back between her and the man. As she moved back, Christine felt a stack of books stop her retreat. She slid around them, but continued to move backwards, until she hit the bookcase.
"Who are you?" her voice was dry and whispery.
"Greg Wallace. An artist. A storyteller. This is my hell and I want everyone to see. Everyone should know."
Christine's mind immediately focused on the paintings that they had seen. Strange depictions of Silent Hill, morbid glimpses into the past, frightening images of torture, portraits of monsters. Was he the one responsible?
"These pictures, they're yours?" Christine hoped her question would give her some time to formulate how to escape. And the man fell into her trap, like most villainous characters.
"Of course. I am the one to make others see, give your eyes a feast of our lord's new world order. And now, you are the next visionary. You will see the future and I will help you."
He didn't talk for as long as Christine would have hoped, but it was long enough for her to muster up enough courage to do what she needed to do. As she hoped, the man moved quickly toward her, obviously underestimating her. She knew he expected her to scream and try to run, which is why she didn't.
Christine lowered her center of gravity then her heel met his chin. The man stumbled back, stunned from the blow, just as Christine hoped. Now, she had found an opening.
"You bastard!" she whipped around with a spin kick to his mid-section. She continued her barrage of self-defense with a jab to his face, a spinning elbow, a knee to his groin, and finished with a knuckle jab to his throat. She spun around and grabbed the first book she could get her hands on and made it a deadly weapon. She bashed him on either sides of his face then brought the book down on top of his head.
The man fell in a heap to the ground and stifled a painful scream. "You bitch," he seethed.
"That's what they all say," she planted her heel into his forehead, knocking him unconscious.
Ten years of kickboxing, asshole, Christine wallowed in her victory for a moment before stepping over the fallen outcast. She vowed not to foolishly separate herself from her friends as she made her way to the door.
As she reached for the doorknob, a slight nose drew her attention. Christine turned and surveyed the room and knew immediately she was still in danger. The body of the artist was gone and suddenly, all the dark recesses of the room seemed much more fluid, the hiding places that could conceal him suddenly stood out, and the room itself seemed to turn into one sizeable danger zone.
Just get out of here, Christine told herself. She had won her battle, quickly and decisively. Yet, she couldn't leave, knowing that guy was still lurking around. Maybe he was the one following them around, leaving the strange notes. Maybe he had something to do with all of this. People these days could easily find a recipe for a hallucinatory gas and feed it to unknowing victims. And all four of them—Michael, Trey, Heather, and Christine—were unwitting victims. To stop him would mean to stop all this.
At least she tried to rationalize it that way. But deep down, Christine knew there was something fundamentally evil about this town. And it wasn't an accident that they were there. Furthermore, it wasn't an accident that she was alone with this guy.
Christine took a step back into the room, discarding her desire to leave and ignoring the growing knot in her stomach. Her eyes darted over everything, never lingering too long in one spot for fear he would actually come from somewhere she hadn't looked yet.
She stepped forward, but the unmistakable feeling of someone behind her made her freeze. Christine turned slowly to the figure behind her. She managed to suck in a breath as she was snatched into darkness.
III.
"I don't understand where she could have gone. She was right behind me. There's no way something could've happened to her," Trey threw a musty book against the wall, which stirred up a cloud of dust.
Michael McNeal stood by the clock which had been an important puzzle earlier. His face was locked in a pensive expression as he looked over the room again. They must have missed something—there was no way that Christine could be gone. And according to the map, there was no other way out of this room.
"It doesn't make sense," Tina commented. She and Henry lingered by the door. Henry kept a constant watch on the door that the girl was behind, ensuring they weren't surprised by an unwelcome guest. Tina stayed by his side. She couldn't shake the feeling of responsibility for Christine's disappearance. If they hadn't gotten trapped, these teens would've never been separated. At least, that's how she saw it.
A small desk illuminated by a single lamp drew Tina's attention. Leaving Henry's side, she stepped closer to examine the small red diary that was centered on the desktop. Without realizing it, Tina reached for the book and flipped through it. An entry from a few weeks before caught her eye.
