The dark had surrounded him like a blanket. Not knowing where to move he had waited. How long had it been? Ten minutes? Two hours? He was no longer aware of left or right, up or down. He couldn't tell how deep underground he was, though he was certainly underground.
He'd followed the silhouette down. Down the stairs, through the basement. They had stopped and stared at each other. It wasn't like Cheryl anymore, it had changed. Another trick.
He became aware that they were descending. That's when everything dissolved into nothing. No clue as to where his guide was.
How long ago that had been didn't really seem important anymore. He couldn't see anything, hear anything, touch or smell or taste anything. He couldn't make out where he had come from or where to go next. It was like being trapped inside his own head with only his thoughts for company. He thought of Lydia and the terrible fate he brought upon her. He thought of Cheryl's disappearance. How Cybil kept his hopes alive and how they faded without her. The crash that had separated him and his daughter. Cheryl pestering him to take her to Silent Hill, crying out that night for her mother, who was long since dead. His wife...he remembered his loving Heather.
He remembered her spirit and determination.
He remembered her drawings, beautiful illustrations and watercolors.
He remembered their celebrations when somebody bought one.
He remembered her singing when she would wash the dishes. Her laugh. The way she would run her hand through his hair.
He remembered her suffering. All the treatments and their side effects. All the machines carrying out more and more of her bodily functions. The utter desolation when she passed. The same desolation that he felt now. The same darkness in his mind that surrounded him at that moment.
He remembered when they adopted Cheryl. How Heather passed her spirit and determination to her.
He remembered Cheryl.
How he missed Cheryl, with every fiber and sinew of his being. She had been his beacon then, his light to lead him through those bleak times. He thought of the warmth of her embrace. He thought of her cheeky grin and her laughter which would lead him through gloomy moments. He thought of taking the training wheels off her bike, the picture of him she drew in her notebook from school, all the stories he had made up for her and then failed to get published. She loved reading. She had introduced him to books he had never heard of. He often got the feeling that Cheryl was smarter than him. He thought of the warmth and brightness that she brought him. He could feel it. He could feel the darkness around him lifting.
There was a light in the distance. It was coming closer with every step. He was walking. Had he been walking all this time? He was still holding the gun.
It became clear that the light was actually a fire. Light was spilling around the blaze, though it revealed little. The floor was the same metallic grate but he could see no edges to the room. The darkness seemed to stretch on forever. The fire stood in the middle of a symbol, like the one in the courtyard. A sphere turned constantly under the flooring.
On closer inspection he could see that there was an effigy in the centre of the flames. It was wrapped in canvas and resembled the victims in the caretaker's wall hanging or the gruesome tableaux that he had endured around the school. He wondered what they had done to be subjected to such torture.
The canvas began to smoke as fire darted around it. Was it moving? It seemed to be squirming in the heat. He could detect a particularly vile scent amongst the fumes. A piercing scream from the supposed dummy jolted Harry into action. He reached into the pyre to remove the wood, but it was bound too tightly. He tried to reach higher to untie the victim but the heat was too intense. As he snatched his hand back it caught the blazing firewood. He cursed and used his jacket to smother the flames that had sprung up on his hand.
Out of the corner of his eye he noticed something moving towards him out of the shadow. He was pushed to the ground, grazing his burnt hand along the rusty metal and crying out. He was being attacked by a huge creature, reptilian in form. It was about seven feet in length and had a long snout with a ridge down the middle. It turned towards him, its long, thick tail swishing dangerously behind. He had recovered his feet and his shotgun when it thrust forward again, striking his chest. Winded, he staggered away from the lizard and the screaming fireball, back towards the gloom. He started to run. He expected to fade back into blackness but the floor remained visible and the anguished cries rang out as if they were still right behind him. He ran harder but was still bathed in light. He was struck in the back and thrust to the floor again. The beast was right behind him. He was no further from the cremation. His scaled adversary closed in on him. Harry squeezed the trigger of the shotgun, the recoil banging his head onto the floor. The lizard's jowls hung just a few feet from him with no blemish. He had missed.
There was movement along the ridge on its head. Harry was frozen with fear. The two sides of the ridge came apart, linked only by viscous saliva. A thought came to Harry...he recognized this creature. It was the monster from the fairytale in the library.
"Who's afraid of a reptile?" he quoted as the creature attacked, its formidable mouth now spanning at least four feet. He raised the gun and fired a shell into the lizard's gaping mouth. The ballast flew, piercing the defenseless gullet. The creature started to fall, the light of the fire was dissipating, a siren was wailing in the distance. The cloth hood had slipped from the face of a charred girl on the pyre. She was looking at him. She was no longer in canvas. She was wearing a blue dress. She was the girl he had nearly hit with the car. Who in the hell was she?
He was in the basement. The lizard had gone. Light was creeping in from a high window. It was light outside! Harry was filled with euphoria. He had survived the ordeal.
The girl smiled at him and disappeared too.
Had he imagined the whole thing?
He felt the pain but seemingly carried no marks to show that something, anything had occurred here. In the light of what appeared to be a new day, it was so difficult to accept that such unbelievable torment could have taken place. His elation was abruptly tainted by remorse. He hadn't brought Cheryl back with him. Lydia was bleeding to death somewhere. In all probability she was dead already.
He ran out of the basement back up to the infirmary. The light flooding into the room hurt his eyes. A bell rang out a few blocks away. He picked up the handset to the nurse's extension and dialed 911. The line was still dead. He raced to reception. She wasn't there.
He had to raise the alarm.
He went through the lobby and tugged on the main door. It was unlocked. He pulled it open.
The fog had submerged the town again. He couldn't see more than a few meters in front of him. And he noticed it was snowing. Snowing at this time of year and extremely cold. Maybe he hadn't woken up from the nightmare yet. He moved hurriedly into the mist.