Chapter Thirty:

"Labyrinthine Reverie"

I was in a new place, all right, and it was ten kinds of different from Toluca Prison or the strange mineshaft area. Obviously by this point I was certain I wasn't really falling down through the HOLEs I had jumped through, at least, not in a strictly physical sense, because if I were, this would without a doubt be the deepest place, and also perhaps the strangest because of that.

My first thought was that I had somehow found my way back into the Woodside Apartments. I certainly couldn't be faulted for the first impression. Even though I was able to quickly disabuse myself of the notion, this place did have a slightly similar feel. The general appearance was similar to that of the previous room, though there was an actual floor now, made of some rather venerable wood laminate.

Directly in front of me was another doorway. It had no door, but I wasn't going to be walking through it anyway. Someone had taken it upon themselves to string lines of thick steel cable across the entrance, from the floor to the ceiling. They weren't even but they were plentiful, and they were far too firm for me to even think I could force them off the wall, nor did I possess any tools that could cut through them.

A hall branched off to the left, and then I saw that it too branched, one of them going to the right. I went forward. And not three steps in, white noise tickled my eardrums. I reached for the pistol, but hesitated. I had been using it a bit much lately, mostly because I had found myself taken by surprise more often than I'd like, but I knew I had fewer than twenty rounds left. Instead, I took the pipe in hand and squinted down the dark hall, trying to catch sight of the welcoming committee. Sure enough, I saw a glint of light shine on something down there. It looked to be a straight-jacket, and it sounded like one as well – I could barely make out the tapping footsteps as it meandered around. It didn't seem to be focused on anything in particular, and there was a good distance between the two of us. I decided that I would explore the branch, and perhaps avoid it altogether. These straight-jackets were quite dangerous, after all. So far, I had managed to avoid accepting the free acid baths they all seemed so willing to provide, but only a fool mistakes luck for skill, and only a fool thinks neither could fail him. If I didn't get close enough to get skinned, I couldn't get skinned. Simple as that.

The branch itself had a turn ahead, and I approached it slowly, listening for a warning from the old shoutbox. None was forthcoming, which gave me a little confidence as I turned the corner, into a new part of this strange hall…

…which turned out to be one hell of a short one.

Dead end. That was it. A dead end. A whole section of hallway and a turn to boot, built for what? No door. That would have been logical. This was not. There was no door, no window (not that I expected one), no nothing. Just more naked, clay-colored wall, which was spotted with what seemed to be water damage. Oh, and that ever-present waist-high wood paneling. An electrical outlet rested about a foot above the floor, its wiring running through a steel tube that spanned the entire distance of the wall from the box to the ceiling. The outlet was probably dead, and I had nothing that could be plugged into it regardless.

I turned around and retraced my steps. Guess I'd have to forge ahead the other way anyhow, and I'd probably have to take out whatever was waiting down there for me.

I turned the small corner leading to the main part, and the moment I did, the radio squawked its warning with renewed intensity. And, sure enough, it was that straight-jacket, satisfying its curiosity and taking a look down my way. Fortunately for me, I had that warning, and the advantage. I heard it tapping along, just around the corner, and with a rather controlled pace. It didn't seem to be in a hurry, or aware of its own danger. I saw the first glimpse of it poke around the corner, and even though I knew I had the initiative, and even though I had come across at least two dozen of these damn things today, the sight of it still made my blood freeze in my veins, still made my flesh prickle and my stomach light the world on fire with adrenaline. And what's more, I was glad I still reacted this way. What would it say about my mental state if I really started taking this sort of thing for granted?

I raised the pipe over my head, like a railroad spike driver, and focused on the monster, waiting for just the right moment to strike. I'd have to get his head. The head was their weak point, I knew. I could reasonably hope to at least knock it down for a few moments. I might even incapacitate, or, God willing, kill it outright. But if I missed, if I only glanced the shoulder or the sack of flesh where its arms should be, if I did that, I would lose my advantage. And if that happened…

If that happens, I'm in a world of shit.

