Chapter 6

"Laura?" The little girl wasn't in the room. The picture book she'd looked at laid sideways on the ground. Someone must've taken her. How could she? She shouldn't have left her. You don't leave kids alone in stores. She ran to the entrance and grabbed the latch, but the door wouldn't move. How the hell did it get locked? If she couldn't open it, a child couldn't. It made no sense because no one else was there to take her and there was no way out. "Laura, where are you?"

She looked around the displays and even in the nook beneath the cash register. There was a closed door off the shop area, but it wouldn't open either. What if she was in danger? What if she was in trouble? She paced each room for a moment, trying to grasp what was going on. Where did she go? She couldn't just abandon her. She couldn't just leave her to fend for herself. She was a just baby.

She tried the telephone next to the cash register, but the line was remained silent. She yanked her cell phone out of her backpack. Maybe the cops would know what to do. She stomped her foot when the phone didn't even show half a bar. There was reception here, she'd just looked at it earlier. It was insane. She quickly returned to the front door and tried to force it open. If she had a crowbar, she would open it one way or the other. She pulled on the latch with all her strength until her body nearly laid out straight, but she let go.

A noise prompted her to release her grasp. She fell to the thinly carpeted surface with a thump. There was something outside. She didn't like it. She waited for it to sound again. She held her breath, her pulse raced in her ears.

She heard a familiar groan of metal. It came just a bit louder every time it sounded. That meant it was approaching. She slowly stepped back from the entrance. She heard a familiar chatter accompany that sound of groaning metal. God, not again. It couldn't be that thing. It just couldn't be. That was a dream, damn it. It was just a dream. But, the sound came again… and again.

And Laura was now out there to fend for herself.

She couldn't think any longer. She couldn't do anything. She clutched her pack to silence the jingling of her keychain and the clinking of her equipment. That thing might hear it. She sprinted to the hole in the wall and down the steps. She jumped them by two and three on several occasions. She had to get away. That thing moved faster than she could. She may not get a head start if it sees her.

She came to a closed door, breathed a prayer of relief that it wasn't locked. She paused just a moment, but the sound of groaning metal was silent. Or she'd actually outrun him. It was clearly a masculine body, so it must be a "he." She stepped through the new door and stopped a moment. It was another room, a gallery like those above.

The room had paintings of strange torture devices and even stranger ritualistic imagery. The grouping of paintings in the corner caught her eye. She approached the collection with bated breath. The thing that chased her above, was highlighted in the paintings down here. The only text anywhere in the collection was a faded bronze plaque that read, "The Guilty Executioner."

Oh, yes, it was indeed an executioner, but how did it exist? Why did it carry that thing on its head? What was the sword for? And who decided who was executed?

Another grouping on the opposite wall depicted a variety of cruel devices. One painting was labeled, "The Witch's Cage." A man had an iron cage upon his shoulders, with the tallest bar several inches above the top of his head. His tongue was hooked and being pulled out from his mouth.

She shuddered. That was not what she wanted to see at that moment.

Maybe she could rest a moment inside that next door. Maybe. But, there wouldn't likely be any rest until she found the child, at least. Where did Laura go? She couldn't get her out of her mind. She was alone and defenseless, maybe running from the Executioner. How could a child contend with that?

She inched her way to the dilapidated door in the corner. She wasn't certain she wanted to enter there, either. Several paintings depicted a number of executioners, which meant there was more than one. What if another lay on the other side of the door? She couldn't go back the way she'd come though, couldn't go through a locked door.

She sighed and continued through the next threshold. It was so quiet down here. Maybe it had been this quiet all along, but Laura had been there to talk. She wanted to go home. She wasn't ready for this. She didn't want anymore adventure. She looked forward to nice boring days filled with nice safe, boring topics. She shouldn't have come to Silent Hill. What did she think she'd find? Did she honestly think there would just be some dangerous curve in the road or some simple danger? There was nothing simple about it. She had the flashlight with her, but didn't need it.

She snapped out of her thoughts when her shoes hit metal grating. She walked atop one of those metal grates, like from the wishing well when the world changed. She cringed at the thought of being back in that world. There was nothing below, but darkness. She stared for a moment, she'd watched that darkness before. Tell me, Aunt Lydia. Why can't I go home? She remembered asking her aunt that night. The sky was black, utterly and starkly black.

The walls were rusted metal and filth littered the floor. This was a building of some kind, but there was no way to know exactly what it was. Perhaps an industry of some sort.

The small corridor ended with three doors, one in front, one to the right and one to the left. She nudged the right one open, ready to bolt in case danger lurked inside. She entered a decrepit office and pulled a long pencil from her pack. She didn't want to touch anything. There might be black mold or dangerous fungi on the surfaces. She poked and prodded the books and papers.

Apparently, she was now in the old Toluca Prison. She'd never heard of it. She pulled out her camera to photograph the pages of the handwritten ledger. She would love to carry them all with her, but there was no way of knowing how she could carry them and run, if she needed to. There was always the threat that she would need to sprint at any moment, should the Executioner find her.

The small screen revealed new documents, not those stained with moisture damage and age. She held the camera up and move it around, the entire room appeared shiny and new in that little screen. The walls weren't rusted in that perspective, they were polished steel or aluminum. She photographed the ledger as quickly as possible.

Toluca Prison was created to shelter around 300 prisoners during the Civil War. The numbers continued growing and they continued adding on to the existing structure. It was formally converted to a prison in 1866. The remaining wartime prisoners were eventually sent home, but it didn't appear many were released.

It was built into the mountainside, each floor staggered in a stair-step formation out towards the lake. Nature insulted the floors by keeping both heat and cold out. The earth surrounding the buildings kept them at a constant temperature of around sixty degrees year-round. The structure was overhauled several times. Electricity came in 1900. Indoor plumbing was added, thanks to the lake, along with a complete renovation by 1905. It was the first prison of its kind to utilize so much of nature.

She flipped through more paperwork, but the door shut behind her. She turned quickly, expecting the Executioner to be there. But, the room was empty. She ran to it and opened it. The hall was silent. Almost. She heard someone talking. Two men to be precise, they were speaking in whispers.

"Did you do it?" The first man asked.

"Sure, he's floating on the lake now."

"Did the guard see you?"

"Of course not. You think I'm an idiot?"

"I don't want to get into trouble."

"I'm already a dead man." The second voice coldly remarked. Blips of some kind blinked and hovered at the door across from her. It almost looked like static charges. She held up the camera and saw two faded men. They both wore dingy uniforms that had "Toluca Prison" across the shoulders. One held a broom while the other held a pair of pliers.

The two figures faded as she watched them through the screen. She lowered the lens and the blips of static were gone. What was this place? Where was she?

She didn't feel like exploring the paperwork any longer. She didn't feel like embarking on anything, but the journey home. It didn't feel like she would ever make it back from where she was.