7.

I woke this morning and thought I heard the sound of rain. For a second, I thought I was at home. For an instant, I thought everything was normal. This place is driving me crazy. Sometimes it seems like this is my home and I will never go anywhere else. This is where I will be for years to come, without others, without anything else.

I went to the Reading Room again after breakfast. It was more out of boredom than any hope of resolution. I don't think there is resolution at this point. There aren't any answers to have. The more I try to find answers, the harder they flee from my grasp. It's pointless, isn't it?

I found a book of newspaper clippings and decided to flip through them. Why not? There was nothing else to do. I hadn't noticed the book before, but what can you expect here? I think the book was tailor made for me. I'll copy some of the articles here. I'm not taking any books or documents from here, aside from this notepad, when I leave:

Silent Herald

July 6

"The Mad Butcher claimed another victim. We aren't sure of the body's identity as the remains are in the advanced stages of decomposition. Authorities will begin the process for a dental match within the week. It is believed the corpse is female, but has no identification at all. The only garment anywhere near the body was a tee-shirt, and that was riddled with holes and tears from animals. The body is missing several parts, which would fit the MO of the serial killer we've been covering…"

I think they found my mother. Dad never told me about it. As far as I know, no one knew about it. If only the year had been clipped with the article. Most of the clippings in the book are missing years.

Silent Herald

August 9

"Authorities believe they have a suspect in the murderous spree that has brought pain and terror on the communities of Silent Hill and Brahams. Hugh Townsend was brought in for questioning for the deaths of 10 people. The judge has issued a stringent gag order and has forbid media coverage outside of general information…"

When was this? Where was I? I couldn't believe my eyes when I read it. My father? How can you grasp something of that magnitude? My father wouldn't kill. He… but, I didn't know him. I didn't know who he was, did I? How can a kid be so oblivious?

I looked up from the article and around the room for a moment. What was I really doing there? Who sent me that postcard? Why was I learning so much from old newspaper clippings, from newspapers I'd never heard of, in a town I knew nothing about?

It was too much for coincidence. Someone wanted me there. Someone wanted me to see something. But, who? That was what puzzled me the most. Who? I had no family aside from my parents.

While I questioned everything, Angela entered the Reading Room. I wasn't in the mood to hear her verbal eruptions. I wasn't happy to see her. "There's something you should know…" She sat down across from me without an invitation. I wanted to tell her to leave, but I couldn't. I was compelled to hear her out.

"What?"

"I sent you that postcard."

"What? Why?"

"You needed to know about your father, Evan. You needed to see for yourself."

"Was that your business?"

"I made it my business."

"Why?"

"Because he was like my father… worse in his own way. At least my father kept his brutality at home. I know you loved him. I'm sorry you have to learn all this, but you need to see it now. You can move on now that you know the truth."

"What truth?" I was hurt, but I was angry, too. I was not Angela, nothing like her. How dare she send me around this place on nothing more than obscurity? "How could you invite me here? Why didn't you call me or visit me? Why here? It's dangerous here."

"I can't leave, Evan. Ever. I'm not sure I want to. I was born here, grew up here and, for some reason, I just can't leave now."

"What truth was I supposed to learn?" I stood. "This is ridiculous. I had a life back home, a job, I hoped to go to college. I can't stay here forever and chase anything."

"You will. There's one last place you need to look."

"What are you talking about?"

"For your answers. So you can know the truth. There's one last place."

"Where's that?"

"Room 313."

"What? Did you carve that into the post outside?"

"No. The town did. I'm just helping you along. You haven't been there, yet."

"The town did…" I couldn't respond to one statement before the other completely overwhelmed my thoughts. Of course. It wasn't a date at all. It was room 313.

I didn't say anything else to her, but I left. I went to the steps that led to the third floor. I was surprised not to see any figures anywhere. All seemed to be quiet. I remember standing outside that door. My heart was pounding so hard I could watch it under my shirt. I didn't want to go in. I was scared of what I would find.

I opened the door to a silent, dark room. I walked in and tried to feel for the light switch. I remember the door closed and locked behind me. I struggled with it, I tried to get it back open, but it held fast. I finally found a switch and turned the lights on.

I was sickened when light came. The walls were covered in Polaroid photographs. There were scenes of the most gruesome tortures imaginable. There were sprays of gore in haphazard patterns across the carpet. I saw my father's hand in the pictures when I neared. I looked all of those photographs over. He took pictures while he murdered them. I know his hand. I knew his wedding ring.

I broke down. I was so glad Angela wasn't there, I cried like a baby. What did that make me? If that was my father, and I was his son, what would become of me? Would I turn into him?

I went to the closet. I knew I should open the door, it was a compulsion. I did. A pair of my father's workpants hung in the closet. They were bloody. His assault rifle leaned against the wall of the wardrobe. A few strands of what appeared to be fresh entrails hung across the rod beside the clothes hangers.

Puddles of gore had formed in the bottom, the base of the rifle had been submerged. I looked at the magazine, it was full. I had two sizable weapons. I remember I was happy to be so armed, anyway.

I heard the bathroom door come open. I turned. My heart about stopped when I saw him. It was that thing from the kitchen, only it had my father's face. My father's face. I know my jaw dropped. A portion of his face was covered in metal, but the other side was exposed. I know my father's face and that was it.

"Dad?" I asked, my voice was so quiet. I assumed he didn't hear me, vainly hoped he hadn't noticed me.

He approached with a cleaver almost as large as me. He was a monster. His body was taller and wider, his skin was mottled and dead. "Evan." It spoke. It actually spoke as it approached me. It sounded like he had a mouth full of glass and gore when he spoke.

I backed up to the wall, he came closer. I backed up to the door and it still wouldn't open. He raised the cleaver, "Dad," I screamed, but he didn't listen. I begged for him to stop, but he wouldn't.

It was then I realized my father, the father who raised me, was gone. He was just as dead as my mother. I remember I raised my rifle and pulled the trigger. The automatic firing continued as I shot my own father. What kind of monster am I? I am my father's son.

He swung the cleaver and it got lodged in the wall, but I kept shooting. It was instinctive. He fell before he could dislodge it. Strangely enough, the door unlocked when he fell. I fled. I didn't stay to make sure he was dead, he was dead before I ever shot him.

I ran down the steps into the Reading Room, but Angela was gone. I don't even know what I was going to say to her. Everything was quiet. No monsters, no lying figures, nothing.

It was then that I decided I was leaving. Regardless. I found a backpack and filled it with food and what camping equipment I could locate. I am walking out of here if I have to go 50 miles, or more, on foot.

This is my last entry. As I write, I am dressed and ready to leave. Wish me luck. I don't know if I'll make it. Angela was right, I did find my answers. Now, I just need to survive the repercussions of finding those answers. Maybe I owe her. Maybe I'll see her again if I don't make it, I can thank her. Goodbye.