"Did you know that in The Shining," Harry was enlightening James as they reached the door and pushed it open, "the hotel actually went up in flames at the end. The boiler exploded in the basement and boom! See ya later, Overlook Hotel. Oh, and spoiler alert, not that you care, Halloran lives. Kubrick made a hell of a movie, but in my opinion, he was still a schmuck. Stephen King hated him for what he did to it. It's pretty understandable." He looked at him. "It was hardly even the same story."

James's grunt came quite belated. "You've mentioned the Overlook blowing up before."

"Oh. Really?"

"Back at the hotel."

"That'd make sense. Can't really help it, y'know? That place just delivered Overlook vibes in truckloads."

"I wouldn't know."

Harry hummed. "Yeah, you don't seem like a reader. Or barely even a movie watcher."

"Not really."

"You gotta see The Shining, James. I'll put it on the list. It's a classic. People are still buck wild for the movie, of course. Best of all, there're conspiracy theorists crawling all over it. It's because Kubrick had a reputation for deliberate attention to detail," explained a man full of, in James's opinion, useless information. "He was anal about it. Everything he did had a purpose. Heh. There's this photo of Kubrick arranging the Calumet cans in the pantry," Harry went on, strolling towards the boiler. "People go nuts over it. 'What's it mean? What's he trying to tell us?' It's almost pathetic. Oh, man. And let's not even get started on how he was allegedly trying to tell everyone that he helped fake the moon landing.."

James's eyelids fluttered heavily under annoyance. He understood that Harry was more than just nervous, but really, he wished he'd find a better way to cope. The conduit mentally danced for the second time since arriving at Midwich with the idea of sewing Harry's lips shut until the very same man rerouted his attention by pointing his steel into the corner.

"That's where I first saw Alessa. She was just casually leaning back on the walI; I almost expected her to be nursing a cigarette. But she was no middle schooler," Harry clarified, swinging a look back at James and squinting against the light clipped to his chest. "She looked like a teenager."

"You mentioned her in your notes. You also said there was nothing really down here other than a key."

"Eh, it's Silent Hill. It's kind of like a box of chocolates: you never know what you're gonna get, but they're all gonna be the ones you hate."

James's hum was short. "Never been a fan of chocolates, anyway."

"Yeah, you kinda struck me as a guy without a sweet tooth." Harry inspected the boiler controls, its buttons and indicators alight in greens and reds. "Believe it or not, I'm not too much for 'em, either. Maybe once in a blue moon I'll destroy a box of Oreos or Twinkies." He looked back at James yet again. "The Halloween and Christmas ones taste better. It's about the colors. There's something special about Oreos being red and orange. And sometimes the Christmas ones have peppermint." The inspection continued. "Other than that, I'm more of a savory kinda guy."

At the rate he was going with all this talking, he must be scared shitless. Harry had hardly taken a breath since they'd departed the music room, aside from any fighting they did along the way. As usual (and not counting the time he intentionally goaded him into it), James found the blabbering irksome, now more ever as he kept going, and slipped back into his morbid daydream. All that chattering was getting in the way of James's fascination with the Otherworld, and at this time, acted as the hard origin of his moodiness.

"Well, damn. I was hoping there was something here," Harry muttered, shining the light into every corner. "I feel like it was important, aside from seeing Alessa."

"You mentioned fighting some monster here, then when you were done, you were in the boiler room and then you saw Alessa."

He lifted his head. "Well, why didn't you say so? You said I said there was nothing down here. I thought I'd been here before whatever fight that was."

James scrunched his face. "I don't see how that's relevant. I said there is nothing else down here, because you only found a key, and no, you weren't."

"James, you drive me batty. Everything would be relevant. Everything could be important. So I hadn't even been here before the fight, whatever that was, and just poof! appeared in the boiler room afterward. Great. Anything else?"

"You found a key."

"Cool. I love keys. We haven't picked one up in awhile."

He decided he was done reminding him about the damn key. "We got one to the music room."

"But we didn't get to keep it," Harry reminded him. "Which sucks, in its own way. But also, for the better. Probably wouldn't want to have it around anyway." A stretch of contemplative silence followed while he looked about, trying to decide what to do next. "Well, I'm out. You got any ideas? And y'know," he interrupted any reply, pointing the weapon at James, "since you mentioned it, I still wanna read what I wrote. Maybe it'll jog a memory or two. Midwich was a big deal."