I talked to Joseph today about the orphanage, Wish House—the one Sara came from. He told me about what they did to those kids there. I can't believe that a religious group would do such horrendous things. No matter how I try, I can't help thinking that Sara was a victim as well.
Feeling uneasy, Tina turned a few more pages.
There's something wrong with this entire town. Evil—that's the only way I know how to describe it. And somehow, I feel that Sara is somehow connected to it. I'm going to leave this place in the morning. I'm taking Sara away from here. I don't know if we'll make it, but I have to keep them from getting her, their new "mother". It all sounds so crazy, yet, deep down I know that this is real...
Two pages later, Tina found the last entry.
I know what they did to her to Sara. I have to get her out of here. If what I found is true, then she's in terrible danger. We all are. If The Order finds out what I know I—
The strange girl. Maybe that girl was Sara, the child mentioned in the diary. But if she was here, what happened to the writer of the diary?
"Did you find something?" Michael's voice cut through Tina's apprehension.
"Yeah. I think this might be important," she pointed out the entries in the diary. After they had read through them, Tina voiced her conclusion, "That girl, the one that was in that room, I think she's the girl that's mentioned in this diary."
"I think I've read some of the stories about Wish House. A guy, Joseph Schreiber, wrote most of those stories. But I think he disappeared a few months ago."
"Disappeared?" Henry repeated.
"Just gone. No one is sure what happened, but most people suspect that Wish House had something to do with it. His stories were exposing strange things that went on there," Michael explained.
"It's an orphanage, isn't it?" Trey asked.
Michael nodded, "Run by a cult apparently, like the one Father Tom was obviously a part of. They tortured and brainwashed the children there. At least that's what the stories said. And this diary confirms that something strange was going on here before we got here."
"I think most of the town was involved somehow," Trey added. "I saw the people here chanting and then they changed into some of these terrible monsters we see."
"These monsters are people?" Michael reeled at the thought of having actually killed people.
"They're not people. They've sacrificed their humanity and lives to serve Samael," Heather replied. "They're nothing but nightmarish fragments of Samael's mind now."
Tina shook her head. "But now, two people are missing, and we can't figure out where to begin."
"Two?" Michael repeated.
"Yeah, I was saved from a crazy doctor in the hospital by a guy named Harry Mason."
Michael and Trey looked at each other then looked at Heather. They both realized that Tina had mentioned Harry Mason, Heather's father. But he was dead, wasn't he?
"What?" Heather bolted across the room and stopped inches away from Tina. "What did you say?"
"Heather, calm down," Michael gently pulled her arm, but Heather resisted. She snatched her arm out of his reach and closed the already tight gap between her and Tina.
"Wait a minute. You're Heather? Then you're—"
"Yes, Harry Mason is—was—my father. But he's dead."
Tina suddenly felt dizzy as if everything she knew had suddenly collapsed. "That's not true. He saved me from the doctor and we were in this house together. I know he was Harry Mason. I'm not crazy."
"No, you're not," Henry broke in. "Harry Mason was barely alive when I found him. I was in my apartment one moment then the next, I was in his. He was barely holding on. I took him to Brookhaven Hospital, but he was taken. Then that Pyramid-thing attacked me."
"My father—he's alive?" Heather took an unsteady step back. Michael grabbed her arm to give her support. "I thought he was dead. No, he was. Douglas and I were there. There was so much blood. We covered him with a sheet. He wasn't breathing. He was gone—"
Michael moved Heather to the other side of the room and sat her down on the floor. "Heather," she leaned in close to her, "Heather, snap out of it."
She snapped out of her shock, her dark brown eyes glazed with tears, "He's alive?"
"If he's alive, we'll find him. Him and Christine both."
Heather's eyes dropped to her lap. She shook her head in disgust, "I can't believe I'm crying—" she sniffled quietly and turned her attention to her gun. "We should probably try to use those coins."
Michael knew that she was trying to take her mind off the situation. He could only imagine what it would be like to know your father was dead, but then to find out later that he wasn't. And that he was somewhere out there in the same position they were in: lost, confused, and vulnerable.
