5.

I had an idea while I showered this morning. I just hadn't gone far enough. I've seen many small towns that have entire blocks in seemingly abandoned states. People moved out for city renovation, bad structures that were poorly created, there's a variety of reasons for why an area might be temporarily without population. So, with thoughts of possible bustling populations just a little farther away, I ventured out into the world.

I first returned to Nathan Avenue and found a shotgun inside an old Oldsmobile. Luckily, there were some bullets in the seat next to it. I'm no marksman, but dad showed me how to use a weapon should I ever need it. I felt a little better.

I decided to see just what was behind the barricade on Carroll Street. I couldn't see very clearly due to the fog here. I crept to the ledge and looked down into the pit below. It didn't look like it had a bottom. There was only darkness below and heat. I heard something running, panting, I turned to see what approached. A lying figure was barreling towards me, apparently very excited.

I didn't have time to use the gun. I dropped to the ground just before the figure reached me. Luckily, it didn't stop in time. It tried, but fell across me and down into the pit. I heard its unearthly scream as it hit whatever was down there. Well, that's one way of dealing with them.

I continued onward from Nathan to Lindsey, down Katz and finally Neely Street. I walked the old bar, it was unlocked, but didn't find anyone. You know the damnedest thing? There was this massive cleaver lying on the counter. I didn't get it. It would've made a helluva weapon, but the strength needed just to wield it would make it impossible for me. I can't deftly sling fifty pounds of metal in any form.

I found several newspaper clippings tacked on the wall at the small bulletin board. One headline read, "Man Shoots 10 Ft. Bear," and the article discussed how Bernard Toole killed a bear that had been attacking house pets and livestock around Highway 73. A strange clipping sat on the counter. You know, it was covered in dust like it had been there for years. It read, "Mad Butcher Strikes Silent Hill."

The Silent Herald Paper discussed a possible serial killer. That's nice. That's just great. I don't know why I'm here. I can't get out. I can't find others. There are monsters everywhere. Now there's a serial killer on the loose. The article read:

"Authorities are frantic to find the culprit responsible for the deaths of several members of the Silent Hill Community. People disappear and only parts of them are found, miles from the scene, weeks later. The last victim, Silas Jenkins, wasn't reunited with his missing part until a week after his burial. The dismembered limb was found in Rosewater Park. Authorities note it is probably someone coming from the interstate. The crime scenes are noted for their cleanliness. No evidence is left, no traces of blood are found and much scrutiny is required to find the few factors that link the crime scenes. Police are not offering details on what links the crimes, they fear it would contaminate any possible pool of suspects. Further information will be available as soon as possible."

I left the bar, I still hoped to run into James and Maria. They're the only halfway normal people I've found. I'm afraid to hope to see them. It doesn't seem like we have much to hope for here. I rounded the corner, just going back the way I came, and a piece of paper sat atop the nearest abandoned cop car. The crumpled up piece of newspaper had been scrawled over in black marker. Someone wrote, "He's got a new home… Go home, Evan." Someone knows I'm here? They know my name? Was it the same person who sent me the postcard? Maybe it was James. Maybe he found my father and he's just too afraid to tell me what happened to him.

I traveled back to Nathan Avenue to return to the resort. I didn't think I could do anything more. I remember stopping at the Rosewater Park entrance. I don't know why. I just felt so tired. I stopped and sat on a bench for a minute. Someone said, "Hey? Who're you?"

She was alone, like me. She was pretty, but she's a lot like James and Maria. Something's wrong with her like something's wrong with them. I can't put my finger on it. Maybe it's just being in this town, nothing feels right. Food's fine, not expired, but it tastes… off. The fog is pretty, soft, but exceptionally so. Unlike anything I've ever felt. When it's autumn in Ashland, every morning is foggy. Textures, subtle and minute, are altered here. Cotton feels more like silk. Salt feels more like sand. Even my usual brand of soda is almost sickeningly sweet.

Angela told me she was on her way to see her father's grave at the cemetery, out by the lake. I walked with her, I would eventually pass the resort and I could use the company. She's been here a few years, she lived here growing up. She carries a kitchen knife with her. It would seem out-of-place anywhere else. I guess anything will do when lying figures, or whatever they are, are everywhere.

We hiked to the cemetery. I didn't realize how large the town really was. Maybe I should see if I could find a map. Sometimes I suspect the geography changes here. You know, I thought several times I was on completely different streets. I wonder if there's something disorienting in the air. Maybe there's a strange chemistry in that fog. I find it easier to believe the town's just screwed up and there isn't any logic to be found.

Angela was very moody. Maybe it's grief, but I'm grieving over my father, too. I'm not pushing it off onto anyone else. Angela's father died in an accident, she said. That's simple, basic and straightforward. I don't know who kidnapped my father. There's someone responsible for his disappearance. After all this time, they're probably responsible for his death, too.

You know, that cleaver at Neely's made me remember dad's. He had a very small metal fabrication area in the garage out back. He made all kinds of things, swords, metal helmet replicas, antique weapons from movies. He was good at that, too. My father was the Jack-of-all-Trades. Strangely enough, he apparently found something he couldn't master or explore. He didn't come back from wherever he went.

I wish Angela would've been normal. I left her yelling at her father's grave. Maybe in a few weeks I'll be like that. But, I won't even have a grave to yell at, I'll just be yelling at anything.

I came back to the hotel and found a folded newspaper from the Silent Herald on the desk. "Room 208" was written in scrawling pen on the top. It was dated five years ago. Someone knows more about me than I do about them. The headline read, "Search Intensifies in Disappearance of Ava Townsend."

Why were they leaving me information on my mother? She had nothing to do with this town. Did she? I never remember her mentioning the name Silent Hill, not even one time. I should've stopped there, but I didn't. I just had to read the damned thing. I will include the article text:

"Ava Townsend, 35, of Ashland, has been missing for three days now. Authorities are hopeful that as more information on her and her photograph circulates, more leads will be forthcoming. Ava was last seen at home by a neighbor. It is noted that she seemed to be in good spirits and multiple neighbors have remarked on her optimistic and relaxed nature. She was last seen in a pair of black pajama pants and a loose tee-shirt. Her husband, Hugh Townsend, reported leaving home to help a client across town. When he returned, she was gone. There were no signs of a struggle, but the front door was wide open…"

That's all I feel like including. Screw it. Dad never said he was home. He never once told me he was just across town. He always, always, ALWAYS told me he was working on a breaker, with that crew, in Brahams. When he came back, she was gone. What the hell? Why would he lie to me? I don't want to trust this. I don't want to think he would lie, not dad. Maybe it's the insanity surrounding me, but I can't help wondering what else he has lied about. I feel horrible for even thinking it.

Where the hell is he? Why isn't he here clearing this up with me? What am I supposed to do? Why am I here? If I don't find something… anything… in this screwed up place I'm going crazy.