Post by lemex on Jun 14, 2010 14:10:05 GMT
[I'm attempting a novelisation of the first Silent Hill game; here is the shitty result]
I know I dreamt of something: I don’t remember what - all I know is that I dreamt. I had the vague unsatisfied feeling that comes with not remembering a dream, and I spent some time trying to remember. It was futile.
I felt like I was sitting, though my mind told me I was still in bed, about to set drive to Silent Hill for a short holiday. I did this every year; driving. We never went by plane - I don’t like them very much. Besides, I always liked the drive, it relaxed me. There is something about that, I think, is etched behind the prefrontal lobes of every man’s brain in the world: just packing up and going for an adventure ... I know I like it at least.
I eventually opened my eyes but all I could see was white, and snow falling.
Wait. What? I thought I was in my bed at home? I remember thinking, I was still naively clutching on to the illusion that I was about to set off. I then remembered everything from the previous day. I remembered the road, the darkness; I remembered the song that was on (Bob Dylan’s Like A Rolling Stone), that police woman on her bike; and then the crash.
And then the crash ...
The crash was the last thing that came back to me, and it was greatly unsettling. That girl wondering in the middle of the road: why was she there? I remember I had been hanging my arm out the window, Cheryl was asleep, and I was trying to get some air on my face (long drives make me tired, I find doing this helps) then I heard a yell, I turned and saw the girl in the road, her hands out before her, shielding herself from my 4x4. I spun the wheel, trying hard to miss her, and went straight into a wall.
And that was it. That was all I remembered.
‘Oh, I feel so stupid.’ – I heard this in my own voice; I have no idea if it was just in my head or if I had actually spoke it.
I leaned forward and grabbing my forehead. A headache was setting in: I could feel my skull tighten; it felt like there was water boiling inside my head. I glanced up and inspected the damage on my side of the car; through the windshield the damage didn’t look too bad - the framework looked a bit crumbled - but nothing too bad. But I really needed to get out and have a better look before I started estimating the cost.
I looked over to Cheryl: “Hey, you ok?”
She was gone.
Oh my god! Where did she go?
All I saw was the empty passenger seat, the open door and the road beyond, with the snow still drifting along its surface. I panicked, but tried as hard as I could to stop myself from stressing, or thinking imaginatively stupid things.
I looked into the back seats: she wasn’t there either. My mouth dropped open but I didn’t care: all I thought about – all I could think about - was my daughter.
I looked back at the open passenger door, and then to my door as I pushed it open and climbed out of the car. From that moment everything else seemed trivial; even my headache was thankfully standing aside for me – I just needed to find Cheryl.
I staggered through the snow scared, thinking only one thing: where is she?
Cheryl, my little girl, was gone. That was all I could think. My beautiful, seven-year old was missing, and I didn’t even know how far I was from town. Silent Hill was close – but I couldn’t see anything through this fog.
I noticed something else that was unsettling me too, the fog - It seemed unnaturally thick; and what looked like threads and clouds of dancing dust spiralled around me, like some African tribal ritual. My vision was limited to a very small sphere, maybe twenty meters or so - that was my guess. Everything beyond this sphere was shielded with a dull white colour.
The darkened outlines of buildings soon began to materialise in the depths of the fog. I walked over and looked through a window, still amazed at how utterly crippling the fog was being. You couldn’t really see anything with any clarity at all unless you where near it somewhat. It was even a little scary in itself. But as I looked into these buildings – houses and shops mostly – I began to really get that rather weird sense of place that seems so strong in Toluca valley. I was in Silent Hill; there could be no mistaking that, I could just feel it. It was like the land did not want you to leave.
I remembered - reflected, really - on packing for this holiday; I remembered Cheryl being so excited about it. “Why do you want to go to Silent Hill?” I remembered asking her as she jumped about giggly, “The place isn’t all that great you know?” I said to her. But she didn’t want to hear what I thought, she just wanted to go to Silent Hill; and was insistent on it. And I just couldn’t say no either.
So ... why can’t I hear anyone?
I figured no one had seen me on account of the fog (at least, this is what I thought) and so I yelled out with the only word I could think of shouting: Cheryl. Cheryl. Cheryl.
At one point I stopped and looked around. There were shops and houses all around me; the fog had cleared up slightly and I could see a little further. Silent Hill was silent; nothing seemed to move, nothing seemed alive. “It’s quiet” I said, speaking to myself “too quiet ... this place is like a ghost town ... CHERYL!”
