4 – Into the Darkness

The smell of seasoned chicken wafted through the studio. Valtiel eagerly awaited his drumstick, perched on the countertop as it cooked in the oven. His tongue snaked out of his skull, wriggling about as he "tasted" the scent. Heather sat with a bowl of cereal at the table, but it was getting soggy as she skimmed her third newspaper. She went to the convenience store down the street early this morning and picked up every local paper available. She even got the national paper just in case, skimming through each one for any information about Eric's disappearance.

So far, nothing.

Heather jumped when the oven timer went off, nearly knocking her cereal bowl off the table. The blaring sound seemed to upset the Metatron as well. He frantically pawed at the burners, throwing his head about and growling until Heather pushed him back,

"Don't touch, it's hot!" she scolded. Slipping an oven mitt over her hand, she carefully pulled the tray out and set it on the burners. There was the single chicken leg, browned and speckled with seasoning. He'd probably be just as satisfied if it was bloody and unflavored, but she took pride in her artistry.

Heather even went the extra mile and put it on a plate with a fork and a napkin for shits and giggles, setting it before Valtiel on the counter.

"Alright, chow down." She said. She didn't expect him to, but he actually utilized the fork. He wrapped his mangled, fused fingers around the silver handle and held it in a clumsy fist before stabbing it into the drumstick like he delivered a killing blow. His awful little tongue coiled over the surface of the meat as he held it near his head. Heather never really watched him this closely before. She'd always tried not to look at him in the past, but the more she accepted him for what he was, the less disturbed she found herself.

He was grotesque.

…And she told herself that was okay.

It was only now that she noticed his tongue was covered in tiny barbs. They made her wince just looking at them. No wonder he could pick things up with it so easily; it reminded her of the needled surface of burr seeds that stuck to everything in the spring. Right now he was using it to shred meat off the bone. It sloughed off effortlessly and vanished into his snapping jaws.

"You really are disgusting." Heather mentioned. There was no bite behind the comment.

The leg bone was scraped clean and left on the plate. Heather rinsed her cereal bowl in the sink, and when she looked back at the counter, he was gone. No surprises there. She peeked through the blinds at the busy streets below, wondering when the police were going to kick down her door. Cheryl was content to stay inside, but Heather was too restless and free-spirited to be cooped up in one room for…However long it took for all this to blow over. She was regretting the loss of her TV more and more by the hour.

Sitting on the futon, she was uncomfortably aware of the portal to the Otherworld just behind her. The only thing separating her from it was a mattress. Nothing had ever passed through these portals except Valtiel, but the fear that one day something would kept her on her toes.


Today marked the third day since Eric went missing. Only now had a missing persons report make it to the local paper. Heather's blood ran cold as she read the description over and over:

"Eric Martin

Age 22

Male, Caucasian, short brown hair

5'7", 140 lbs

Missing since Friday, last seen at the Supernova nightclub wearing a red button-down shirt and black pants…"

Above the description was a small black and white photo of the man's familiar face.

Heather slowly lowered the paper and stared off into space for some time. Her gaze wandered to the futon, sitting innocuously against the wall. Hidden behind was the unseen portal where she was sure Valtiel had stashed Eric's corpse.

The paranoia was killing her.

Cheryl had feared the portals, but Heather was bold enough to push the futon aside and expose the claustrophobic tunnel behind. The Halo of the Sun was a symbol she associated with rebirth. She died many times in Silent Hill, but she was never dead for long. The Metatron had resurrected her, and always near one of these symbols. They were painted in red blood, which had to come from someone other than Valtiel. When she shot him with her pistol years ago, the blood that sprayed from him was as black as tar. Maybe this one had been painted with Eric's blood. Heather shuddered at the thought. She had to find out where this corpse went.

She retrieved her flashlight, concealed her knife in her boot, and tucked her pistol in her back pocket. After a moment of hesitation, Heather took a deep breath and crawled into the tunnel. It was lined in jagged black stone, just large enough to crawl through. The flashlight didn't help much. The darkness seemed unnatural, heavy, impenetrable. She glanced back at the light behind her. Beyond the entrance her apartment was still there. She pressed on down the tunnel, promising herself she'd turn back when she could no longer see the light.

After some distance, her palm met a different texture. She pointed the flashlight downward and squinted. The stone was blending into rusted metal. The tunnel from here on was red and all too familiar. Cheryl would have flipped out and turned back, Heather thought as she bravely moved forward.

Why had Valtiel brought Heather back in the first place?

The thought made her freeze for a moment. She wasn't pregnant with a demon, was she?

