2 – Hell's Nightclub
Next week's therapy had been cancelled as Cheryl was switched to a new therapist. Dr. Paulson decided that she somehow managed to vandalize his office…Right in front of his eyes without him noticing. None of it made sense, but neither did anything else in Cheryl's life. She was just grateful he hadn't called the police on her. The poor guy was probably seeking therapy himself after such a mindfuck.
Three days after the incident, Cheryl intentionally missed her appointment with her MD. She stayed home with her monster instead. One useful piece of advice she took from her time with Dr. Paulson was to stop fighting her anxieties. He told her to accept them and let them be there, and they would be easier to deal with. Pushing them away only made them worse. Valtiel was a being completely composed from the psyche of a suffering girl—he was, in a way, anxiety personified. Cheryl found that the advice was effective with him. The less she pushed him away, the easier he was to deal with.
The Metatron emerged from the Halo behind her flowery tapestry some time last night. She woke up to him perched on the back of the futon, "looking" down at her. She wanted to scream. Her desperation was unbearable and she was near her breaking point. Either she learned to cope with this creature or she'd put a bullet in her head. Today, she was going to try something different. She was going to swallow her fear and treat him like he belonged there.
Sitting at her little table for one, Cheryl blew the steam off her chamomile tea before sipping. The silence was strange. She glanced over at the cabinet where her TV used to be and wondered if she really missed it. Maybe it had just been a crutch all along. The Metatron was crouched on top of the refrigerator nearby, silent and still as a statue. It reminded Cheryl that she had some ground beef that she'd left thawing in the fridge for way too long, and had been neglecting to throw it out for a week.
Curiosity got the best of her. The monster had made many offerings to her in the past; some possibly of peace and some that seemed like a threat. What if she made an offering back to it? The young woman asked the monster as she opened the fridge,
"Do you eat meat?"
Valtiel simply twitched. He could not speak, at least not verbally. It seemed the only noises he could make were animalistic growls and screeches. He was eerily silent most of the time.
"Do you even eat at all?" Cheryl truly wondered as she pulled the plastic off the tray of expired beef and presented it to the creature, placing it before him on top of the fridge. Blood pooled at the bottom of the blue tray. The Metatron seemed interested. Cheryl cringed in disgust as he sunk his hand into the meat and squeezed it between his fingers, like a baby grabbing their birthday cake. After pulverizing it a bit, Valtiel raised a fistful of ground meat to the side of his lowered head—the side with the awful mouth. His wiry black tongue slithered out, prehensile enough to bring small chunks of beef into his misplaced maw. It was lined with tiny, sharp teeth that snapped only once or twice before the matter was swallowed. Where the food went after that was a mystery Cheryl didn't care to discover.
He devoured all of it, licking the blood from his glove before skittering across the ceiling and settling in the corner. Cheryl tossed the package in the trash. She was curious about what else he might eat, but wasn't going to push it now. She watched him for a moment, just to make sure he wasn't going to raise Hell—literally or otherwise. Cheryl was content, her monster was content. Taking a deep breath, the woman pulled a leatherbound journal out of her nightstand drawer. It was one of many. She recorded various subjects, such as what she ate that day, what she dreamed about, and how the supernatural elements in her life were affecting her. Photos and articles were stashed between pages, sketches of symbols next to notes and any information she could find about the Order. It was an obscure subject and there wasn't much information to be had. Half of what she did find were just ramblings from cult members who had long since gone mad.
Curling up on her futon, Cheryl quickly scribbled a note to herself:
"The Metatron eats. Accepts raw beef."
She tapped the pen against her journal for a moment, then added,
"I was transferred to a different therapist again. The Metatron scared Dr. Paulson away from me. Dr. Paulson fed me a lot of the typical stuff, but he did give me one valuable piece of advice that other shrinks never did. He didn't tell me to fight my fear, he told me to accept it instead."
Cheryl glanced at Valtiel, clinging quietly to the ceiling. He was still there and unpleasant as ever, but he wasn't destroying anything…Much like her anxiety at the moment. She wrote,
"I think it works on the monster too."
