Emotion and Manifestation
…perhaps the example of an adult lifting a car to free a child in their care is overused, but it makes my point succinctly. The Human body is capable of far more than we realize, limited to a great degree by our rational mind.
It is when both mind and body are in a receptive, reactive state that we begin to see these ideas made manifest…
-Leonard Rhine, The Monster Lurks
Harry sat bolt upright. A rickety ceiling fan turned above him. He moved his head. The room was a dirty white. There was a moss green formica counter with chrome and red vinyl stools next to it. A diner, he guessed.
A policewoman was sat on one of the stools. He was relieved, though he wasn't sure why.
She had short, blond hair which framed her face, kind but serious.
"You from around here?" she asked, "Why don't you tell me what happened?"
"Wait a second" Harry paused. What had happened? He couldn't think straight.
Something came to him - he was traveling, just passing through. "I'm just a tourist. I came here for a vacation. I just got here...I don't know what happened, I'd like to find out myself."
The policewoman watched and waited. Harry sat and thought...Cheryl...Cheryl was missing.
"Have you seen a little girl? Just turned seven last month...Short black hair. My daughter."
"Sorry. The only person I've seen in this town is you." she responded.
Harry looked out of the window. The view was obscured by mist, but the town certainly seemed deserted.
"Where is everybody?"
"I'd tell you if I knew, believe me. But from what I can tell something bizarre is going on. That's all I know...What's your name?"
"Harry..." he had to think again, "Harry Mason."
"I'm a police officer from the next town over.
The phones are all dead, and the radio too. I'm going back to call in some reinforcements."
It was clear she wasn't going to help him. He stood up and moved toward the door.
"Where are you going?"
She didn't seem to be getting it.
"I've got to find her!"
"It's dangerous out there."
"In that case I need to find her now!"
"Have you got a gun?"
"No."
"Take this and hope you don't have to use it."
"Thanks." He'd never fired a gun in his life.
"You'd do best to stay nearby. I'll be back with help as quick as I can."
He watched her leave...Silent Hill was an appropriate name for this place. It was deathly quiet. He was a little nervous of being alone.
Snow fell noiselessly onto the road outside. That was odd. Snow at this time of year.
But wasn't it snowing earlier?
He looked around the diner for anything that might be useful. There was a flashlight. He wondered if the policewoman had left it. An image of darkness overwhelmed his senses. He had been in darkness. He took the flashlight.
He took a map of the local area from the counter and some food...nothing else seemed useful. He saw a pocket radio - a child's toy. The kid next door had one. Strange boy. He turned the 'on' button to the 'on' position. It didn't work. He laughed an unamused laugh to himself and headed for the door.
A crackle. It was the radio. He turned back. As he approached it he could make out a faint ringing sound, like an old alarm clock. He reached out a hand to it.
A noise behind him. The sound of a heavy impact on glass. The split second of quiet before shards of glass fill the air and land musically on the floor.
Harry instinctively covered his face. He didn't see what had shattered the window. He heard it though. An audible disturbance of the air. Repeated. He moved his hands and stumbled, fell backwards. It hovered and flapped its' wings before him. Like a man but just flesh, no skin. No features except a large beak-like protrusion in place of a mouth. With teeth. It swooped down on him. He raised his arm. His assailant tore the leather jacket he was wearing. A lucky escape.
The gun. He spied it where he had left it. It lay on the seat by the window. He avoided another attack by rolling under the table. He was by the seat. He grabbed the gun. It waited for him to emerge. He duly obliged, firing repeatedly.
The recoil was jarring. Not accounted for. Aiming was impossible. He managed to hit it in the shoulder. That seemed to piss it off.
It swooped at him again. It hit him on the head. Left side. Blood spilled out and trickled down his face. Turning, dazed, he fired off the remaining rounds. Just two. It crashed into the booth at the end of the diner.
He'd hit it.
The gargoyle was bloodied. He couldn't be sure if it was more injured by the gunshots or lacerations from the broken glass.