No…This had to be about a different matter. A matter that only Heather was strong enough to survive. She thought back to the day before her transformation. What had she done differently?

The offering. Heather remembered the blood pooling around the raw beef, the way Valtiel hungrily sucked down every last drop. Her eyes rounded when she realized…She had made a blood-offering to a deity of death and rebirth. And somehow, Valtiel knew exactly what she needed in return. Cheryl was getting too weak. She was about to commit suicide. The Metatron could not resurrect her in the confines of the real world, so he instead transformed her. Heather was already inside Cheryl. He only needed to coax her out.

Cheryl was grounded in reality. Accepting the supernatural and Otherworldly was a battle she was losing. Heather was better suited for this kind of thing—whatever trial Silent Hill was putting her though. Same body, same memories, completely different soul.

She broke her promise and wormed through the claustrophobic tunnel long after the light disappeared. She'd turned corners and climbed inclines of various depths. It was very possible her little theory about Valtiel's intentions were all wrong, and this was a terrible idea. But Heather had always trusted her gut.

How much time had passed since she entered the tunnel was unclear. It could have been 5 minutes or 5 hours. Heather's perception of time felt skewed when she finally reached the end. Somehow, she wasn't surprised at what she stepped into. It was her studio, or at least a mirrored and dilapidated version of it. It was completely dark. The walls were peeling, the rugs thread-bare. The carpet squished a bit under her feet and she shone the flashlight down. It was soaked in blood, the stain at its largest near the portal, with bloody footprints leading to the bathroom and then out the front door, which had been left wide open. Heather followed the prints to the bathroom first, cautiously drawing her pistol. The mirror was uncovered, the towel bloodstained and cast to the floor. Heather then followed the footprints back through the studio and out into the apartment complex hallway.

It was just as abandoned as her place, and in the same disrepair. The footprints got more and more faint as she trailed them out into the parking lot, where they completely disappeared. The sky was dim and red, no sun to be found. Black clouds drifted ominously overhead. It was still light enough to see, so Heather clicked off her flashlight and tucked it into her jacket pocket. What the hell was she doing in the Otherworld again? Cheryl spent the last four years enduring therapy, hospitals, medication, and misery just to keep this place away, and now Heather had dragged their shared body right back in for reasons she didn't quite understand.

She knew she wanted to find Eric and had a gut feeling she'd find him here—dead or alive. This was unquestionably a mirror of her world…Just through a broken fun-house mirror. So she decided to retrace her steps from the day of Eric's disappearance, heading towards Downtown. Cars sat abandoned and run-down on the streets. A heavy fog obscured her vision and the air around her was deathly silent. Not even the white noise of wind could be heard, only the quiet shuffling of her boots.

When she reached The Supernova, it was not exactly the jumping party spot its real-world counterpart had been. She turned all around in the middle of the street, examining the rows of old buildings. They were dark, crooked, the edges exaggerated and jagged. The red in the sky was so saturated, it was hard to look at; the clouds so black that they appeared like voids tearing through the world. The air felt somehow oppressive.

This was not the Otherworld that Heather knew. Fundamentally it was the same, but nothing about it felt personal to her. Its energy felt completely alien compared to the Otherworld she'd ventured through years ago. Then again, it had been a while…Maybe she just didn't remember it as well as she thought. Heather slowly pushed one of the double-doors open, peeking through as she swept over the interior with her flashlight. No monsters to be seen—or anyone for that matter—so she stepped inside.

The place looked like it had been abandoned a hundred years ago. The dance floor was barren and covered in soot, some of the colored spotlights lying broken where they had crashed down from the ceiling. Heather examined the bar where she retreated from Eric the first time. Curiously, there was just one drink sitting on the counter. The empty glasses were all cracked or fogged with grime, but this one looked like it has just been poured. Even the lemon wedge on the edge of the glass looked fresh. Heather lowered her nose to the pink liquid inside. Definitely smelled like alcohol, but there was another stench there too. Something foul, like a dead animal.

Heather wrinkled her nose and turned to the ladies' bathroom. That was the second place she went to hide from him. She pushed through the swinging door and stumbled upon a horrific mess. It looked like there had been a savage murder in the stall closest to the door—the one she had locked herself in before. Heather swallowed hard, her muscles tensing. The stall door was closed. An explosion of blood and miscellaneous gore had exploded from it, spilling through the gap in the bottom and splattering the mirrors, sinks, and the wall behind it. No bloody footprints though, so whatever was in there was most definitely dead. She could probably peek through the gaps in the sides and…

Forget it. She wasn't that curious.