Cheryl awoke to darkness, only the dim glow from a streetlight passing through her blinds. Bold, inky shadows cloaked most of the studio. She didn't mean to nap for so long…Usually she didn't feel relaxed enough to nap at all. She carefully made her way across the room, hands extended, feeling along the wall for the light switch. She felt the tapestry and the dead, stale air flowing from the Halo portal beneath. More smooth paint, the round knob of the thermostat, then her hands met something soft and fleshy, but cold like the skin of a corpse.
She jerked back with a loud gasp, folding her hands in front of her chin. A familiar sound rumbled out of the darkness, like the purring of a large predator. Anyone else would have voided their bowels, but Cheryl breathed a sigh of relief realizing it was only a faceless, stalking, monster. Her first instinct was to yell and swat at him, begging him to go away. Then she remembered her new technique was still in testing.
"You almost made me piss myself…" She grumbled as she flipped the switch, clenching her teeth and fighting the urge to scream. The light blinked a few times, then steadied. Valtiel clung to the wall before her, his head and body twitching more rapidly as light flooded the room. Though he had no eyes, he seemed somehow irritated by it. She watched as he slinked his way behind the futon.
Cheryl cautiously trailed the creature and kneeled beside the futon. It was pulled about a foot away from the wall, just in case it snowed in Hell and she ever felt like folding it down. Valtiel was nowhere to be seen, and she understood why when she spotted the small Halo of the Sun smeared on the white wall. She should have been able to see her neighbor's living room through the tunnel, but there was only a mile of darkness. Once again, this Otherworldly entity flipped the finger to spatial continuity. Cheryl was more irritated by the fact that she'd have to paint over this mess and pray that Valtiel didn't insist on keeping this one open. How many damn portals did he need in a one-room apartment? How long had this particular one been here? As many times as she'd painted over the Halo behind the tapestry, he kept replacing it like a defiant teenager having a graffiti war with the cops. She just shook her head in defeat and pushed the futon against the wall, blocking the tunnel completely. She'd never see that damage deposit again anyway.
Valtiel had truly thrashed this place over the last three years. Heather cleaned up what she could, but it was a constant battle. Sometimes he came out of the Otherworld tunnels covered in soot, mysterious grime and even blood, still fresh and glistening. Whose blood? Cheryl couldn't imagine and wasn't comfortable thinking about it. He touched everything, looking with his hands rather than his eyes, and left streaks of filth in his wake. Cheap rugs shielded the carpet and the futon was wrapped in sheets that could be washed in bleach with the rest of her laundry. She'd become clever with her decorating, like a mother with a messy child.
It was nearly midnight, but Cheryl was terribly restless. A sudden vigor overcame her; she hadn't felt this way in years. For the first time since she was released from the hospital, she didn't want to be cooped up indoors. Was she possessed? The night was calling to her, urging her to leave her house. The air was cool and crisp, so fresh compared to the stale, moldy air in the apartment complex. She threw on a baggy army-green jacket and jeans, then headed out the door with nowhere in mind. A switchblade was concealed in one inner pocket of her jacket, a stun gun in the other. She never left home without them. She just needed to get out, join the real world for a while and see what normal people were doing these days.
The city streets crawled with shady characters, but she couldn't be more apathetic about them. She heard a beat pulsing from down the way and saw the multicolored glow of a nightclub flashing from Downtown. Cheryl realized it was Friday night, and she hadn't been to a club since she was a teenager with a fake ID. She was 21 now! No more hassle! A sudden vigor had overtaken her lately and she had nowhere else to be…Why not?
A crowd of drunken young people milled about outside the double-doors. Cheryl watched in amusement as the bouncer literally tossed a man out into the street. The surrounding people laughed. Cheryl wasn't exactly dressed for it, but she flashed her ID and was let in anyway. The women around her sparkled in their shiny minidresses and jewelry as they gyrated on the dance floor. Cheryl felt more content to be a wallflower for now, simply soaking in the positive energy. The people here were so…Alive. Parti-colored lights illuminated a hundred fresh, smiling faces. Cheryl spent her last 6 dollars on a drink and finally got the courage to join them.
