LETTER FROM SILENT HEAVEN / Ryan M. Usher / pg. 8

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Pit of the Forgotten

It seemed like every step of this prison brought me into the arms of something different and dangerous.

I was halfway through the door out of the cell block when I saw that ugly, snot-coated form standing there facing me. In all the excitement I had neglected to remember that this door led into the first hall, and that it was going to deposit me past the locked gate that bisected said hall. Of course, that gate was all that stood between me and a very possibly painful death at the hands of one of those damn straight-jacket monsters. Given the simple geometry of the place, I should have anticipated this. Instead, I was too busy worrying about what was behind me to fully notice what was ahead.

The straight-jacket and I stood there for a very long and pregnant moment, neither of us moving. It was like a showdown between the sheriff and a bandito in some crappy old spaghetti western, both tense and jumpy, and the man who drew their piece first would walk away alive. It seemed as surprised at the encounter as I was, which I guess explained its initial inaction.

It didn't last long.

The creature reared back, ready to strike with that horrid acid shit again. Quickly, I pulled the door shut again, just as I heard the angry hiss of the spray let loose. My radio hissed too, as if engaged in some indecipherable kind of communication with the monster. Even through the door, the harsh, caustic odor of corroding metal reached my nose.

I was trapped, for the moment.

Options were few. My best shot was to use the door as a weapon and knock it over. It would give me the chance to blast the son of a bitch and explore the hall at leisure. Unfortunately, the success of that plan was reliant on the monster cooperating and being in a position to be knocked over. And, since keeping the door closed was the only way to be safe from its acid, I would have no way of knowing when or if that ever happened. It was dangerous, to be sure, but it seemed like the only chance I had.

Inspiration struck just as I placed my hand on the door handle. Why put my ass on the line by taking the offensive? These monsters were deadly and remorseless, but they were also rather simple-minded. Several had walked right into bullets or a swinging pipe or wooden plank. It was their eagerness to attack, and their apparent lack of concern for their own well-being that gave me a very simple answer to my problem.

I pulled the handle and pushed the door wide open, but not hard; I didn't want it to strike the wall and bounce closed again. The radio static intensified, as if to warn me that I was acting reckless again, but I didn't bother noticing this time. Instead, I took a few steps backward, giving about a dozen feet of space between myself and the door. I slipped the magazine out of the Glock and loaded one of the three completely full clips, just to make sure. Then, I brought the weapon up and trained the sight on the open doorway.

And I waited.

The monster tapped around the door, but it seemed to hesitate when faced with the idea of actually walking through. Maybe I wasn't giving this one enough credit. Maybe it was having the same idea, hoping to ambush me as I tried to pass by. It wasn't going to happen, of course, but this monster seemed to be more violent and eager to attack than most of its ugly-stick brethren. Maybe this one was smarter than the others, too. Now that was a frightening idea.

I didn't know if it was, or if it wasn't. If it was, then curiosity must have trumped its caution, because after a long and tense moment, the monster ambled around the corner and through the open doorway. Once through, it halted, and then performed some kind of strange twisting upper-body motion that could have been called a dance had it been more graceful to watch. I couldn't determine why it decided to do that. Maybe it was searching for me or something, I mean, it didn't have eyes, after all. Regardless, it certainly was aware of my presence, and it started towards me, tapping along in a broken sort of trot.

My hands trembled a bit, but I held the pistol steady and trained the barrel on its head, even as it approached. Several times I had fired too many wild shots, and I while I did still believe there would be an eventual resolution to my adventure, even with that, I didn't have a clue as to how long it might be until I was out of danger. Also, I had no clue as to whether or not I would be able to procure more ammunition for the gun, so preserving what I had was fast becoming a priority. God knows I could very well end up blowing all of it if I had the misfortune to encounter Pyramid Head again. This is why I let the monster close on me. I knew that if I aimed carefully, I could take it out in one shot.

If the monster had the mental facilities to realize the danger it was in, then its killer instinct and blood lust seemed to be in command, because it didn't stop moving, nor did it even hesitate. And, sure enough, once there was about four feet separating the two of us, it bent backwards like a gymnast, keeping balance with back muscles that had to be quite strong and flexible, given the ease in which the motion was accomplished. That was my cue.

