Disclaimer: I do not own Silent Hill 3 or any of the characters, places, events, etc. I only own the character of Katy.
A/N: You know what I really love about Silent Hill? How the characters can fall from such great heights and not even get injured. Take Richard from Silent Hill 4 for example: in the world where you meet him, he falls from high in the sky and all you hear is a plop sound. /= Amazing, isn't it?
Well, a certain character in this chapter isn't so lucky. Maybe it's better if you read on before I spoil anything...
Chapter 21: Borely Haunted Mansion
The darkness was thick and warm, or maybe that was the sensation of my own blood oozing over my skin. My head felt like it was spinning a thousand miles an hour and my eyelids refused to open, as though they were made of steel. It was too much effort to lift my head and so I curled up in the darkness, waiting for the sharp pain in my skull to subside. It's like the worst hangover ever, I thought and wondered why that sounded familiar.
A voice was calling my name, but it was faint and far away. As consciousness swam closer, the voice grew in volume and intensity. My mind was jumbled like an incomplete jigsaw puzzle and it took me a moment to simply recall my name.
"Katy? Katy! Oh, God," a man's voiced cried out in pain, followed by labor breathing. There was a rustle of clothing and then a hiss as the person felt another round of pain. Slowly, I forced my eyes open, only to see blackness. Panic immediately swept over me. Oh, God...am I blind? No, it's only the black sky, I realized as I carefully rose to a sitting position. Every bone in my body ached and tears stung beneath my eyelids.
As I glanced around, I noticed the man sitting on the pavement. His name was...Douglas, the detective. My mind flashed like a light bulb; I remembered the roller coaster and jumping off the tracks with Douglas. The impact was blurry, with only my aches to prove it happened.
"Some dive, huh?" I stretched my arms and legs, which were now stiff and sore. Douglas had his back against the ticket booth—I was laying on it—and he was gripping his leg. As he twisted around to see me, his face grew pinched and he bit his tongue to keep from yelling out against the wave of hurt.
"I...I think I broke my leg," he said in quick, shallow breaths. His face couldn't hide the suffering he was experiencing while he spoke. I had escaped with a few deep gashes, screaming muscles, and a possible concussion, but Douglas hadn't been so lucky. We should have found another way. If we hadn't considered the coaster, this wouldn't have happened, I blamed myself.
"Looks like you can't outrun fate after all. Here, try drinking this," I unfurled the dirty orange bag at my waist and handed him an energy drink. Releasing his leg for a moment, he uncapped the bottle, drank some, and then spewed it out.
"What is this? It tastes worse than any alcohol I've ever tasted," he complained, giving the bottle a look of disgust.
"It's an energy drink. It might help your leg. Drink it," I ordered him. Douglas stared at me for a long minute and then downed the drink in almost one gulp. A miraculous change came over Douglas as he gazed down at his broken leg.
"It...it doesn't hurt as much anymore. Most of the pain is gone, but it's still broken," he informed me, rubbing his leg carefully. Disappointed, I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. I'd been hoping that the energy drink would be enough, but apparently it didn't cure ailments as complicated as broken bones. Sighing, I slid off the ticket booth and kneeled next to Douglas. Nearby, a gigantic sign read "Welcome to the Borely Haunted Mansion," with a faded red arrow pointing the way.
"I don't want to leave you here alone," I said, searching my bag for something stronger than an energy drink. My hands found my only ampoule and I hesitated. It's only right to use it on Douglas, I convinced myself, inserting the medicine into Douglas' leg. It was just like the energy drink—it took away the pain and bruises, but it did not mend the bones.
"It's fine if you leave me here. Do what you have to do," Douglas argued with me, allowing his head to rest against the ticket booth. His eyes closed and his breathing became deeper as he started to slip back into unconsciousness. Reluctantly, I stood and gave Douglas one last long look.
"I'll be back as soon as I can," I promised, though I wasn't entirely sure if he could hear me. "Don't die on me, okay?" Maybe it was my imagination, but I thought I saw a hint of a small smile on Douglas' lips before I left him behind.
…
The Borely Haunted Mansion was ten times more intimidating up close. In a small patch outside the mansion were gravestones with silly engraved words, bones that I prayed were absolutely fake, and a chained rope along the path. The chain swung even though there wasn't a breeze. The windows were dark, but I could see a bloody handprint every time the lights inside flickered. The massive double doors at the entrance towered over me, but they creaked open before I could lay my palm on it. That isn't slightly creepy at all, I thought nervously. Maybe it's not too late to find another way to the carousel...
"Come in, come in," a deep voice invited me. Swallowing my fears, I stepped inside the mansion and the doors slammed shut behind me. As I lifted the old, brass handles and pulled, I realized the doors wouldn't open again. "Welcome to the Borely Haunted Mansion," the voice boomed.
