At no point did it occur to me to count the number of steps I'd taken, nor to time myself in taking them. Had I done either, perhaps I would have had some tangible basis for wondering just how far I had gone when the last step was not old concrete but the soft dirt of the nature trail. There was no way of knowing, short of turning back around and making a circuit of it and such knowledge was not important enough to justify doing so. Still, I'd been right; the fog was awful down here. The steps I'd descended now appeared to ascend into a cloud. Past about a dozen or so, I could see nothing. I'd never seen anything like it. In a strictly accurate sense, I wasn't seeing much of anything, period. My field of vision had contracted to a small sphere of about twenty feet, with me at the center of it. This was enough for me to note that my path was very narrow, even as I started along it. A sheer face of dirt, rock and scrub stood to my left. To the right was probably the same thing, though it fell away and out of sight on that side. There were no rails, and if I took a spill, it would be a long, painful series of bounces until I either hit a patch of level ground or splashed down in the lake, and only a miracle would see me get that far without breaking bones.
Had it been clear, I would probably have been treated to a spectacular view of the lake and the narrow strip of woods which formed its lower lip. What I got instead was a living photograph taken by a camera with a severely unfocused lens. I supposed I would grow used to it after awhile, but at the moment, it was bringing back ghosts of my early-morning headache. All I could do to combat this was keep my gaze down on my shoes, the only things visible to me with any clarity. My shoes made soft crunching sounds as they pressed into the dirt, and that was most of what there was to hear, aside from the chittering of branches and shrubbery from the wind.
And, something moved within them. Off to the left. I came to a stop, cocking my ear. As if understanding that it had been sensed, the source of the sound ceased to make it.
"Hello?" I called out. There was no response, and that didn't surprise me. How long had it been, how far had I come, since I'd last seen a human being? I tried to remember and couldn't, but it would have had to be somewhere on the road. I tried hailing again, and got silence as a response. Couldn't see anything either, though I judged that the noises came from beyond my range of vision anyway. A full minute went by, and I resumed walking, unsure of whether I'd really heard anything at all.
And I didn't get five paces before I froze, my senses overriding everything. There was something, and not just the rustling of movement disturbing the close foliage. A guttural sound, unmistakably vocal, but nothing I could imagine possible from human cords. My belly had gone to ice in an instant. I could feel sweat near my brows, in spite of the unseasonable chill. Yeah, something was out there, all right, something hidden by the fog and the treeline.
I heard it again, louder still, not apparently concerned by me remaining motionless, and without my own movement to confuse my senses, the growl carried very clearly. This was too much for my overtaxed mind, not just the inhumanity of the noise but that it had somehow halved the distance, close and getting closer, and if I stayed where I was, I should see it. A part of me wanted to do this, to apply rationality to a situation rapidly losing any sense of it. And, I broke into a run, because the other part of me won the battle. I ran away not thinking that it was just some stray dog, not even thinking that it could perhaps be something as exotic as a timberwolf. My imagination turned against me, spurring me on by visions of fang-studded jaws, trailing the hungry drool of a very intent carnivore. Something man-sized and murderous, something which would, in two seconds, maybe as many as five, leap from the mist and knock me—
--down. I never saw what it was that tripped me, a rock or branch or even just a divot in the path. Either way, I had been looking over my shoulder instead of down at my feet, and when I hit whatever I hit, there was no avoiding the tumble. The fall wasn't painful, but I'm not sure I'd have noticed right away even if it was. I wasn't thinking of any injury as minor as a twisted ankle or a bruise where I'd landed on my elbow. My imagination fed me images of gouged flesh, of long, ragged slashes, of limbs savaged and chewed right down to the bone. My imagination was in control, and even as I tried to reassert control, my fingers left claw marks of their own in the dirt, not scrabbling for leverage, but to drag myself forward, to get me away from whatever was behind me, no matter how I did it, and not look back, because if I did, what would I see? Maybe nothing. Probably nothing. And, just perhaps, something with red, angry eyes. Something with vice-like jaws lined with yellow razor-blades. Control did come back to me, though. I may be crazy to follow that letter, but that didn't mean I actually had to lose my mind.
Trees rustled in the breeze, and from a long way down, waves lapped at the shore. Louder than all that, my breath came in deep hitches. Rationality had reasserted itself in my mind, but my body needed a moment to catch up. I heard nothing else, though. Nothing louder than the windy rustle came from the tree line, no large animal-made disturbance made itself known. No throaty growl, no evidence of slavering hunger. Just the imagination farting loudly in church, that was all. Nothing to be afraid of.
Yet, it required another force of will to open my eyes. Straight ahead, there was no slobbering demon-beast. In fact, there was nothing at all. My tumble had taken me near to the edge, and I'd blindly dragged myself even closer to it. The wind chilled me everywhere now, and I still pumped sweat in spite of it. I had to consciously not consider the likelihood that I may have dragged myself right over the cliff in my baseless terror. It would be a hell of a fall, too. Far down as I could see, it was almost a straight drop, and god only knew what protrusions would await me on the way down. Sharp rocks, roots, even trees, I was sure, and if I had gone over, by the time I came to a stop, they would have done a great many of the same injuries I imagined could have come from the noisy thing in the woods.
Maybe that was what it wanted.
That was silly. There was no 'it'. I was just having the boogies, that was all. There was too much going on, and I was just having trouble coping. There was no monster in the woods. I'd just daydreamed it.
Yet, I couldn't help be reminded of a story I'd heard once, about an Algonquian legend. The creature was known as the wendigo, and it was said to stalk men who traveled alone. The wendigo would follow its prey, making its presence known but never allowing itself to be seen, never actually making a move except to keep close. The traveler would, in due course, go mad under the pressure, the fear of being hunted by something unseen but inherently dangerous. That's when the beast would finally make its move, and the luckless traveler would be torn apart by his own delusion, devoured by his own nightmare come to life.