The second I saw its slick, shit-colored head appear, I tensed and swung the pipe over my head with more force than I though I had left in me. The weapon made an angry, buzzing hum as it sliced through the air. It slammed into the monster's skull with thunderous force, producing a very satisfying sound, something akin to what it might sound like if I took a sledgehammer to a cantaloupe. Even more satisfying was the wail of surprise in pain that followed as the monster crumpled to the ground with a thud. Its head was now brutally creased and the skin ruptured. When the head struck the wooden floor, it sent a spray of jet-black ichor in every direction, painting the floor and surrounding the skull with a sort of gory halo. It became thicker and more complex as the creature shuddered in its death throes. I backed away in a hurry, mindful of the straight-jacket in the cell block and how it had decided to go out in a blaze of acidic glory. This one did not seem so inclined, thankfully. It stopped shuddering, and the radio ceased its cries as well.

I stepped over the fallen monster, holding my breath so as not to gag on all of the fantastic new odors that appeared with its demise, and went up the hall. It branched again perhaps fifty feet down. Both directions were devoid of monsters, but neither showed anything except corners. I decided to go left. Another twenty feet and I reached that corner. Still no noise, which was good. I turned and looked ahead, and groaned.

The hall split again.

Just what the hell was this place, anyway? Since I got off that elevator and through that door back there, I had seen one straight-jacket monster, one doorway cordoned off by steel cable, and a whole lot of nothing. The appearance of this place was odd. Of course, I wouldn't have called much of anything I'd seen in Silent Hill normal, but everything so far seemed to at least have a basis in things I knew. Even when I was in Brookhaven Hospital and it shifted from looking halfway-normal to Hell's laughing house, there were still things that at least inferred a shadow of logic behind it all. The prison was perhaps even more hellish, but it was still a prison. It served a purpose of some kind, as did even the evil side of Brookhaven. Underneath the disgusting façade, it was still a hospital. The prison was still a prison. They were still grounded in reality, even though they had blossomed far outside of it.

This place, though… the outward appearance wasn't amazingly abnormal. It was very bland, and in a pretty poor state of disrepair, to be sure. The paint on the walls was scabrous and peeling in many places all along the halls I had walked, and what wasn't peeling was spotted and stained and discolored. The paneling and the floor laminate and the ceiling all showed the same kind of long-term neglect and abuse. As I said earlier, parts of the apartment complex looked like this too.

But, the apartment complex was an apartment complex. There were doors to the apartments, even if most of them didn't open. The insides of many of the apartments featured furniture and appliances, most of them old, all of them dirty and useless. They had trinkets and adornments, too. Framed paintings, old china, books and newspapers, that sort of thing. Signs of life, of human habitation.

That's what was missing here. There were no adornments of any kind. The walls were completely bare. There were no doors, no signs, no windows, nothing but empty hallways, and at least one of them led absolutely nowhere. There weren't even any lights running across the ceiling! Sure, there was no chance in hell that they'd work anyway, but their complete absence was quite unnerving just because they should be there. It was as if someone came and built this place, finished at least some of it, and promptly abandoned it. There was no sign that any human being had ever walked down these halls before. There was just no logic to the design. It brought to mind that long, twisting basement in the hospital, the one that seemed designed to confuse and slow anyone who was unlucky enough to tread its path. And without a doubt, that's where our luck ran out. Well, Maria's luck certainly did, at any rate, though seeing that tragedy play itself out did absolutely nothing to my sanity, or to the confidence I had that I would survive long enough to find Mary. Having that memory come knocking at the door only intensified the bad mojo I felt about this place. It seemed so unnatural, like a mockery of logical thought.

And, this mockery of logical thought was offering me another choice: left or right. When I arrived at the junction, I looked in both directions to see if perhaps now there were anything that would help aid my decision.

Not this time.

At least it didn't lead to a dead end, that was a plus. Both segments led somewhere. They led down. Rising up to the edge of the paneling were holes carved in the walls, both on the short ends. Inside both holes were ladders leading earthward, both painted a dull and flaking red, both of them basically identical in appearance.

Having taken the left path to get here, I decided to add a little variety to my life and I picked the ladder to the right. I knelt down in front of the ladder and cautiously poked my head through while shining my light down there, which would hopefully expose any threats.