Heather quickly left the bathroom and headed for the double-doors again. She stumbled as she passed the bar, backtracking a few steps. The drink was gone. She stared for a moment, scanning her eyes around the interior once more before cautiously making an exit.

Heather stopped before the alleyway she'd been pulled into just days ago. A sick feeling twisted in her gut. It was much darker here, inky blackness like a solid entity that defied the light around it. Her flashlight only illuminated about a foot ahead. She recalled Eric's foul breath in her face, the flash of his bleach-white teeth, the drunken fury in his eyes and her skin prickled at the thought of what could have been. The thought plagued her at night as she tried to sleep. She'd choose death over rape. Carrying an evil cult God in her body had been enough of a violation. The thought of reliving anything like that again…

Hugging her arms over her torso, Heather stepped back from the alley. She'd lost her nerve. Monsters were one thing, but humans were something far more sinister that she couldn't deal with. On second thought, maybe it was best if she forgot all about Eric. Let this all blow over and play dumb. She turned away from the alley and jumped in surprise, startled by the Metatron who was suddenly standing before her.

Letting out a long sigh, Heather pressed her hand to her heart and closed her eyes,

"You have got to stop sneaking up on me."

The monster's head and fingers twitched slightly. He moved forward, passed Heather, and stood just outside the alley's darkness. He was a bit unsteady on his feet, obviously more suited for crawling than walking. His hands were stretched outward, sweeping slowly as if feeling things unseen. Feeling his way through vibrations to navigate, she assumed.

"Is…Is Eric in there?" The young woman asked warily.

Valtiel's tongue crept out and stretched towards the darkness, sensing for a moment before it retracted. The angel then jumped on the wall and stuck there—like a squirrel, Heather mused. Crawling into the alley, the blackness enveloped him completely.

"Valtiel!" Heather stepped forward, stopping just short of the dark.

Wherever Valtiel was, lesser monsters were not. Heather figured as long as she trailed him, she'd be safe. At least that was how it worked last time she was in the Otherworld…This version had its differences, but it was all his native domain, right? Though it was nearly useless in this supernatural darkness, Heather kept her flashlight on and walked right into it.

"Valtiel?" she called again, shining her light all around, "Please stay close to me…"

She couldn't believe those words just came out of her mouth. A week ago, she was screaming at him to go away and never come back.

The Metatron's scraping and scuffling could be heard somewhere ahead. The echoing made it hard to decipher exactly how far. Heather ventured further and further after him, knowing for a fact that the alley was not this deep in the real world. Valtiel's scuffling was getting fainter. Heather picked up her pace and called,

"Valtiel, wait!"

The air felt unusually cold. Cold, dead, stale, air; like winter in an old attic. It only got colder as she moved forward, and it was occurring to Heather that this alley just may be endless.

"Typical..." She thought.

A scream echoed down the alley, distinctly human and masculine. Heather froze in fear, listening as the voice hollered,

"No! No! Get the fuck away from me!" Its tone was a blend of terror and anger, and it was getting closer. Rapidly. Heather could hear loud, sloppy footfalls advancing towards her along with,

"No, no, no! Let go of me!"

Guttural, inhuman screeching joined the cacophony. Valtiel. Was he attacking someone?

Heather's instinct overrode her curiosity. She turned on her heel and bolted, crying out when she hit a brick wall. Her flashlight clattered to the ground and blinked off. Scrambling to pick it up, she smacked it against her palm. Nothing. It was broken.

"Shit!" she squealed, whirling this way and that, squinting and trying desperately to make sense of the void around her as somewhere nearby, a man was wailing in horror.

She extended her arms and waved them around until she met a wall. The alley hadn't been exactly straight, it was crooked enough to disorient her. She felt along the wall as quickly as possible, stumbling her way in what she hoped was the right direction. Blind and navigating a world she didn't belong in…This must be how Valtiel felt in her word, she thought. She was sure she was on her way out as the air got warmer. The man's constant shuffling and hollering behind her was making her heart race.

Finally, she stepped out of the shadows and found herself under red skies. Heather turned back to the alley, pistol drawn and waiting as rapid footsteps and labored breathing got closer. A terribly familiar man appeared, racing out of the darkness. He screamed and stumbled at the sight of Heather and fell on his hip. It was definitely Eric, his clothing covered in bloodstains and missing his silver chain. Despite the blood he didn't appear to be injured. They locked eyes, mouths agape yet silent for about five seconds before someone else shot out of the alley and pounced on top of the man.