I turned a street corner and stopped dead.
Standing in the middle of the road there was, or what looked to be, a young girl, far enough away to be obscured by the fog. The figure was about the same size as Cheryl, and seemed somehow feminine at this distance. I couldn’t see the person very clearly however, so I said “Cheryl?” to see if the figure would respond: speaking loud enough for the person to hear.
“Is that Cheryl?”
I know the figure heard me because as soon as I spoke the figure moved away, stepping deeper into the fog. I ran toward this person but they started running as well, going as fast as I was. “Where are you going?” The figure turned into an alleyway “Wait!” I shouted “Stop!”
God damn it!
I was running quickly now.
My unhealthy lifestyle was now hitting me, and hard. I was running after this figure with every amount of energy I had; and I didn’t want to slow down, but I could feel my heart pounding against my ribcage, and my muscles began to tire within a short space of time. I started to think as I chased this darkened figure: why is she running? Is she scared? The idea that this figure might not be Cheryl never crossed my mind until much later
Oh god!
I shouted again, trying to get the figure to hear me - hoping that if it was Cheryl, she might recognise my voice and slow down.
The figure turned another corner. And awful sound screamed out – it was awful: It sounded like a painful screech, as if something had died. This sound vibrated through me with great force, and it sent a shiver down my spine. I didn’t know exactly what I thought it was, but I knew in an instance that I didn’t like it.
I heard small bang soon after. My heart sank, and my imagination ran wild.
I was relieved when I found out it was just a gate being opened and banged shut. I flung the gate open, allowing another hideous screech to offend the peace, and dashed into what I suspected would be a small garden.
The word garden, I found - as I briefly glanced around, was the wrong word to use in almost every way. It was in one word: featureless. There was simply a back door, the gate I had just ran through, a tiny dog house, and large slabs of concrete that covered every inch of territory; obviously, the main colour of this area was a dull, industrial gray that made it seem anything but homely. I saw another, much narrower alleyway at the far end of the place, I checked the door on my side but it was locked. The sound of the gate was the only thing I had heard, so I was guessing the figure had ran down there. That was what I was hoping anyway.
I ran at it, slower than I wanted to: something was troubling me.
I was trespassing, in reality, and that made me paranoid. But I did had more pressing matters to worry about than something like that – I tried to tell myself that it was something that was, given the circumstances, very trivial; besides (and this was where I was really hoping) I was sure the owners would understand if I explained things to them. Hell. They might even be able to help me in some way.
Something snapped below as I began to run: it was an awful sound, and it felt like I had kicked a grassy outcrop - like you were stepping on a large frog. I looked down at my foot. I don’t know what I was expecting to see, but I can’t imagine it thought it would be anything remotely like what I saw.
It was - or what appeared to be, at least - the remains of a dog: skinned and let to bleed all over the floor.
Awww – that’s sick!
I couldn’t believe I had not seen it when I came in, but I could not let it stop me, I had to keep moving. I jumped over it and ran into the alleyway, my footing pounding on the hard floor sent shockwaves and echoes bouncing off the walls and (while amplified) re-entering my ears, making a racket like something a Punk band would make. Pipes hung down in random succession, and the surrounding buildings looked to be taller here: this alleyway seemed more urban, more city-like than the Paleville I remembered. Though we spent most of our time in South Vale, we did visit this area once as my wife and I were leaving town; we wanted to buy some cokes and snakes for the drive back.
This memory of my wife almost made me start to reminisce, but I broke myself away from it. It would do me no good. There was a corner, and turned into it without slowing down and ran into a gate. I didn’t just allow it to stop me like any graceful person might have, no, I slammed into it like an idiot.
Good Harry!
I flung it this gate open, feeling no small amount of annoyance, and ran through.
However, I soon came to a total stop as I noticed something very strange. It was dark, and getting darker with every step I was taking. Needless to say disturbed me greatly. But I tried to get my mind back onto the task at hand and began walking foreword again.
Shortly I found that it was so dark I could hardly see anything, and I was beginning to panic. Thankfully, I had a solution to this. I pulled my Zippo lighter out and flipped it open. I lit it with a quick snap of my thumb and forefinger (I still enjoyed doing tricks like this) and then held it above my head so it would illuminate as far as possible. This Zippo was something I always carried around with me. I used to smoke pretty heavily when I was a younger man, but now I only have one or two a month; if that; but I never officially gave it up, I just severely cut back. And that was (and still is, even as I write this) the way I like it.