The ladder was not a very tall one. The floor below was perhaps only a dozen feet below. It looked different, too, like it was made of textured iron. It was rusted, but not in scaly patches, the whole thing was wearing away slowly. I could see that it led a few feet, and there was, you guessed it, another divide, going in opposite directions. I saw no evil, and the radio didn't seem to hear any evil, so I turned around, slid one leg through and then the other, and climbed down the ladder. The metal under my hands wasn't cold, and it had occurred to me that it did seem warmer now, since I got off that caged elevator. It wasn't hot, and it wasn't even really warm. It was temperate, and perhaps that would have been a nice thing if there were some moving air, or at least if it didn't smell so damn stale.

I pushed off at the last rung, and my feet hit the ground, making a sharp rasp as they did so. The floor wasn't solid metal, it was sheet metal, and when I tapped it with my foot, the noise it made was loud, and it reverberated. It was sheet metal. Thick sheet metal, for it didn't sag under my weight, but sheet metal it was all the same, and by the sound of it, there was nothing underneath.

The branches both went in opposite directions initially, but I could see that both of them jutted off at 45-degree angles perhaps a dozen feet down. Both angled in the same direction, seeming to lead behind the ladder I just descended. I chose the left path this time.

The corridor was very narrow. I could fit through easily, but I couldn't picture two people being able to walk side-by-side. Stranger still was that while parts of the floor were the same solid iron plating I landed on, much of it was steel mesh, and it wasn't as sturdy, sagging under my weight but not enough that it caused me undue worry. There was nothing beneath the mesh except darkness, but my nose detected scents from below. It smelled like old water, a rich, dirty mineral scent, with sour undertones, as if slightly polluted. It wasn't the crystal clear Toluca, that's for sure. It reminded me more of the Grey Oak Creek back in Ashfield, which bordered a small lot near the old man's tenement. I used to play there with my childhood friends often, tag, pick-up baseball, that sort of thing. The Grey Oak was a finger of the river, and industrial runoff from the factories on Hampton Street flowed through. Dad always warned us to stay away from the creek, but it wasn't necessary, because none of us could stand its chemical smell, and it was always a strange red shade anyway. That's what this reminded me of. I hoped that the flooring beneath me was stable, because if the water below was anything like that of the Grey Oak, I didn't want to be swimming in it.

But the hell with what was below, what was up here was strange enough. The corridor kept turning at the same angle every few paces. Before long, I passed another ladder; certainly the one I saw opposite of the one I descended. I thought to go back up, but I kept going anyway. Maybe it branched off further down or something.

As it turned out, it did not branch, but halfway between the two ladders on this side was a door on the inside of this odd little octagon. The door was made of thick steel and looked very secure, but when I tugged on the handle, the bolt slid effortlessly and I pulled it open, straining a bit because of its weight. It was on a retractor, and closed behind me.

This room was dimly-lit inside. It was the first place I had seen in God knows how long that had its own functioning illumination. And oh, how I wish it weren't. If it were dark, or even if I just had the flashlight, I could have made myself not see what I was seeing here. That terrible mausoleum I had seen near the prison, that was some nasty shit, morbid shit. I remember comparing it to something one might see in a Nazi death camp. Certainly, I wasn't exaggerating. It was horrible, but it was also passive. Sure, there were tons of corpses and rotting cadavers in that space, and a few gallons of blood staining the floor, but it was passive. They might have been the victims of any number of atrocities, but they didn't happen in the room I saw. That was merely where they stored and disposed of the castoffs.

The room I found myself in now? This was where those atrocities took place. The distance and the HOLEs that separated this room from that made no difference. This chamber of horrors here was another world of grotesque from that above, yet they belonged right next to each other. It smelled fantastically cruel. My nose wanted to revolt and part ways with my face. My lungs screamed in protest. It was like that mausoleum, but far worse, because everything here was so much fresher. When meat spoils, it smells worst right away. Whatever demonic butchery was taking place here, it hadn't been finished long.

The floors, the walls, even the ceilings were literally drenched with blood. Great splashes and splotches marked every last foot, like some overly-enthusiastic abstract painter grabbed buckets of rust and crimson and had a fucking field day. Globs of clotted and dried gore piled on the floor. Ragged strips of flesh, muscle, flecks of brains, bones, shards of skulls, all in various stages of decomposition, littered the entire span. There were counters and a medical examination table, some stacked with gore-encrusted linens. Hanging from the ceiling were several framework cages, rectangular in shape.