"No! God, no! Please, help me!" Eric wailed helplessly as Valtiel pinned him to the sidewalk. The Metatron's head rolled about his shoulders violently, low gurgles and sharp growls bursting from his misplaced throat. For a while, all Heather could do was stare. Her pistol was floating somewhere between raised and lowered. Eric was flipping out, but really, he wasn't being hurt. Valtiel was simply holding him in place before Heather, as if waiting for something. Probably an action on her part, she figured, and finally spoke,

"Let him go."

She was a bit surprised when the Metatron obeyed her, scuttling off of Eric and crouching a few feet away. The disheveled man sat up, panting and eyes darting wildly between her and the monster. He got to his feet and wobbled, running his fingers through his hair in exasperation.

"I-It's…You." He mentioned, looking at Heather with guilt in his eyes, "Uh…Helen?"

"It's Heather," she corrected flatly. She gestured the barrel of the pistol at him briefly, "and I should shoot you, Eric Martin."

The man's hands shot forward, "No! Don't shoot! Please, just…Just chill, okay? I-I don't know w-where I am or what's even going on, I…I…" his head snapped towards Valtiel, hunched silently near the alley, "W-what is that fucking thing? Do you know?"

Heather just sighed and switched the safety on her gun before tucking it away. She replied,

"He's an angel. Kind of. I'm not one hundred percent—but I'm pretty sure you're dead."

The man's eyes rounded, mouth parting slightly in disbelief. He then looked all around at his hellish surroundings, drinking in just how unnatural it all was.

"This…No. No! Is this Hell? This is Hell, isn't it?" His voice was frantic, eyes pleading. Heather shrugged, smirking a bit at his misery,

"Something like that."

"Just tell me what the fuck is going on! Please!" his eyes were misting over, voice hitching.

"I wish I knew, Eric," Heather replied honestly, "Tell me…What's the last thing you remember before you found yourself here?"

"Okay…Okay…" Eric took a deep breath, trying to recall, "I was…I'm pretty sure I was at the club. And…Yeah. Yeah, I was talking to you! And then…" A look of horror crossed his face as he locked eyes with Heather. She looked knowingly back at him.

"And then you tried to pull me into an alley and fuck me." Heather finished for him, then shot a glance at the Metatron, "Good thing Valtiel was there, huh?"

Eric looked back at the monster,

"Valtiel?" then back at Heather, "It…It grabbed me! I remember! That fucking thing ki—" he paused, continuing weakly, "It killed me, didn't it? I…I'm dead. I'm really dead. And this is…This is Hell!" He brought his hands to the sides of his head and paced forward, muttering, "Oh fuck…Oh fuck me…No…!"

The woman watched him, silently indulging in the whole display. A minuscule part of her pitied him.

"Don't worry. This place is full of monsters. You'll fit right in." she almost grinned.

Eric's head snapped towards her, staring her down with a horrified expression. Then he exclaimed,

"What are you doing here then, huh?"

She shrugged,

"I just came here to find your body. I guess I found it."

A glimmer of hope flashed in the young man's eyes as he asked,

"Is there a way out? Can I…You know…Is there any way to be alive again?"

Heather fell silent. She thought about that in earnest for a moment.

"Maybe," she replied, a hint of uncertainty in her voice. She turned and headed back uptown to her Otherworld-studio, "Follow me. I want to try something."

Eric trailed her without question, throwing a look behind him. Valtiel had disappeared.


"This is just like Downtown," he mentioned, then pointed to the club, "That's the Supernova! Except it's all…Fucked up. I woke up in some apartment and it was like…I thought I blacked out drunk during the apocalypse or city evacuation or something. I came down here and it…It was like this. The whole city."

"It's like a mirror-world," explained Heather, "I don't know much about it myself."

There was a silence between them. Then Eric stammered,

"This demon thing chased me into that alley. A big motherfucker with a helmet. I-I think he's gone now…" He paused, then asked, "Are you a demon too or something?"

Heather didn't answer right away. In some technical aspects, she supposed she could be considered a demon with Alessa's vile soul knocking around deep inside her. But it was Heather's soul that possessed the body right now.

"No," she finally answered, "But I aborted a demon-God fetus one time and my dad dabbled in cult stuff. I kind of have ties with all this supernatural stuff."

"What?" Eric blinked.

"You know, I really don't owe you an explanation," she decided, "Especially after what you did to me."

"I'm sorry!" He whined, "I didn't mean to hurt you!"

"Now you're gonna lie right to my face?" Heather looked back at him, wearing a look of utter contempt.

The man almost spoke, then held his tongue and stayed silent all the way to the studio.


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[Author: Thank you for the nice reviews, it is very much appreciated. :) I'm surprised anyone is reading this at all. And yes, this story will contain some characters from previous Silent Hill titles, but none from SH4 and after just because I'm not very familiar with them.]