I fired. A white-eye flash, a roaring staccato, and metal death burst forth. The bullet hit the straight-jacket monster at a short angle, tearing a strip-mine furrow that nearly disemboweled the creature before finally disappearing beneath its oily, trash-bag flesh. The wound didn't seem like it would be fatal, a presumption that would have been laughable to me just a day earlier. A person would undoubtedly die from something like that. The very inhuman monster did not die, but the tremendous impact was far more than enough to shatter its precarious balancing act and send it plummeting to the ground ass-backwards.

The wretched thing hit the ground flopping and writhing and screaming its dreadful scream, angry and mournful. Its legs kicked furiously, like pistons, but it couldn't catch enough friction to move. Suddenly, the air above the monster was filled with a dark brown mist, and at first I didn't register what was going on. I hadn't seen any of the others do this before. Some of the droplets rested on my hand, and then a few seconds later, my hand was stinging. It was spitting up even though it was prone! And it was doing so with a fury. I didn't know if the things breathed the way I do, but the geysers of corrosive seemed to heave upwards with the same rapidity of someone taking sharp, deep breaths and exhaling quickly. Most of the acid, especially the really concentrated stuff, fell right back down upon the monster. Under the glare of my flashlight I could see its strange, mottled skin bubble and blister with its touch. Some of them burst, popping like enormous pimples and spraying thick, mustard-yellow pus. The stench was terrific and cloying, and I was choking as I got the hell out of the way. Even as I did, I couldn't divert my attention from this grotesquely fascinating death dance.

It took a long time to die. Even after it lie there, stock-still save for bleeding and leaking open sores, I couldn't move for a full minute. Finally, once I was relatively convinced it wasn't playing possum, I stepped around it, gingerly avoiding contact as I did. The creature thankfully stayed down as I walked away. In the distance, I could hear Invisible Charlie, still stomping around, but no longer reciting the only word that it seemed to know. Perhaps he witnessed the scene unfold and was stunned into silence. It was certainly within viewing distance of his cell.

"What do you think?" I asked. "Wasn't that some kind of fucked-up?"

"rrrriturrralll."

"Yeah."

He kept on stomping, and I left him alone to do it in peace.

The hall outside the cell block was now quiet and free of troublesome creeps. I saw two doors to my right, and I crossed over to try the first. It opened into a very small room.

At first, I thought it was a closet or a storage area of some kind, and a few random boxes and cans littering the floor helped fuel my misconception. But looking to the back, I saw that it was in fact one of the more recognizable things one would find in a prison that wasn't a cell. It was a conversation box, and an old-style one, too. Instead of the telephone you'd see in a modern version, there was just a small shuttered hole in the thick dividing glass. The glass itself was filthy, caked with all sorts of dirt and crud to the point where it was completely opaque in some places. At first, I thought the entire thing had been filmed over to the point of uselessness.

Then, I saw something behind the glass moving. It was too dark to see what exactly it was, though it was surely bound to be something I didn't want to come into contact with. The glass was very thick, bulletproof, probably, and I was fairly sure that it would withstand an attack. I could almost certainly peek through without putting myself in any danger. But, honestly, I didn't really feel like sating my curiosity this time. Too often that had led me places I didn't want to go. So, I let myself out instead.

The other door also led into a conversation booth, which I only figured out because I could see pieces of it in the wreckage that littered the entire room. The whole place had the look of a room that suffered obliteration at the hands of a loaded freight train. The booth and window both were a shattered ruin from floor to ceiling, and suddenly I felt a lot more intelligent for having left alone the monster in the neighboring booth. I didn't know what kind of monster it was, but I couldn't even begin to say that it was impossible for one of them to have been responsible for what I was looking at right now, and it was certainly better to not find out first-hand.The ruin was total enough that I was able to easily step across the debris and exit the booth from the other side.

I found myself in another hallway, though this one looked very different from the last. Gone was the stark, utilitarian look and the plain steel doors. Instead, this hall was lined with paneled wood doors, and a few little items of décor. The walls were covered with paint and wallpaper, which was faded but was nowhere near as filthy and decrepit as the interment block. In the distance, I could see another barred gate, but besides that, there was no immediate evidence that I was still in a prison setting, which probably meant that I was in the administrative area.