I was slow with my footing. Being careful not to let my worry, or adrenaline take my rational mind prisoner. However, like a Thomas Pynchon character, I could feel the old sensations of paranoia begin to make a home in my head.
How long had I been walking before things began to change?
I don’t know – and the truth is: I don’t want to. And change was the best way I could think of describing this phenomena: it was the only way I could think of describing it.
I came across a blood stained wheel chair, overturned and next to a bed of some unusual style in an enclave. I think it was at this point when I stopped feeling like anything I was seeing was real in any way. In all honesty, I felt like I was in a dream, or high on cannabis. Whatever was going on all I knew was: I didn’t like it.
Soon after the bed and the wheelchair the floor began to change.
It started by feeling somehow thinner; and soon it wasn’t even a real floor, but a wire mesh. I felt like a chicken in a battery farm. The mesh extended onto the walls as buildings seemed to recede, unveiling a black oblivion. I didn’t know what was worse? That what I was seeing was real, or that my mind was capable of creating such things.
There was something hanging off of the wire mesh wall not far ahead. As I approached it I was attacked by a terrible scent. It was like nothing I had ever smelt before – an awful rotting smell. I knew what it was straight away: it was a body.
It was awful. I can’t even begin to describe what it looked like. I wanted to turn away but it fascinated me and I just couldn’t turn away.
Oh ... my .. god.
Something sounded behind me. It was a low, guttural growl. I turned around, a natural reaction despite my terror.
What I saw was the final thing I remember with any real clarity.
It was a child sized monster with dirty-orange coloured skin and long menacing blade-like claws. I opened my mouth to scream but have no memory of what sounded, if anything at all. I scrambled away from them but the wire wall had closed around me. I was trapped. So I did something I would never have done under any other circumstance: I kicked one of them, falling over in the process. My body slammed on the wire floor. I could hear my own scream this time. I could feel the floor vibrating.
Everything was hurting; but something hit the back of my leg and my body screamed with pain.
AAHH! Gurh ... er ...
Everything went black. I don’t know what happened after that. I felt like I died.
I know I dreamt of something: I don’t remember what - all I know is that I dreamt. I had the vague unsatisfied feeling that comes with not remembering a dream, and I spent some time trying to remember. It was futile.
I felt like I was sitting, though my mind told me I was still in bed, about to set drive to Silent Hill for a short holiday. I did this every year; driving. We never went by plane - I don’t like them very much. Besides, I always liked the drive, it relaxed me. There is something about that, I think, is etched behind the prefrontal lobes of every man’s brain in the world: just packing up and going for an adventure ... I know I like it at least.
I eventually opened my eyes but all I could see was white, and snow falling.
Wait. What? I thought I was in my bed at home? I remember thinking, I was still naively clutching on to the illusion that I was about to set off. I then remembered everything from the previous day. I remembered the road, the darkness; I remembered the song that was on (Bob Dylan’s Like A Rolling Stone), that police woman on her bike; and then the crash.
And then the crash ...
The crash was the last thing that came back to me, and it was greatly unsettling. That girl wondering in the middle of the road: why was she there? I remember I had been hanging my arm out the window, Cheryl was asleep, and I was trying to get some air on my face (long drives make me tired, I find doing this helps) then I heard a yell, I turned and saw the girl in the road, her hands out before her, shielding herself from my 4x4. I spun the wheel, trying hard to miss her, and went straight into a wall.
And that was it. That was all I remembered.
‘Oh, I feel so stupid.’ – I heard this in my own voice; I have no idea if it was just in my head or if I had actually spoke it.
I leaned forward and grabbing my forehead. A headache was setting in: I could feel my skull tighten; it felt like there was water boiling inside my head. I glanced up and inspected the damage on my side of the car; through the windshield the damage didn’t look too bad - the framework looked a bit crumbled - but nothing too bad. But I really needed to get out and have a better look before I started estimating the cost.
I looked over to Cheryl: “Hey, you ok?”
She was gone.
Oh my god! Where did she go?
All I saw was the empty passenger seat, the open door and the road beyond, with the snow still drifting along its surface. I panicked, but tried as hard as I could to stop myself from stressing, or thinking imaginatively stupid things.