The bass thumped, electronic music booming and buzzing all around Cheryl as she swayed about on the dance floor. She couldn't help but smile too. This must be how normal people felt all the time. Normal people who never carried a cult's God in their womb, people who didn't look in the mirror and see a demonic reincarnation, people who weren't haunted by monsters manifested from their psyche. For the first time since before her father died, Cheryl felt like a living human being.
Though she was far from the most attractive or well-dressed girl in the club, a young man danced up behind her. She was startled as he seized her hands and grinded his pelvis against her hip, all laughter and flashing teeth until his arm was twisted and pinned behind his back. He let out a yelp as Cheryl held him there for a few seconds, her eyes wide and darting as she assessed the situation. The reaction was purely instinctual…She'd been suffering hyperawareness since leaving Silent Hill.
The dancers around them giggled, ooh'd and aahd.
"Chill, Girl, chill!" the man begged, wincing at his twisted arm. Cheryl pushed him away and told him,
"Then keep your crotch off me!"
He rubbed his aching arm and looked around, feigning a big smile to assure everyone that his pride was still in-tact. Cheryl walked away, weaving through people until she was back near the bar. She breathed from her belly, staring off into nothing. She was just startled, she told herself. She just needed a minute. One minute to calm down, and she could enjoy herself again.
It wasn't thirty seconds before the young man turned up beside her. He ran his fingers through his spiked brown hair and said to her,
"Hey, no hard feelings, right?"
"Just…" Cheryl sighed, closing her eyes as she concentrated on her breathing, "Go away."
"What if I bought you a drink?" he urged. Before she could answer, he had already whistled for the bartender and ordered two drinks. Cheryl rolled her eyes. Now she remembered why she didn't interact with people anymore. Nobody listened to her.
"I'm Eric," the man smiled and extended a hand, "You?"
Cheryl shoved her hands in her pockets and answered flatly,
"Heather."
Her eyebrows jumped. The name just blurted from her mouth, a name she hadn't used in years.
"Heather!" he repeated, "Hey, like that book, right?"
"Ugh…" The young woman doubted he ever read a book in his life. She just needed to get away from him so she could collect herself.
"I need to go." She said, then quickly disappeared into the crowd.
"Hold on! You got a drink up here!" he shouted after her, holding the fruity drink in the air. She ignored him and pushed through the ladies' room door.
There were a couple other women in here. One was fixing her makeup in the mirror. Cheryl locked herself in a stall and heard the other woman in the stall beside her, sparking a lighter. She jumped as something metal clattered on the tiles, glancing over to see a spoon lying by her feet.
"Shit! Sorry!" the other woman barked. Cheryl watched a manicured hand reach under the gap, grab the spoon, and pull it back into the other stall.
"Christ…" Cheryl whispered to herself as she rubbed her temples. She had some bad experiences with drugs over the last few years and she never wanted to relive them again.
The music pulsed through the wall, muffled, like a whole different world next door. Anxiety bubbled in Cheryl's belly, heart racing, head dizzy…She wasn't ready for any of this. It was all too much. What was she thinking? Randomly leaving her apartment in the middle of the night—alone—to dance with a crowd of people she didn't know? She wasn't even a good dancer. She was making an ass of herself. How was it that she was so brave in the face of unholy monsters, while simple human interaction sent her into panic mode? She didn't used to be this way…Well, Heather didn't used to be this way. But she wasn't Heather anymore. She was Cheryl, wasn't she? She'd always been self-conscious, but not like this. Everything she learned in Silent Hill…Knowing who and what she was, she just felt like an alien. How much of this was Cheryl, how much was Heather, and how much was Alessa?
Cheryl stormed out of the stall and made a beeline for the swinging door. She shoved it open, then stopped in her tracks.
She had stepped into Hell's nightclub.