I walked up the hall, taking in the sights. The next door on my left was certain to lead to the visitor's side of that other conversation booth, so I definitely left that alone. None of the three doors directly opposite would open.

The next one past the second booth did open, though, and it opened into a restroom. The first thing I saw was a dirty old urinal, its porcelain white stained an infected yellow by age and, probably, stale old urine. Seeing it, though, made me realize that it had been a long time since I had relieved myself. So, I unzipped my fly and relaxed for a moment.

As I was pissing, my ears detected a scratching noise coming from one of the stalls nearby. I cursed myself for not checking them first. The radio didn't have anything to say, but that didn't mean there wasn't a threat here. Yet, I couldn't stop doing what I was doing. So, I stood there for several very tense seconds as my bladder emptied itself, wishing the entire time that it would hurry the hell up. The whole time, I heard the scratching. It was soft, barely audible over the noise of me taking a leak, but it was there, and it was unnerving me.

Finally, I emptied out and zipped up, and instinctively reached for the flush handle even knowing there was no point in doing so. I approached the stalls carefully. There were three, and the first two were caved in. The scratches came from the last one. I held the gun ready with one hand and reached for the handle with the other.

The moment I touched the handle, the scratching ceased.

I stood there for a moment, thinking. Wondering why I was even doing this, why I even bothered putting myself in danger again. Maybe it was because I hadn't yet been seriously hurt, but it shouldn't take that to make me realize to leave well-enough alone.

I rapped on the door a few times anyway, for the hell of it. There was no answer, no scraping, no response of any kind. Just silence. I shrugged and turned to leave. Whatever it was, it was certain to be bad anyway, so it was best just to forget…

WHAM!

Something screamed and threw itself at the stall. I could hear it rattle and vibrate. I could almost feel it, it was so strong. And at the moment of impact, whatever attacked the door screamed. The impact noise alone was a shock to my system because I was unprepared for it. The scream, oh, it didn't sound like a monster at all, and that was what made it so utterly terrifying. It sounded like a woman. Very strangled, very short, but so close to human I would have pissed myself right there had I already not done so. I raced out of the restroom, slammed the door behind me, and leaned on it. I had to. I had to regulate myself again. If I survived this, I was a certain candidate for hypertension, to say nothing of all the psychological damage this was surely causing me. This experience would see me in a shrink's chair until my dying day, not because it would help heal me, but because it just might prevent me from losing my sanity. This was all far too much for any man to bear.

Once under control again, I crossed over to the next door, hoping at least one of them led somewhere. This one did, into another room, and also, into a wall of radio static. Of course, I saw the problem as soon as I heard it; a straight-jacket stood wobbling in the opposite corner. There was a door right behind it, or rather, in front of it, since it had its back facing me.

I didn't hesitate this time. Instead, in a strange, uncharacteristic display of bravado, I marched right up to this one and shot it in the head at point-blank range before it could even turn around. One shot was enough. It pulped the monster's head and it fell to the ground in a crashing heap. It shuddered violently for a few moments, then the shudders lessened, and finally, it lie dead and still. Right then and there, my adrenaline-fueled courage leaked out of me, and I realized that some of the gore had splattered on me. I wiped it off, groaning as I did so. Combined with the rank stench of the monster, it was all making my stomach do somersaults. For a moment I thought I would have to move the monster out of the way to get the door open, and it was an immense relief to see that the door opened inward. I stepped over the inhuman corpse.

If I was expecting this door to lead somewhere special, I was pretty badly disappointed. It was another storage area, this one not much more spacious than the walk-in closet adjoining my bedroom at home. It was even smaller than it looked, thanks to the large shelves lining every wall. Some of them were actual cases and cabinets, with glass doors. Most of them were broken, and almost all of them were empty.

The case on the back wall, however, was not. In fact, it held something that I found immediately and completely fascinating. It was a gun rack, though I only saw two actually remaining inside. I took out the smaller of the two. It was a pump-action shotgun. I had seen one before but never used it. I didn't really matter, because the barrel was bent at a painful upward angle, as if someone locked it into a vise and pulled on the stock. Very broke, very useless.