I looked into the back seats: she wasn’t there either. My mouth dropped open but I didn’t care: all I thought about – all I could think about - was my daughter.
I looked back at the open passenger door, and then to my door as I pushed it open and climbed out of the car. From that moment everything else seemed trivial; even my headache was thankfully standing aside for me – I just needed to find Cheryl.
I staggered through the snow scared, thinking only one thing: where is she?
Cheryl, my little girl, was gone. That was all I could think. My beautiful, seven-year old was missing, and I didn’t even know how far I was from town. Silent Hill was close – but I couldn’t see anything through this fog.
I noticed something else that was unsettling me too, the fog - It seemed unnaturally thick; and what looked like threads and clouds of dancing dust spiralled around me, like some African tribal ritual. My vision was limited to a very small sphere, maybe twenty meters or so - that was my guess. Everything beyond this sphere was shielded with a dull white colour.
The darkened outlines of buildings soon began to materialise in the depths of the fog. I walked over and looked through a window, still amazed at how utterly crippling the fog was being. You couldn’t really see anything with any clarity at all unless you where near it somewhat. It was even a little scary in itself. But as I looked into these buildings – houses and shops mostly – I began to really get that rather weird sense of place that seems so strong in Toluca valley. I was in Silent Hill; there could be no mistaking that, I could just feel it. It was like the land did not want you to leave.
I remembered - reflected, really - on packing for this holiday; I remembered Cheryl being so excited about it. “Why do you want to go to Silent Hill?” I remembered asking her as she jumped about giggly, “The place isn’t all that great you know?” I said to her. But she didn’t want to hear what I thought, she just wanted to go to Silent Hill; and was insistent on it. And I just couldn’t say no either.
So ... why can’t I hear anyone?
I figured no one had seen me on account of the fog (at least, this is what I thought) and so I yelled out with the only word I could think of shouting: Cheryl. Cheryl. Cheryl.
At one point I stopped and looked around. There were shops and houses all around me; the fog had cleared up slightly and I could see a little further. Silent Hill was silent; nothing seemed to move, nothing seemed alive. “It’s quiet” I said, speaking to myself “too quiet ... this place is like a ghost town ... CHERYL!”
I turned a street corner and stopped dead.
Standing in the middle of the road there was, or what looked to be, a young girl, far enough away to be obscured by the fog. The figure was about the same size as Cheryl, and seemed somehow feminine at this distance. I couldn’t see the person very clearly however, so I said “Cheryl?” to see if the figure would respond: speaking loud enough for the person to hear.
“Is that Cheryl?”
I know the figure heard me because as soon as I spoke the figure moved away, stepping deeper into the fog. I ran toward this person but they started running as well, going as fast as I was. “Where are you going?” The figure turned into an alleyway “Wait!” I shouted “Stop!”
God damn it!
I was running quickly now.
My unhealthy lifestyle was now hitting me, and hard. I was running after this figure with every amount of energy I had; and I didn’t want to slow down, but I could feel my heart pounding against my ribcage, and my muscles began to tire within a short space of time. I started to think as I chased this darkened figure: why is she running? Is she scared? The idea that this figure might not be Cheryl never crossed my mind until much later
Oh god!
I shouted again, trying to get the figure to hear me - hoping that if it was Cheryl, she might recognise my voice and slow down.
The figure turned another corner. And awful sound screamed out – it was awful: It sounded like a painful screech, as if something had died. This sound vibrated through me with great force, and it sent a shiver down my spine. I didn’t know exactly what I thought it was, but I knew in an instance that I didn’t like it.
I heard small bang soon after. My heart sank, and my imagination ran wild.
I was relieved when I found out it was just a gate being opened and banged shut. I flung the gate open, allowing another hideous screech to offend the peace, and dashed into what I suspected would be a small garden.
The word garden, I found - as I briefly glanced around, was the wrong word to use in almost every way. It was in one word: featureless. There was simply a back door, the gate I had just ran through, a tiny dog house, and large slabs of concrete that covered every inch of territory; obviously, the main colour of this area was a dull, industrial gray that made it seem anything but homely. I saw another, much narrower alleyway at the far end of the place, I checked the door on my side but it was locked. The sound of the gate was the only thing I had heard, so I was guessing the figure had ran down there. That was what I was hoping anyway.
I ran at it, slower than I wanted to: something was troubling me.