One of them held a body. It was very dead, blackened and mummified. The moment I saw it, I had a flashback of the monsters that fell from the ceiling in the hospital, the ones that I thought killed me, right before I entered the other-side. The memory was harsh and unwelcome, like someone drawing a straight-razor across my forehead. This one looked to be in far worse shape than the fleshbags I faced then, but I wasn't stupid enough to assume it was harmless.

But then I saw one of the tables, and it gripped my attention fiercely and painfully. It was stained with gore and flecks of entrails, like the others. Notable were the tools scattered about the tabletop. Medical clamps. Needle-nose pliers. A broken scalpel, its edge worn smooth with use. A vintage autopsy saw. A corkscrew, its business end disgustingly clotted. Mundane tools, most of them, put to use as torture devices.

None of them even began to compare with the largest item on the table. It was a gigantic blade, long and heavy. It was rusty and blood-soaked like everything else. Its handle was long enough for two hands, and you would need them; the thing had to weigh a good sixty pounds. I looked at this blade for perhaps five seconds, not fully absorbing or understanding just what it was I was looking at.

When the realization hit me, it hit me hard. I had seen this before. Twice. How could I have stared at it that long without instantly making the connection? I didn't know, but once I did, everything fell into place. The blade was the most recognizable, but I backed up and scanned the room again, and as I took in the horrifying sights a second time, it finally all made a sick sort of sense. The cages hanging from the ceiling. The instruments of torture. The slaughterhouse décor.

And, that enormous fucking knife.

Now, it all made sense. Now I knew what this place was. And now, I was in some very deep shit.

I had to run.

I struggled with the latch on the door, and for a single petrifying moment, I was certain that the door was locked, that I was trapped like a rat in a ghoulish cage. Sweat seemed to burst out of my pores and saliva dripped from the corners of my wide-open mouth as I attacked the handle, finally depressing it and pushing it forward with all my might. Such was my desire, my intrinsic need to get out of that room and as far away as possible in the most expedient fashion. I dashed ahead and down the terribly constricted corridor, anxious like hell to get up that ladder and out of this pit of death. My footsteps were like sharp hammer blows to the thin metal beneath, and the sound bounced angrily off the walls, giving off echoes so close that it sounded almost like stereo feedback. I knew that the ladder wasn't far, couldn't have been more than twenty or thirty feet, but I was in such a bitched-up state of crazy fear that it felt like the fucking Boston Marathon. It seemed as though there were hundreds of angles instead of just three.

I was desperate to get away, beyond desperate. And perhaps that is why, if I even did see what was in front of me, I didn't have even a quarter of a chance to slow down and avoid it. The collision was sudden and painful, and it sent me careening backwards. My arms pinwheeled as I lost balance and fell to the floor. My right arm struck the wall and smarted rather sharply, and the barrel of the .30-06 dealt me a dull knock to the skull.

I didn't even notice. For my eyes were fixed forward, feeding visual information at a fevered pace to a brain that was too doglocked to even hope to process it.

Something stood in front of me. It was man-sized and man-shaped and dressed in white from neck to toe, but not like an angel. For this angel's holy whites were stained and filthy with dirt and mud and guts and blood. I couldn't quite see the head, not at first. Not until this filthy angel turned to face me, which it did slowly and deliberately. Now I could see it all. I could see the front of the monster, which was same kind of white but with a much redder tint. I could see the gigantic staff it held in its right hand. No, not quite a staff. A spear. A spear with a needle-tipped point.

And the helmet, that was the kicker, the trademark. It was pure crimson, as if soaked in blood for weeks at a time. It was shiny, a sort of snot-like slickness that reflected whatever light it didn't devour. A helmet that came to a point at the top, making it look taller than almost any man alive. My fear vanished, its place taken over by sheer, unadulterated hysteria and completely mindless panic. Several times lately I thought he was nearby and he wasn't.

Not this time.