It was a mess.
It wasn't moving.
He didn't stop to check if it was dead.
He stepped outside. What was happening? It had to be a nightmare - nothing made sense. Why couldn't he wake up? He slumped down against the wall of the diner.
He was holding Cheryl's schoolbook with the picture of him on the front. Had he picked that up? He opened it and began to turn the pages. He thought that he would never see her again. Tears were beginning to drip onto the book. He wiped them off the page.
He stopped. A moment ago this page had been a picture of a car, he was sure of that. Now, written in a scrawl recognizably his daughter's, stood the words 'Doghouse. Levin St'. He must be imagining things. There was no Levin Street where they lived anyway. He had to continue the search.
He pulled out the map and studied it. Whilst wondering where to go, he stopped again. There sitting plainly on the map was Levin Street. It wasn't possible. How could she know about this area?
He started to follow the map anyway. Levin Street wasn't too far away, a couple of blocks. He moved off into the mist and snow.
It was pretty here. As he moved through the suburban area the houses proved as quaint as he'd hoped when they had planned the vacation. Picture book with white picket fences just as he'd imagined. He had no time to enjoy them now.
There it was. Levin Street. He'd half expected to see her waiting for him.
It wasn't remarkable in any way. A street just like all the others. He was beginning to think it was all a coincidence. He looked up and down the road for a sign of something significant.
Nothing.
Not sure where to go, he started walking back to the diner. As he did so, something appeared out of the mist. A doghouse. He'd almost forgotten about it.
He ran to it and stared, trying to discern some kind of meaning. He knelt down, putting his hand inside, and felt around. Something was at the top, taped up. He tugged at it and it came away in his hand. He unwrapped it. A key. Maybe it was a spare key for the house he was kneeling in front of.
He turned to the building. A fleshy snout and sharp yellow teeth blocked his view. He was knocked to the floor. He thrust forward his arms. Fingers pressed into the hairless, sickly, putrid body, but he couldn't push it away. He managed to keep it from biting him.
Gathering his strength he flung the beast as far as he could.
He ran to the door. Prayed the key would work. He tried to turn it. It gave a little.
The beast was stirring.
He tried again. The key seemed to be badly cut.
The beast moved towards him.
The lock turned.
The beast began to run.
He jumped inside.
The beast caught him. Incisors penetrated his calf.
He screamed. He tried to shut the door.
The beast yelped. It pulled back.
Harry shut the door.
He fell to his knees and crawled along the polished wooden flooring, leaving a red trail behind him. He collapsed in the kitchen.
When he recovered a little, he searched the kitchen for anything of use. He hated the thought of stealing but his need was great. He found some bandages and covered his injuries as best he could.
He composed himself. He thought going back out to the front door might not be a good idea. He didn't want to get bitten again.
He looked out the window. There was an entrance to an alleyway from the back of the house.
He undid the deadbolt and stepped out into the garden. It was getting dark. Quickly. Soon it was pitch black. Harry was sure this had happened to him before.
He attached the flashlight to his jacket, switched it on and opened the gate to the alleyway. He stepped forward.
It felt strange under his feet. He looked down. Rusted wire flooring. It stretched on as far as the eye could see. The gate he had come through had disappeared and the house had gone.
A bright light approached him. He couldn't determine it's source. It came closer and got brighter until he couldn't see anything else.
He suddenly became very afraid. He felt compelled to draw the pistol and point it at the light.
Still it came.
He fired a shot, a warning, then another. The light began to recede. It continued to fade until the only illumination came from Harry's flashlight.
The beam fell on a small figure on the floor. Raven black short cropped hair, blue and white check dress, cute as a button.
She was injured. He had shot Cheryl.
He sank to the floor. He felt completely empty. The one decent thing left in his life, destroyed by his own hand. She Stirred;
"Daddy."
"Cheryl!"
"Thank you Daddy, goodbye"
She disappeared before him. He buried his face in his hands.
It can't be...
can't be like this.
it can't be happening.