I was trespassing, in reality, and that made me paranoid. But I did had more pressing matters to worry about than something like that – I tried to tell myself that it was something that was, given the circumstances, very trivial; besides (and this was where I was really hoping) I was sure the owners would understand if I explained things to them. Hell. They might even be able to help me in some way.
Something snapped below as I began to run: it was an awful sound, and it felt like I had kicked a grassy outcrop - like you were stepping on a large frog. I looked down at my foot. I don’t know what I was expecting to see, but I can’t imagine it thought it would be anything remotely like what I saw.
It was - or what appeared to be, at least - the remains of a dog: skinned and let to bleed all over the floor.
Awww – that’s sick!
I couldn’t believe I had not seen it when I came in, but I could not let it stop me, I had to keep moving. I jumped over it and ran into the alleyway, my footing pounding on the hard floor sent shockwaves and echoes bouncing off the walls and (while amplified) re-entering my ears, making a racket like something a Punk band would make. Pipes hung down in random succession, and the surrounding buildings looked to be taller here: this alleyway seemed more urban, more city-like than the Paleville I remembered. Though we spent most of our time in South Vale, we did visit this area once as my wife and I were leaving town; we wanted to buy some cokes and snakes for the drive back.
This memory of my wife almost made me start to reminisce, but I broke myself away from it. It would do me no good. There was a corner, and turned into it without slowing down and ran into a gate. I didn’t just allow it to stop me like any graceful person might have, no, I slammed into it like an idiot.
Good Harry!
I flung it this gate open, feeling no small amount of annoyance, and ran through.
However, I soon came to a total stop as I noticed something very strange. It was dark, and getting darker with every step I was taking. Needless to say disturbed me greatly. But I tried to get my mind back onto the task at hand and began walking foreword again.
Shortly I found that it was so dark I could hardly see anything, and I was beginning to panic. Thankfully, I had a solution to this. I pulled my Zippo lighter out and flipped it open. I lit it with a quick snap of my thumb and forefinger (I still enjoyed doing tricks like this) and then held it above my head so it would illuminate as far as possible. This Zippo was something I always carried around with me. I used to smoke pretty heavily when I was a younger man, but now I only have one or two a month; if that; but I never officially gave it up, I just severely cut back. And that was (and still is, even as I write this) the way I like it.
I was slow with my footing. Being careful not to let my worry, or adrenaline take my rational mind prisoner. However, like a Thomas Pynchon character, I could feel the old sensations of paranoia begin to make a home in my head.
How long had I been walking before things began to change?
I don’t know – and the truth is: I don’t want to. And change was the best way I could think of describing this phenomena: it was the only way I could think of describing it.
I came across a blood stained wheel chair, overturned and next to a bed of some unusual style in an enclave. I think it was at this point when I stopped feeling like anything I was seeing was real in any way. In all honesty, I felt like I was in a dream, or high on cannabis. Whatever was going on all I knew was: I didn’t like it.
Soon after the bed and the wheelchair the floor began to change.
It started by feeling somehow thinner; and soon it wasn’t even a real floor, but a wire mesh. I felt like a chicken in a battery farm. The mesh extended onto the walls as buildings seemed to recede, unveiling a black oblivion. I didn’t know what was worse? That what I was seeing was real, or that my mind was capable of creating such things.
There was something hanging off of the wire mesh wall not far ahead. As I approached it I was attacked by a terrible scent. It was like nothing I had ever smelt before – an awful rotting smell. I knew what it was straight away: it was a body.
It was awful. I can’t even begin to describe what it looked like. I wanted to turn away but it fascinated me and I just couldn’t turn away.
Oh ... my .. god.
Something sounded behind me. It was a low, guttural growl. I turned around, a natural reaction despite my terror.
What I saw was the final thing I remember with any real clarity.
It was a child sized monster with dirty-orange coloured skin and long menacing blade-like claws. I opened my mouth to scream but have no memory of what sounded, if anything at all. I scrambled away from them but the wire wall had closed around me. I was trapped. So I did something I would never have done under any other circumstance: I kicked one of them, falling over in the process. My body slammed on the wire floor. I could hear my own scream this time. I could feel the floor vibrating.
Everything was hurting; but something hit the back of my leg and my body screamed with pain.
AAHH! Gurh ... er ...
Everything went black. I don’t know what happened after that. I felt like I died.