Michael woke up.

He looked lazily around while rubbing his tired eyes – the room around him seemed familiar: a bed (on which Michael was lying), an armchair, a TV, a large cabinet and somewhat ugly walls with greenish colouring. Memories were blurry, yet Michael did recall entering the motel room number 6 – it looked like he had fallen asleep there. Instinctively, Michael placed his hand on his right leg, feeling a cold, distant pain – he remembered getting wounded by the pale creature. Still, the painful sensation disappeared in the next moment, and there wasn't any kind of visible wound. Everything did point towards a bad dream, but Michael couldn't accept such idea. He stood up, almost falling on the floor – every movement was sluggish and clumsy, as if he had been sleeping for way too long.

Michael peeked through the window – it was snowing outside. According to his phone, clock was 10 in the morning. Michael rubbed his forehead, trying to remember past events: his tire got punctured, so he walked into the town – this was quite clear. The things he had seen and confronted were much less clear; obscure and distant. Because of this, Michael realized something: his environment felt different than before. It was more reliable now; more constant. He sighed and sat on the armchair, caressing the ring on his finger – whatever the town had done to him, was it finally over?

Michael kept sitting there for a while, yet he didn't want to sleep anymore. Eventually he stood up and opened the door – he smelled the cold air; bright, white light enveloped him. Michael walked around the parking lot, which was completely covered in soft, powdery snow. More and more large flakes kept falling down; Michael followed their paths and got a bit dizzy. He returned to the street and inspected the map – it seemed that Bachman Road would lead to the northern part of town. It wasn't any kind of guaranteed exit, but Michael didn't care: he just needed to keep walking.

Michael passed some residential buildings and snow-covered trees until reaching a bridge – it led him over a quiet river. On the opposite side, high pine trees surrounded the road. Soon buildings reappeared, as Michael arrived at a crossroads – Bradbury Street intersected his path, yet he had no intentions to change course. He kept moving forward, and passed a small shop named Top Sales. There were many alike buildings on his left, yet their purpose was left ambiguous.

After couple more crossroads, Michael started getting tired. He noticed a cafe on his right, hidden beneath some ornamental trees. There was a red SUV parked next to them, most of it covered in snow. Michael decided to inspect the business closer, so he walked to the front door – the cafe's red banderole was quite stylish, despite being worn out. Above said banderole, curved letters spelled the name Cafe 5 to 2. Turned out the door wasn't locked, so Michael stepped in – maybe he could even find some coffee.

It was dim inside; the interior was sleeping. Brown tiles covered the floor; there were several tables and equally brown benches next to the windows. In front of Michael was standing the counter, with small (and probably broken) TV placed in its left corner. On Michael's right was a colourful pinball machine, yet it seemed to be out of use. Next to the machine, some kind of yellow poster was placed on the wall – a blurry image and messy text were printed on it, yet Michael couldn't understand these visual messages.

Michael turned around and climbed over the counter – there was a coffee maker on a steel-covered table. By the looks of it, the maker was still in working condition. Good luck didn't end there: next to the maker were standing a package of coffee (not even opened) and some filters. Michael prepared a cup of coffee and warmed his hands in the hot water vapors. He kept looking around, noticing a piece of paper on the counter – turned out it was a folded pamphlet. Michael opened it; his sight jumped around some colourful photographs. One of them depicted a calm lake bathing in light of evening sun, surrounded by high cliffs. A short text was written next to the picture:

Welcome to Silent Hill,

the cradle of forest and lake.

Enjoy the pristine beauty of lake Toluca

and her many, equally beautiful faces.

Experience the charming atmosphere of Silent Hill,

and its deep silence.

Silent Hill, Michael repeated in his mind. There was a familiar picture of a bowling alley in the brochure, as well as several pictures of the amusement park. Michael got confused – whoever had written the ad speech surely hadn't visited the settlement personally.

Coffee was ready. Michael filled a cup and tasted the black refreshment – it was somewhat bitter, yet really good. Michael had no idea what to do next, but it didn't really matter: for a brief moment, everything was fine. He took out his wallet and picked up a small piece of paper – the one left in his apartment's bathroom. Something was written on it, with round and extremely pretty handwriting. It was a simple statement:

you didn't want her

Michael sipped his coffee. He stared at the paper for a long time until tearing it to pieces. After that, nothing remained. Michael kept drinking coffee and enjoying its scent in the cold air.

Suddenly, the door opened. Michael turned around – and smiled.