"Get it together, old boy," I said aloud, needing to hear my own voice. It may not have worked otherwise. There was no such thing as the wendigo. Just fairy-tale horseshit, and that was final. I would accept no more debate on the subject.
It was, too. Once the natural order of things had been re-confirmed, I was able to get to my feet and brush myself off. Boogeymen and unseen monsters seemed much less plausible once I was upright. This was how things should be. Only a fool lets himself get carried away like that. The first step was easy, and I was walking again down the path, sure of everything. I heard no sounds other than those that should have been there.
Eventually, the cliff receded, and the ground spread out a little, going off into an even grade and more of the same brush. At one point, I came upon an old water well, and I passed it without examining. Deep holes like that just give me the creeps.
Soon, the natural facings on either side became roundstone walls, and the path came to an end at a big gate made of rusty wrought-iron. It opened, but only under squealing protest. I found myself in a clearing, spreading out in all three directions out of site. A number of stones dotted the landscape, irregular but definitely man-made. The first one I examined had a name, Emil Radcliff, above a date, Aug 27, 1939. It was a cemetery. Some of the stones showed nothing, having been worn smooth by age and merciless New England elements. I saw one as old as a hundred and thirty years. None of them were any younger than I was, though I guessed that there could be one or two that were. I had no desire to check them all for confirmation. This wasn't really any place for me to be, was it? Graveyards were spooky enough under normal circumstances.
As if to reinforce how abnormal circumstances were, I heard movement again, and that brought an immediate flare-up of adrenaline. Oh, I really didn't need this now, not here. And, I wouldn't let it. I would not run away, but step toward. It was high-time for me to stop jumping at every little noise.
The figure squatting near the cluster of headstones wasn't a monster, or even a large, hungry animal of real existence. It was a young woman in a cream-colored turtleneck and pants the color of ochre. The relief I felt was entirely palpable. It coursed through me like cool water.
"Excuse me, miss—"
It wasn't my intent to startle her, and, to be honest, I didn't. She was alone and had clearly expected to remain that way, because she actually jumped at the sound of my voice. When she turned to face me, I found myself seeing surprise and fright. She took a step back.
"Oh! I'm… I'm sorry! I was just…"
"No, it's okay," I said. "I didn't mean to scare you. I'm just a little lost, that's all."
"Lost?" The look she gave me almost brought me to laugh. The one-word question had an odd lilt to it, as if my being lost made less sense than her behaving as if I'd caught her doing something she shouldn't have been doing.
"Yeah. I'm trying to get to Silent Hill, but I can't tell if I'm going the right way. Am I?" I pointed in what I hoped was the general direction that would take me to the second part of the feeder path I'd seen on the map.
"Um, yeah," she said, and nodded. "It's hard to see with all the fog, but there's only this one road. You can't miss it."
"Thanks." I couldn't really think of anything else to say, and it was plain that this woman—this girl, really—would rather be without my presence.
"Wait—" she said, stopping me after a few steps.
"Yes?"
She didn't say anything for a moment. Her eyes went down to her feet, and she was set in concentration, as if trying to put together what she wanted to say. "This, uh, that is, the town—I think you shouldn't go there. Something's… wrong with it. I don't know how to explain, really, it's just that—"
"Wrong how? Is it dangerous?" I asked, and, quite involuntarily, the question brought with it the memory—the imagined memory—of animal noises on my flank, just out of sight.
"I don't know. Maybe. It's not just the fog, either. It's—"
"It's all right," I said, raising a hand to stop her. "I'll be careful."
"I'm not lying!"
"I don't think you are," I said. "It's just that, it doesn't matter. I'm going anyway, whether it's dangerous or not."
"But, why?" She regarded me as though I was suggesting something illogical and that I should try to explain how it wasn't. I had no idea if that was possible, and besides, I felt little desire to discuss the issue anyway.
"Because I'm looking for someone."
"Who—who is it?" Her voice wavered in the middle. Was it fright? It did strike me as such, in her body language as much as her words. She could not maintain eye contact, and she was as fidgety as a child enduring a scolding. I wondered if she was on the run from someone, and if my statement made it sound as though I was on the hunt.
"Someone very important to me. If I could be with her again… I'd give up the whole world for that."
She relaxed visibly, so perhaps my guess had some basis. "Me too, sort of," she said, sounding not quite so dull and colorless as before. "I'm looking for my mama. I mean, my mother. I haven't seen her in forever. There's also my brother and my father. I thought they were here, too, but I couldn't find any of them." A pause, and she looked at me, away from the gravestones. "I'm sorry. I-it's not your problem."
"No," I said. I guessed that she interpreted my faraway look as a lack of interest. To be honest, there was some truth to it. I really just wanted to get on my way. "I mean, I hope you're able to find them."
"You too," she said, and turned back to the cluster of headstones she'd been examining upon my arrival.
I made my way towards where I'd pointed before, moving almost blind through the worn and broken monoliths until I came upon the stone retaining wall. Using it as a guide, I first came upon a small pond. The surface rippled under the drive of wind, then going in a hundred directions as they encountered the thickets of reeds and water ferns which choked parts of the pool. Past that was a shack of some kind, imposing and vaguely sinister in spite of its stature. I guessed that it was a mausoleum, but whatever it was, it could not have any bearing on my goals. Then, I saw another rust-scaled iron gate, and I passed through it feeling some comfort. In spite of the girl's warning, the very presence of another person was promising, and I felt I could go forth unhindered by my mind's own trickery and this otherwise vacant and fuzzy landscape, which only encouraged its misbehavior.