"Yeah, we'll do that. You're with us, right?"
Heather nodded. "Of course I am," her voice still shook, "We'll find my father and Christine."
"Oh, no, you won't find her. Our lord has her now," the raspy voice floated from a dark corner, opposite where the five stood.
Michael snapped into a firing position with his gun pointed toward the darkness. "Who's there?"
The battered man stepped forward, melting out of the shadows into a quasi-existence.
"It's the weirdo from earlier," Trey recalled. The man was the same one that held Father Tom's eyes in his hands. Trey couldn't remember exactly what he said, but he felt much better when they were out of his presence. Now, that same uneasy feeling crept through Trey.
"You lord?" Heather asked. "That's impossible. I was supposed to be the mother of god but I expelled it. Claudia couldn't have birthed that thing."
"Oh, yes, she has. At the cost of her own life. Too bad, no revenge for you."
"But you know that my father is alive, don't you?" Heather tried to both test Tina's story and try to keep the man talking.
"Harry Mason. That name is usually followed by curses of revenge. Yes, your father is alive. And we have a much more cooperative host for our lord to be fully born."
"Christine?" Trey whispered.
"Hmmm—yes," he hissed. "The new mother of god."
Heather felt as though she was going to be sick. She should have stopped Claudia when she had the chance, but Heather wasn't strong enough. And now, her lack of strength had caused all this, including the abduction of Christine.
"Where are they?" Heather angrily asked.
The man gave a high pitched giggle, "Nowhere."
Suddenly, Trey lunged forward and had his hands around the man's throat. "Dammit, no more games. Tell us where she is!"
"Trey!" Michael called as he rushed forward. "Henry, help me!"
Between Michael and Henry, they were able to pull Trey off the man but not without a struggle. As soon as they separated Trey from the man, he sunk back into the shadows, disappearing from existence.
"Trey, he's right. Christine is nowhere. And the door in the basement is the way there," Heather said. "We should go before it's too late."
Michael turned to Henry and Tina. "You're welcome to come with us."
Tina shook her head. "I feel like there's something that we're missing here. You know where Christine is, so find her. For you, Heather, Henry and I will find your father and make sure you're united."
"Thank you," Heather replied.
There were a few more parting words then the teens made their way back to the basement, determined to find Christine and to stop whatever force was behind the horrors of Silent Hill.
Notes:
Crazyb1tch85: The identity of the enflamed man will probably be discovered by Henry and Tina, since the teens have now moved on. Heather is one of my favorites too, I felt like I was able to give her a little more personality by grouping her with some other people around her age. And yes, I did want them to find the coin once and for all, but the coin falling wasn't just a random thing. Remember that Cybil actually had the air coin. Silent Hill: Harry Mason will detail just how it went from Cybil's hands to floating down into Michael's. I'm glad you liked the thoughts Michael was having. You're the only one that has commented on it. I thought it was a good addition to the normal dialog. I'll probably throw in a bit more of that as time goes on. And as of now, it doesn't seem the girl can get out, but that could change at any given moment. Hopefully, you feel a little better about Christine after this chapter. She is an unexpected tough girl, not quite the same as Heather, but a tough girl nonetheless. This is a slow chapter too, but I promise the action will pick up next chapter. Let me know what you think.
Shortey: I think the artist was in more trouble than Christine was. Well, at least for a few minutes. It's always a possibility that someone will die, and it may be someone that you least expect. Read on, my friend and let me know what you think.
DarknessinShadows: Updated!
Demo the Bounding Jackalope: Did you like who they found behind the door? Again, this is one of those overlapping parts from my other Silent Hill story. Thanks for reading and let me know what you think of the new chapter.
Rodarian: And Heather now knows that Harry Mason is alive. Hopefully, everyone will find each other and have a happy ending, but this is Silent Hill, known for not quite so happy endings. Hmm, Harry in a movie, I think Ryan Reynolds might be able to pull it off. I know he may be too young, but I think it would be a good choice.