Confined

-- A Silent Hill FanFiction

Chapter Three- The Beginning


It was all ready about ten in the morning by the time Aimee woke up. With a soft mumble, her eyes fluttered open and she caught herself lying on the ground against the cold, hard wall; her blanket sat in ruffles near her feet. "What the-"she whispered to herself before her eyes widened, herself looking throughout the room. A soft blanket of what appeared to be snow covered everything in Aimee's room. Even her own body was sprinkled with the white flakes. But they weren't cold, which was what triggered in Aimee's mind next. It couldn't be snow if it wasn't cold.

She reached out to her pajama pants and gathered a bit of the substance within her fingers. Rubbing her forefinger and thumb together, it appeared as if she'd run dark paint along the tips of her fingers. "Ash." She remarked, wondering how in the world ash was scattered throughout her room. Maybe it was just a cruel joke, right? And then she remembered her dream- Matthew had been in her room.

Standing up, her legs felt like jelly. She looked over the floor in her room and saw what appeared to be a few footsteps, but there were only five of them in the middle of her floor, vanishing as if in thin air. "M-Matthew?" She called out, a thought triggering in the back of her mind that she'd gone insane. Maybe she was still sleeping, warm and cozy in her own bed. Her mind was the only thing stuck in the nightmare. But a nightmare wouldn't have the effect of feeling this real, now, would it?

Aimee walked towards the middle of the room, eyeing the ominous footsteps. That's when she noticed a small index card resting between two footprints. With an eyebrow raised, she bent down to pick it up. The words scribbled on it seemed to be written in messy handwriting in a language Aimee was yet to understand. Before being able to even stop herself, her mouth opened and she whispered the words.

"Non effrayé de pleurer, de douleur ou d'ennemi
Non effrayé de la chute vers le bas ci-dessous
À la nuit avec insouciance nous volons
Comme vivre complètement, nous ne mourrons jamais."

The second she spoke the last word, it felt as if the world went still. Even the slight swaying of her pajama pants that caressed her frail body stopped shifting. A second passed before suddenly the room shook, knocking Aimee clear from her feet and onto the ground, holding herself up by her knees and palms. "What the fuck is going on?" Aimee shouted out, thinking to herself that she'd finally reached the point of insanity. And then a bang sounded from the door, along with what sounded like a squeal from a dog during a mighty good beating. Aimee let out a yelp, jumping to her feet. With her whole body shaking, she walked cautiously towards the door. Her hand touched the doorknob and twisted it slightly before the door slammed open. Aimee jumped back and looked down to the entrance of her room.

At her feet rested what appeared to be a bandaged dog lying on its side, possibly dead. But it didn't look like any type of dog Aimee had ever seen before; this one was completely different. Instead of fur, what part of its body Aimee could see appeared to be black, hairless skin. But most of its body was wrapped in reddish-yellow bandages which trailed a few inches off of the dog. Muscles rippled throughout every part of the canine's body, giving it a threatening look. But the worst part about the dog which made Aimee turn and fall to her knees, gasp for air and empty her stomach through her own mouth, the vomit splattering everywhere, was its face. What part of the face that did look like a canine's was twisted around, as if the head was attached on the wrong side. Its jaws ran vertical- right up to what appeared to be its neck, cutting the whole head in half. Froth covered the thin, crimson colored lips of the canine. There were thin slits on each side of its head, making way for bloodthirsty eyes which seemed torn open and painted red with splotches of black that blistered along the glassy, dead gaze.

It took Aimee a short matter of seconds to regain herself, and when she did, she stood up again before stumbling back. The scent of death, vomit, and fear filled the room and it was all too real. With her heart pounding in her ears, Aimee could feel each beat of her heart pierce her own skin. Every night for the past two years, all of her nights were filled with nightmares. Screams always echoed in her mind, the scent of death always whisking from her nostrils the second her eyes fluttered open. The only difference with those dreams and this one was that she'd always wake up. But this was no dream, not even a simple nightmare.

She stared out into the dark, ominously creaking hallways before speaking to herself. "Not even a child could dream of this."