The larger of the two was a hunting rifle. A really nice one too, a .30-06. That I had used before with Uncle Steve. It felt heavy and hard in my hands, and it definitely needed some cleaning, but there was a shoulder strap, and the magazine held its full four rounds. It was a hell of a lot more powerful than my pistol, that was for certain. I checked the other shelves, hoping to find some more rounds. One of the shelves had more than a dozen boxes of ammo stacked in a neat pile, and each one was fat and heavy. Of course, it was my shit luck that every one of them held twelve-gauge buckshot rounds.

Isn't that some shit? If someone hadn't broken that shotgun, I'd be a one-man army. I'd be the God damn Terminator.

Sadly, it was not to be. I scoured the shelves some more, hoping desperately to find more ammo, but the dusty coffers weren't in the mood to cooperate. Finally, as I had just about given up hope, I felt one in a very deep corner. It was a box of .30-06. An empty box. I threw it against the wall in frustration. I stared longingly at the boxes of shells, mocking me with their uselessness. I held the rifle in my hands, considering whether or not to burden myself with it, since it only had four rounds.

I almost left it right there, but then I remembered my old friend, the red pyramid thing. I hadn't seen him in a good while, but he was out there somewhere, and my pistol was like a mosquito bite to him. The .30-06 would pack a hell of a bigger punch. Maybe even enough to kill him. That was enough to convince me to strap it across my shoulder.

I then opened the door to leave, my mind still torn over the mother lode of boomstick caps. It was this stupid distraction that had my timing just a little late. The radio squalled and I looked up to find myself face-to-something with another straight-jacket creature. Only, I saw that it wasn't a different one. It was the same one I had capped execution style not five minutes ago. For one horrible second I could see right into the ruined cavity of its skull

Why the hell are you still alive?

and it must have seen me and been waiting this time, for it leaned back almost immediately, and I didn't have time to get either of my guns ready. Desperation took over where rationality failed. I charged the monster with my shoulder. The creature was heavy, and quite a bit stronger than it looked, but its awkward angle made certain that the force of my blow knocked it over.

I leapt backwards and away, waiting for it to send a suicidal geyser of acid into the air. This one didn't seem interested, though. Instead, it flailed and writhed on the ground, as if confused as to what move it should make next. I wasn't going to wait for it to make up its mind. I unstrapped the rifle and undid the safety. It continued to thrash about as I aimed the long muzzle at its already-damaged head. Then, I pulled the trigger, hoping as I did that it wasn't so old and cruddy that it would backfire.

It didn't. The blast of the rifle was tremendous, a nearly solid wall of percussive noise in such cramped quarters. The recoil was just as tremendous, too. It kicked my ass quite literally, throwing me back into the door and almost knocking the wind out of me. I recovered quickly though, still unsure of the monster's fate.

One look at it made me dead certain that it wasn't going to pull a second resurrection act. The shell hit the monster right where its neck would be, and the head was almost completely torn off, attached to the rest of the body by a few savagely-torn shreds of oily flesh. I stood there staring at it, fascinated. Oh, if it can only do the same thing to Pyramid Head, I just might survive this town. The grisly scene on the ground sure gave me reason to hope, though I would have to be careful and not waste any more of it on these lesser monsters, for there were only three bullets left. I shouldered the rifle again and exited the room.

There was a rather ornate door at the end of a short branch of the hallway, painted green and gold, but its knob had that same limp, dead feeling that so many others had when I turned them. So, that left the barred gate.

Which, to my surprise, opened without a hitch.

Directly ahead was a hatch in the floor. I walked over to it and pulled the handle. It opened to reveal nothing but empty blackness. Warm air wafted up from below, and there was a strange odor as well, a strange smell. Sweet, but not in a pleasant way. It smelled like overripe fruit, but not as strong. Without a doubt, I had discovered yet another HOLE, and even though there were a few doors nearby, I knew with pretty good certainty that I was supposed to take yet another plunge into this Abyss I was already in up past my neck. I knew this was where I had to go, what I had to do. So, I closed my eyes and raised my hands above my head so I would fit down the narrow opening.

Then I leapt forward, and down the HOLE, into the warmth and embrace of the darkness.

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