"Yeah, I know," he curtly replied. "But I don't know how feasible it is to sit down and do that right now."

Harry scoffed. "We'll have to make it feasible. I can't pull up a memory without reading it." When James curled his lip, he shouldered the pipe and inclined his head while he tried to read that defensive, empty face. Though their white glares shone in each other's eyes, its illuminations provided them with easy judgment of one another and Harry concluded that James was, as always, such a charmer. "You really like those notes."

He repressed another minor scowl. "They're interesting."

Looking him up and down, Harry said, "I bet. Where're you now?"

"Back at Midwich. I wanted to look it over to see if it'd help."

James countered the flat stare he received with one of his own. "Seriously? You're a dick," Harry accused. "C'mon. We're gonna find a place to camp out, and I'm gonna have a look at those notes. You're like a fuckin' dragon about those," he said, no less chuffed as he ushered James to head up first. "Sitting on them and hoarding like it's made of gold and diamonds."

The conduit kept mum until they were on the first floor. "We might not even get to read them. They're wet, remember?"

Letting out a long groan, Harry jabbed the pipe into the floor and braced his weight on it. "Fuck me! Goddammit, that's right," he grumbled, passing a scathing look around at the Otherworld school. " Shit . Well.."

"We can still see how salvageable it is," James offered with a glance. "I can feel the backpack is still wet, but I guess it's worth a shot."

He chewed on his lip, glaring at a wall splotched in water stains and leaking assumed blood from the molding. "Yeah. That'd probably be our best bet. Fuck. Me." Harry pushed off the bludgeon and swung it to and fro. "Let's see if we can't get into the teacher's lounge. It might not be as cozy as it should, and the coffee's gonna be a few days old, but we can make it work." Rolling his head and shooting a sidelong look at James, the veteran then smiled. "Nothin' wrong with a little old coffee. Just so long as it hasn't started its own civilization. Then, unfortunately, you gotta play God and wipe out the world."

Harry didn't want to see the petulant look on his face, so he immediately pivoted to avoid it.

Getting to the teacher's lounge was a tad more inconvenient than they'd liked, but when they got there, the sofas Harry remembered were no more - which made sense. A few wooden chairs were scattered at whim and one long table pushed up against the wall. Upon that table, Harry found, was an empty inbox. They both had an unpalatable feeling about it, and left it alone to sort out their belongings.

As James said, it was still wet. Harry lamentably clicked his tongue until he unzipped it and procured his personal memo pad from the top.

It was damp, but not soaked anymore. The law he'd written across the first page - NO JAMES SUNDERLANDS ALLOWED! :P- was surprisingly legible. There was some minor ink blowout that was also present on the clumped pages behind it, and thankfully, that was all the damage. In rows he laid the other memo pad, the bible, maps, handgun, ammo, and everything else stored within. Harry delicately audited all the paper products, frowning at the soft, rumpled pages that could too easily tear.

Written and printed text alike could be read, and could very well be drying themselves out, should they be so lucky: the topmost pages on the pads were starting to crinkle, and the edges of the bible, too. He was baffled, however not in a rush to figure out the thought process here of ruining then restoring things. Like the inbox and nearly every other bizarre piece of Silent Hill's philosophies, he left it alone.

Harry took up the handgun and went through the motions of disassembly and inspection. Finding that might be a good idea for him too, James evaluated his shotgun as well. When Harry had done his part, he set it down in the row and flattened his hands on the table, leaning hard into his arms.

"Well, isn't this a kick in the head." He nodded at the gun. "At least that seems okay, but I'm not really a gun guy, so I could be wrong."

"You knew how to take it apart and put it back together."

"Yeah, I thought it'd be a good idea to get accustomed to one after being here. I've got one at home but never had to use it. Thank god. Just go to the range sometimes to make sure I still know what I'm doing, but never stay long."

"Mm."

Harry turned his back to the table to recline against the edge and pulled out the school map. Taking heed of a second thought, he rifled in his jacket again for the fortune teller. While Harry played researcher, the memos too damp to separate and read, James continued to marvel the Otherworld. He meandered over to one of the fenced walls and curiously picked at the hard orange crust, which prompted a shudder from the unpleasant sensation, and he lowered his hand. Peeking through, unseen eyes scrutinized the civilian right back, and raised the hair on his neck.