The techno music had deteriorated into a screeching, broken version of itself. The sound was not from any speaker, but somehow the same volume from everywhere, as if it were a natural ambience. The once lively and beautiful dancers twitched and shambled much like Valtiel did, all their pretty faces now mottled, warping, nightmares. The lights dimmed and flickered, creating brief moments where everything was pitch-black.
"Oh God, oh god, no…!" Cheryl squealed and brought her hands to her head. Fingers tangled in her short black hair as she dodged and weaved her way through undulating monsters. Her eyes darted around, searching and searching until she found him: Valtiel, hanging upside-down on the ceiling and doing something she hadn't seen him do since her time in Silent Hill. He was turning a bright red valve that almost seemed to glow in the darkness of the rafters. She muttered in a panic,
"Why…Why this…? Why now…?"
Between the sea of creatures and the place going black every few seconds, Cheryl lost her direction and couldn't find the exit. She was spiraling deeper and deeper into panic, hyperventilating in the middle of a hundred faceless abominations. Suddenly they all turned her way, twitching hands reaching out to her. They grasped at her hair, at her jacket and arms, and she screeched. Wriggling out of their grips, Cheryl whipped out her stun gun and let loose aimlessly. It hit one of the monsters—
"People! Shit, they're just people!" she reminded herself, cringing as the void-faced woman hit the floor and convulsed. The surrounding monster-humans suddenly distanced themselves from Cheryl and she made a break for it, spotting the exit and bursting through the heavy double-doors.
It was like night and day.
Out here, everything couldn't be more normal. Cars drove by on the street, lively human beings laughed together with their wholly human faces, moving about fluidly, naturally…Cheryl pressed a hand to her chest and struggled to catch her breath, stumbling down the sidewalk. Cold as the air was, her face felt like it was on fire. Sweat beaded her brow and she began to shrug off her jacket.
She'd go home. Make some tea. Sleep it all off-
She had the jacket half-way down her arms when she was grabbed, forcefully pulled around the side of the building. Everything back here was cloaked in bold shadows, and it took a moment for Cheryl's eyes to adjust. She squinted, recognizing Eric and his stupid spiked hair as he held her arms in a deathgrip and pushed her against the brick wall. Her arms were pinned by her jacket sleeves, and the blow knocked the wind out of her, forcing her into silence as the man snarled,
"You think it's funny to ice me out in front of everyone like that? Huh, Bitch?" he shoved her into the wall again, harder this time. A gaudy silver chain dangled from his neck, glimmering as he quivered in anger.
Cheryl wheezed and squirmed, trying to get a hold of the knife in her pocket. She'd dropped her stun gun somewhere on the dance floor. Her head was reeling with panic and nightmares and—
"You're lucky I gave your ugly ass a chance in the first place!" Eric growled inches from her face. The smell of alcohol assaulted her senses and she could only groan, still searching for words and how to make sense of them.
"I'm a nice fuckin' guy…!" He told her. She could have laughed, if she weren't distracted by the sight behind him. A dot of dark red blood, glistening in the dim light, appeared on the bricks. It rapidly grew and split as it dribbled down, forming a large circle. Eric was oblivious, pushing Cheryl deeper into the wall and slurring,
"I came here for a good time…!"
Smaller trails bled from the main circle and stained smaller designs into the bricks—sigils, symbols—forming a complete Halo of the Sun. The center appeared to "burn" away, the brick flaking into thin air and revealing a dark tunnel beyond.
"…and I'm gonna have a good fuckin' time!" Eric exclaimed with finality. Just seconds after he did, the Metatron crawled up from the tunnel. Cheryl's eyes widened. One instant and an inhuman roar later, Eric had been seized, pulled deep into the darkness like a fly into the maw of a hungry frog.
One second, the man was gusting foul breath in Cheryl's face. The next, there wasn't a trace of him. He was simply…Gone. No screaming or movement from the Halo. Nothing. She stood stunned for a moment, hands trembling.
A bad memory assaulted her, of Claudia as she was dragged down by the angel and…Disintegrated? Torn apart? Either way, she'd been killed.
Cheryl was sure she'd just witnessed a murder that-like her father's murder-she could not explain to anyone.
