The metal grating slides open uneasily to reveal a decrepit basement door, its surface ravaged by woodworm and the passing of time. The once proud logo of the Old District PD has now faded, and the door handle hangs off, just about ready to snap altogether on touch.
Jones gently inserts the key into the hole, fearing he might break the rusted thing with too heavy a hand. As he turns, the lock cracks into place and the door creaks open. A foul musk emanates from the darkness inside, likely the smell of damp, archaic papers. This door hasn't been opened in decades.
Fortunately, the lights still work, swinging roof lamps with rusted metal cones, unused in this building since God knows when. They say this was the original South Ashfield Precinct, built nearly a hundred years ago, all underground. Above it was a section of Ashfield Park, before they built the new Precinct. Further back, in the 20's, there was a restaurant above, which at night became a speakeasy for the local cops. Jones could easily believe that the law would stash their own alcohol down here, in all the various nooks and crannies.
After descending a small flight of steps and passing through a short corridor, Jones finds himself in front of the main archives. Rows and rows of files, papers, books, reports, all of it untouched in years. Fortunately, it's alphabetically coded, and Jones is able to find the 'S' section with relative ease; Now, the hard part.
After a good hour of searching, the row stretching back a few hundred paces, file after file, Jones holds in his hand a musty old set of documents, fastened together with a decaying piece of string. The writing is badly faded on the front cover, but Jones can still make out the title of the file: Silent Hill, and the supervising officer: Derek Peters. As the patrolman had said, Peters was the only officer involved on the case.
Back in his office, where there was sufficient light, he sat down and digested the information. After a few minutes of reading, he could already tell that there was something terribly wrong with this town, a history of problems.
Sixteenth century rituals and witch-hunts were common folklore for small towns in the wilderness; epidemics in the seventeenth century, though unexplained, were a fairly common thing, before the introduction of advanced medicine. None of these things concerned Jones but mentions of recent disappearances, deaths, Ships vanishing: all these strange occurrences happening within the last hundred years, this is what the young detective finds strange.
He flicks through a few more pages, detailing the town's significance as a tourist resort in the sixties and seventies. The next few verify the area's rapid decline in tourist related income, after all the boat related deaths at Toluca Lake, the town's main point of interest.
What he set his eyes upon now really interests him. It wasn't a newspaper clipping or a company produced pamphlet, these were the notes of Officer Peters himself, these were what Jones was looking for.
The documents didn't seem as decrepit as the others in the file and the information was easier to read. To Finn's surprise, the bulk of the notes seemed to talk about a little girl by the name of Alessa Gillespie. The notes presented some unusual information:
'Alessa had unique abilities since a very young age. At school, they would taunt her by calling her a witch and exclude her from friendship groups amongst other things. It was hard to come by this information, but many sources spoke of Alessa's fear of her mother, Dahlia Gillespie, who attempted to exploit Alessa's power for her own ends,'
"Power?" Jones mutters to himself.
A small envelope drops out of the file, still sealed. Jones picks it up and runs his eye over it. It's addressed to the precinct, and stamped with a Silent Hill postal mark. Assumedly, it was crammed inside the file and never opened.
There's a letter inside, just a single piece of paper. It's the same handwriting used in the file documents.
'To anyone who might read this, I implore you to consider my words carefully. For the past few years, I have been investigating the mysteries of a small town known as Silent Hill, my true birthplace. You might know it as a tourist resort, as I have come to understand it was a fairly popular resort not too long ago. These days it's just a small mining community, desperately wanting what it once had.
But that's not all Silent Hill is. There is an undercurrent of despair, a history of destruction and mayhem that has blighted all who have lived here.
I have come to learn that there are things in this world we cannot comprehend, evils that we cannot understand. A fire has torn this place apart and ever since the night of the blaze, I haven't been able to leave the town. The roads have collapsed in on themselves, phones and electronic equipment have stopped working. I don't even know why I'm writing this letter, because with the roads out, I know there's no way it can be delivered. Blind hope has taken me this far but now, my belief in escape has begin to wane.
There are creatures here unknown to me, twisted apparitions that could only be conjured in nightmares. They stalk the streets and hunt me down. I don't know how much longer I can last.
If by some miracle this letter reaches someone, I urge you, I beg of you- Never come to Silent Hill. There are spirits here, violent demons from a forgotten world, Gods who long to be reborn. You will find not find me in this town, nor should you try.
For this place exists both inside our world, and outside it…'
"What in high holy hell?" Jones says, leaning back in his seat.
Demons, ancient Gods? What was all this mumbo jumbo? The patrolman said Peters was getting on in years, perhaps this was some kind of senile dementia? That still doesn't explain all the evidence gathered in the file. There was definitely an unstable history with this town and by the Officer's description, it was a very dangerous place to be.
"Shit!" Jones shouts, jumping forward to grab his phone.
He frantically dials a number, ranting obscenities as he waits for an answer.
"Yes?" a female voice responds.
"Mrs. Cole?" Jones asks.
"That's right, are you aware what time it is?"
"This is Detective Finn Jones, I talked to your husband the night he received threats,"
"Yes, I remember you Detective. What's this regarding?"
"I need to speak with Dr. Cole,"
"I think he's here, one moment,"
Jones waits anxiously for the Doctors wife to return to the line.
"Is this some kind of joke?" she asks.
"Pardon me, ma'am?"
"He wasn't supposed to leave the house without supervision, that's what he told me!" her voice is wrought with panic.
"Mrs. Cole, I need to know where your husband has gone,"
"He wasn't in bed when I woke up… and I've just found a note. Something about a business trip,"
"Jesus. Does he carry a cell phone?"
"It's right here on the desk. Is my husband in trouble, Detective?"
"Don't worry, I think I know where he's headed,"
… Silent Hill
"Then tell me," the lady demands.
"Don't worry ma'am, I'll have him back soon. Thank you for your co-operation,"
"But…"
Without letting her finish, Finn Jones slams the phone down and heads towards the exit of the precinct. On this way out of the grand double doors, the patrolman calls, "Did you find what you needed, Detective?"
Looking down at the aging file in his hands, Jones grunts in reply.
He had seen evil, but Demons and Gods were beyond Jones' suspension of belief. Regardless, if Peters' description of the town itself was accurate, then Dr. Cole would be in grave danger exploring the area. He climbs inside his Chevy.ChevelleChevy.ChevelleChevy.ChevelleChevy.ChevelleChevy.ChevelleChevy.ChevelleChevy.ChevelleChevy.ChevelleChevy.ChevelleChevy Chevelle and the engine grunts into life as he turns the key. He was breaking orders, running off without informing his partner, or the chief, but he knew he had to find Cole immediately.
Onwards, to Silent Hill.