As he'd experienced in the music room, he couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. It'd persisted through their exploration of the transformed school and here, felt stronger. Peering again past the diamond-shaped iron, he squinted into the dark, adjusting his light to perhaps catch whatever might be observing him. The distant muttering only he was privy to seeped into his head, and had him diverting his eyes to the ceiling as was suggested. Those feelings weren't unfounded: there was someone watching him.

Above awaited a creature perhaps no larger than a teenager. Its body was lanky, cadaverous, and wrapped in mildewy skin spotted in brown sores and decay, hunched on all fours. The hair was black, stringy, and greasy, hanging around its head like a curtain, mouth silenced by a red plate beneath a smooth mask of skin where eyes should be. That plate reminded him of the girls they'd met in South Vale - the ones that had also followed them to Old Silent Hill. The eyeless face regarded him inquisitively. James did and said nothing. They "stared" at one another for a while, the only noise coming from the rustle of drying papers and distracted muttering from the man across the room.

Finally, when the private broadcast to the town's conduit signed off, James eyeballed the monster for another moment before he opened his mouth. "Hi."

Harry glanced up at him, frowning. ".. hi?" James pointed upward, so he followed it to the ceiling and startled so badly that he would've knocked the table over if it hadn't been secure against the wall. "Jesus CHRIST!"

He instinctively ducked down as the beast skittered over the lattice and Harry's position. It paid him no mind as it passed him on its way into the beyond, where the sound of its tracks faded away.

Spinning in place to watch it go, Harry worked a slack jaw, and pivoted again in fright when James's boots clicked on his approach from behind. The younger man was as cool as a cucumber in vast difference to one skittish and middle-aged, and who stared wide-eyed and agape at his companion.

"What the fuck was that?!"

"I'unno."

"You dunno? How are you so calm about it?!"

James shrugged.

"I will never figure you out," Harry growled, swiftly turning to load up the backpack. "Some things got you all fucked up, and yet, some things like that is nothing but a fly's sneeze."

He handed the pack off to the man who awaited it. They collected their weapons from the table, except Harry's clamored straight to the ground when something heavy outside the open door fell with a sound thud. The veteran grabbed his chest, then closed his eyes and huffed a resentful exhale. Like he was criticized for mere seconds earlier, James remained stolid.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Harry muttered for the umpteenth time since they got here. "I swear to god.." He snatched the rod from the ground and rolled his shoulders and head in tandem. Exiting the would-be teacher's lounge presented the large sign-in book, tented on its pages, in their path.

The ledger got dumped on the unsanitary Otherworld reception desk. Scanning the pages, they were, as anyone would expect, discolored and speckled with blood. Harry absently ground his teeth, looking over the smeared ink blotted by who-knows-what. Towards the bottom of the right hand page, elegant penmanship filled out the required information to check in to the school.

Date: —/—/19–

Name: Dahlia Gilles—

Relation: Mother

Name of student: Alessa G—-

Reason for visit: Removing child — —-

Class: —

"Well, well, well. Whaddya know."

"Hm."

Harry tapped the log. "Our dear friend Dahlia checked out Alessa at some point. That's interesting.." Flicking the pages to and fro, he suddenly did a double take and flipped back a page prior. His eyes scanned the intakes, wrinkles of consternation on his brow and a frown lowering his lips. "Okay. There's more of 'em. All from Dahlia. The fuck..?"

Around Harry's shoulder, James took a gander at the sparse list of nearly identical records from Dahlia's hand. Albeit apathetic about it at first, with each page-turn backwards, the frequency of logs, and his alarm, increased. By the time Harry ran out of pages, her scrawl had overwhelmed the book from top to bottom. The sheer mass of it all squashed together felt dizzying and obscene. It managed to spook him.

None of these blocks provided dates nor classroom. Going forward this time better demonstrated the steady decrease until the final page they'd started from, where the solitary entry remained. There was nothing else behind it, and all other pages were glued together.

Harry's nor Heather's registry were anywhere to be found.

James was not a fan.

For a couple seconds he watched Harry hypothesize to himself, then squeezed past him to investigate the hall. The benches were askew now, the walls befouled, and he was enamored. His masters were present and unseen (though had never truly left), and their private frequency returned in the back of his head. It tuned itself much as their handheld radio once did, sounding miles away. He gave it dull notice, cruising the immediate area with an archaeologist's fixed interest.