Pyramid Head stood over my prone form, and I knew terror so great. I was to be the next contestant, the next esteemed guest of his house of horrors, his sacred sanctuary upon which I had the nerve to intrude. How did you like it? Wasn't in fascinating? Say, I bet you'd like to go back there, wouldn't you? You're so curious. I bet you'd like to see it in operation first-hand. I bet you'd love it! Everyone does! Just stay right there, no need to move. I'll escort you personally, and then we'll play, you and I. We'll have the time of your life! We'll

It was my own mind giving Pyramid Head voice. He just stood there, not making a move or a sound, as if regarding me and deciding what to do about me. No, he didn't really speak, but without question, whatever he was thinking was certain to be along the lines of my mind's ad-libs. I knew all this and processed it, but the shock and horror were so numbing and striking that I couldn't move. I just stared at him as he stared at me. It was like a showdown, only he had the distinct advantage. If he were to make the first move…

He did. Apparently no longer willing to be contemplative, Pyramid Head suddenly reversed his grip on that massive spear and drew it back, his arm taut like a catapult. It was when that arm was stretched out to the limit that adrenaline tore out of my stomach and rocketed through my veins. If that spear got me I thought I would bleed nitro.

I scrabbled backwards in a quick and clumsy crabwalk. The steel mesh scraped the palms of my hands and yes, they stung, but that would be like mother's kisses compared to what that spear would do. I knew, I had already seen its effectiveness. My legs worked like a camshaft, pistoning me backwards in a desperate attempt to get out of the way.

Pyramid Head couldn't speak, as far as I knew, but when he attacked, he did make some kind of vocal noise. A grunt, maybe. And he didn't just thrust that spear, he seemed to fucking launch it like a bazooka, or one of those whatdayacall it, trebuchets. The razor tip struck the mesh between my legs, missing my left by an ass-hair, and it hit with such tremendous force that sparks cascaded from the tip.

I kept thrusting my body backwards. It was a messy, clumsy affair, to be sure. I thrashed about more haphazardly than I wanted, and I bet I might have made a passing resemblance to an epileptic suffering from shock. My mouth was moving and over the din of my screeching radio I could hear my breath heaving in and out, making a labored huh-huh-huh noise. I saw the spear-tip, and with fresh horror realized that Pyramid Head had thrust at me with such inhuman force that he punched a God damn hole in the steel mesh! He pulled upon the staff, twisting it in an attempt to free it from the trap. I watched him do it in dumb amazement.

And I snapped completely out of it when he jerked it free.

I scrambled to my feet and took off in a full run, even though there wasn't enough room. I didn't care, it didn't matter, all that mattered was getting the hell away from Pyramid Head, getting away from that evil spear and the painful death and torture he was sure to inflict upon me if I got caught. This was his home, I was certain. This was his playground, his place, and if I fell, if I tripped and twisted an ankle, I was fucked. If he caught me, I only hoped I would have enough time to turn the gun on myself. I only hoped I would have the time to end it on my own terms, because whatever notions I held about what Hell was like had just been replaced five minutes ago by something beyond my worst nightmares.

I ran and I ran and it seemed even longer this time, as I was sure Pyramid Head was close on my heels. I remember how deftly he gave chase back in Brookhaven. I remember how he caught up to Maria. I remember, oh God, how I remember, how he drew that spear back, how he stabbed forward, and how he stole Maria's life in the process. I remember the splash of blood and I remember her creamy white hand go limp and lifeless.

I bounced off the walls, not taking the time to slow down, for to slow down was to die. After a dozen eternities, I rounded the final corner and the ladder came into view and I was momentarily overcome by a sweet wave of heavenly relief. I practically jumped at the ladder and pulled myself up with sheer will and overworked muscles. When I reached the top, I crawled forward, then I twisted around and grabbed my legs with my hands, yanking them away from the hole, so as not to be grabbed by a bloodstained hand. I felt relief again, the sweet satisfaction of escape and safety.

I found myself looking at the other ladder. And I saw, or at least I think I saw it. I don't know if it was just my overworked imagination getting revenge or what, but I could have sworn I caught the glint of something rising from that end. Something sharp and red.

Maybe a helmet. Maybe a spear-tip. Maybe nothing.

Only an idiot would stick around to verify.

I took off running down the hallway, not knowing where I was headed, and not caring. Wherever it was, it was away from him. The only place in the world I wanted to be.

Away from him, and away from that little slice of the ninth layer of Hell down those ladders.

8