"I think I'll just be leaving now," I murmured, frantically tugging the oversized handles. The door refused to budge an inch. Behind me, the sound of cackling laughter filled the air, but there was no one in the hall with me.
"No! You can't leave now. Stay and allow us to give you a special tour," the menacing voice answered, chilling me to the bone. Wasn't I the only one here? Surely the voice was only a recording, right? "We're so glad you came. When you feel you are ready, then go through the door."
Taking a deep breath, I weighed my options. There was only one choice: I had to venture through the mansion in order to escape. I had no weapons—Douglas' gun had been lost when we jumped from the coaster. I eyed the other set of double doors in front of me. Sooner or later I'm going to have to do this, I thought as I pushed open the doors.
The next room was a type of dining room. An elaborate, elegant table had been set up in the center, surrounded by an iron gate for tourists. The windows were draped with white, filmy curtains that lifted with an invisible breeze.
"Help! Help," the narrator called out in a strangled voice. "Do you hear those voices? A family of four was sliced into bloody pieces in this room. Ah, the cries of the children..." The man's voice drifted off. To me, he sounded too thrilled with the idea of "slicing."
"Oh!" I jumped as hard, rough hands grabbed my arms from behind. It felt like the hands belonged to a man. The only thing behind me was a row of bookshelves lining the wall. What the hell was that?
"The murderer was caught...do you know why he killed his family? 'Because I felt I had to!' Anyway, I'm lying. It's all just a joke. I wanted to scare you, that's all," the narrator admitted. A deep chill rolled down my spine; I hated the mansion and everything in it.
"I'm not scared one bit," I lied through my teeth on that one. My heart was pounding against my chest. The narrator laughed darkly. Could he actually hear me when I talked or was it a coincidence?
"Liar," the narrator boomed, making me jump again. "The truth is that only one person died...by suicide," he continued with his story. Suddenly, the lights flashed and the silhouette of a hanged man appeared outside the window.
Everything fell silent, the cue for me to continue to the next room. No! I refuse to walk an inch more. What is the narrator going to do? Laugh at me? Still, I recalled the feel of a man's hands on my arms and I rushed into the next room, shutting the door behind me.
This room was something of a living room or study. A desk was placed in the corner with a prop sitting in a chair. At least, I thought it was a prop. As I stared at it, it seemed like the man was rocking in the chair. I was too busy watching the body to remember the scare that came next.
"Aaaahh!" A body fell from the ceiling, its gray eyes staring at me. My scream matched the shrill yell of the body. The body in the chair just rocked back and forth, undisturbed.
"That's Danny," the narrator stated with a bit of glee. "A quiet young man, but quite friendly as you can see. He was so eager to meet you." The upside down man's eyes followed me as I tried to move away from it. Was it a real person or just another prop?
"His hometown is New Orleans. But he came here after first losing his way. Oh, maybe you might know? Where is the path to heaven?" The narrator's voice was snide and mocking. It reminded me a little of Vincent, which did not comfort me any.
Shutting my eyes to the hanging body, I threw open the door to my right only to enter a type of basement. I almost imagined that the rocking in the living room paused as I closed the door. It's only a prop...only a prop, I chanted in my mind. It was the kind of thing people said whenever they went through haunted houses. Nothing here was real; it was all a show.
"This mansion is quite old. So please, watch your step. Sometimes the floor suddenly gives way and beneath the floor...there's nothing," the narrator said. Carefully I walked along the path. Cells lined the walls, as though prisoners once existed here. Cobwebs hung in the corners, absent of spiders.
As I neared the middle, spikes suddenly dropped from the ceiling. Quickly I ducked until my back was on the floor. The spikes stopped inches above my throat. Any further and the spikes would have pierced me. After an uncomfortable moment, the spikes lifted. I was almost killed...if I hadn't ducked, I would've been killed, I realized with fear.
"I'm so sorry," the narrator apologized, but he didn't sound sorry in the least bit. He sounded as though the whole scenario had been amusing. "This place is just falling apart. The mechanism is broken, you see. It wasn't supposed to stop there, I assure you," the man explained in a creepy, calm voice.
"It was supposed to kill me," I whispered, translating the meaning beneath the narrator's words. The idea made my pulse race and my blood turn to ice in my veins. What if I had died here? What would Douglas do with his broken leg?
"Exactly. There's the exit. Please come back anytime. Or, if you prefer, we could come visit you instead," the narrator said. I reached the exit—a plain door with a red exit sign above—and opened it. It was another long hallway, a trick. Before the narrator had a chance to speak, I began to run, knowing that hell would soon be licking at my heels.