Then he remembered the bulletin board. Around the corner it'd endured, howbeit this time, lacking most of its advertisements; any remaining were distorted or ripped. His eyes fell to the bottom where the Shepherd's Glen field trip bill had been tacked. James beheld the flyer, torn in half, in contempt. You should've taken it, ridiculed his inner voice. You needed it. What are you going to do now? You should've taken it!

"Fuck," he muttered so quietly that Harry couldn't hear it from the desk. "Fuck me. You fucking idiot, James." He pursed his lips inward, scanning the board, the wall, and even the ceiling in pointless hopes of a second chance, but there was nothing here to save him.

Closing the ledger, Harry smoothed his hands on its cover and stared down at his knuckles.

"Hey, James," he called him over, looking up. "You got any ideas? I'm fresh out."

"Nope."

"Fantastic." Stepping back, he took up his trusty pipe. "I feel completely lost here. I haven't the faintest idea where to go. Maybe a classroom, but.. ugh.. I dunno, for some reason it feels.. weird."

"I guess we could take another look around in case we missed something, anyway. Or if something popped up."

Sighing histrionically, Harry stretched out his spine and brandished the pipe in the direction of the west hall. "Off we go, into the wild blue yonder."

Hating that that old patriotic song he'd forgotten even existed was now stuck in his head, James began after him. Their journey got cut right short at scuttling behind them. Harry whirling around and James casually swiveling, their lights fell upon the same creature that had been in the ceiling. She - because it looked like a she - tilted her eyeless head; her neck was unnaturally able to stretch and fully display her face to them despite her all-fours crouch.

Her red plate forced her speechless, yet it felt like that had been her choice. She wagged her head at them in a way that seemed like a friendly or even playful hello. Harry had every right to distrust her, as odd as that greeting was; but it did its job of slightly lowering his guard. Nevertheless, he eyeballed her as though she were as dangerous as a rabid possum. Their possible new friend (or foe) turned away and ambled to the east.

James was ready to go after her, but waited for his cue. The veteran stood stagnant to go over probable pros and cons of taking the chance. She was hardly far away when she 'looked' back over her shoulder. Sensing they (Harry) were hesitating, she authoritatively smacked the floor to motivate them forward. When they (Harry) hadn't moved, she rotated in place and reprised herself, this time ordering them along.

Harry leaned his head back a bit, winced, and conceded to her demand. "Okay, okay," he soothed, catching up. "We got the message, loud and clear." The thing waited until they were right on her tail to take the lead through the corridor and up the staircase to the second floor.

The school was strangely devoid of other monsters. Their guide did exude an unequivocal supremacy that possibly scared the residents away. She took them into a depressing classroom that housed children's desks piled up in the corner by the chalkboard, leaving a dirty floor open for two neatly placed desks side by side as a centerpiece. Veteran and civilian curiously observed from the door as their charitable shepherd solemnly approached the shrine before them. Circling the desks twice, she then came to a stop behind the chairs, ducking her head to 'peek' into their storage.

Taking it as a hint to come inspect for themselves, Harry prudently walked the vinyl floor to where she hunkered; James remained by the door. He rested his fingertips on a nostalgic, faux oak fiberboard surface - a thing that completed the identity of any learning institution. Loving father and rotting girl studied one another, he asking why she was helping them, to which her facelessness replied: 'You needed it.' She extinguished their wordless dialogue by retreating to the stained lockers at the back of the room.

Leaping to their top, her skeletal hands pushed open a framed trap door on the ceiling. Away she slipped, smooth as a cat, through its space for the black intestines of the Otherworld. The door clattered shut an imperious echo that drummed throughout the entire school.

The misbegotten, abandoned travelers stood deferential until it faded away.

James appeared at his side. They were quiet in the wake of their white rabbit, wrapped up in the leftovers of her hallowed spell. Harry cast his eyes down to the desk. The surface his fingers lightly touched was unblemished and clear of dust. Its neighbor, on the other hand, wasn't at all, being riddled with carvings and battery by no fault of its own under a layer of grey.

These desks were lonely without their pupils.

His green-eyed gaze tracked Harry to the vandalized desk. Harry shuffled his feet, standing behind the petite blue chair. Bleakly sweeping away the dust, repentant and shamefaced, he viewed a childhood's undeserved hatred sliced into wood. He folded his hand over the back of the short plastic school chair, scanning it over, and only looked up because of James's question.

"What is it?"

"Alessa." Harry gave him a small, rueful smile. "She brought us to Alessa."