~Silent Hill: World of Madness~ Ch. 1: Solitary Mourner
Consider this your only warning; you are about to enter the town of Silent Hill. After this moment, there is no turning back...such is the fate of young, carefree Tamara Beckett. Caring for her agoraphobic friend, Deirdre (in mourning of her friend Vikktor) she will soon discover that Vikk's demise was not of earthly nature. Both Tamara and Deirdre soon find themselves locked in an eternal hell. But is it the demons of Silent Hill or the demons of their past that will destory them?...“Dee, I’m home.” It was in this deadly, lifeless silence that Tamara found herself drifting into a deep drunken sleep. A dreamless, meaningless slumber. One from which she would not wake until the hours passed and her peace would be disturbed by her ring-tone. The lively ringing of Tamara’s cell phone woke her from her slumber at last. Her eyelids fluttered open slowly, as though she had been sleeping for much longer than three or four hours. Slowly, weakly, Tamara pushed herself up into a sitting position and grabbed her phone from off the coffee table. “Hullo?” she murmured groggily. For a moment, no one answered. Silence. Tamara was tempted to hang up and abandon the caller before a small, pathetic sob caught her ear. “…Deirdre?” Tamara furrowed her brow. She listened closely as the voice struggled to make words out of slurred sounds and tearful gasps. “T-Tamara.” Deirdre Adaire stammered. “I-I don‘t know what to…” before the girl could finish her sentence, however, she erupted into a horrible, miserable cry. Tamara stood up and made her way for the kitchen. “Deidre,” she said breathlessly. “Tell me what’s wrong. Where are you?” She slipped on her shoes hurriedly, shoving her keys in her purse. “I-I’m at Vikk’s.” Deirdre responded, her voice becoming airy and weak. “H-he…” Her words faded into nothing but dreadful weeping. "I-I need you, plea-ease. V-Vikk, he..." Her sobs were drowned by a sharp, sudden burst of crackling noise. The connection was lost, leaving Tamara standing in silence by her apartment door. *~*~/< SH>\~*~* The drive seemed eternal and dream-like, as though Tamara were drifting between sleeping and waking. Every flash of light and every muted sound seemed blurred and distorted. Even the glow from the city seemed dim to her eyes. This phantasmagoria--this surreal state, made her wonder whether or not this was all just a dream. Even as she pulled onto the street where Vikktor Kovaleski lived, she was far from reality. Several vehicles were parked in his driveway, among them an ambulance, a rescue vehicle, and several police cars, their lights flashing multiple colors in the darkness. As Tamara tried to park in the yard, a middle-aged officer stopped her and approached her window. “You can’t enter here, miss,” he said. “This area is under investigation.” “B-but,” Tamara stammered, straining her eyes to see the familiar frame of her friend Deirdre. “My friend. She’s here. She called me. Her name is Deirdre Adaire.” Tamara scrounged through her billfold in search of photographic evidence, and pulled out a picture of her and her friend arm-in-arm outside of their apartment building. Those were the times when they were happy--the times that Tamara hardly even remembered. “This is her,” she pointed at the short girl in black beside her, sportinga veil of waist-length red hair. The officer took a quick glance at the photo before standing up full-height and making a waving gesture to one of his fellow cops. “Alright,” the man said to Tamara, stepping back and letting her get out of her car. “I’ll let you see the girl, but you can’t enter the premise. Is that clear?” Tamara didn’t speak another word to him. She sprinted across the yard, scanning the crowded driveway for her dearest friend before he had even finished his sentence. Deirdre looked up as soon as she sensed her friend’s arrival. Her face was streaked with tears, remnants of her thick black eyeliner running down her face, specks of blood scattered in random places. This image alone was enough to strike dread into Tamara's heart. Tamara leaned beside her friend, speaking no words, for words were not needed. Her dark brown eyes met Deirdre’s large green ones, and they shared a moment of telepathic understanding. The girls embraced one another in silence, Deirdre’s shoulders shaking with silent cries as she fought to hold them back with all her might. Tamara stroked her hair. “It’s okay,” she said at last, feeling the utmost sympathy for her miserable friend. “It’ll be okay…” Thus was the unfortunate death of Vikktor Kovaleski--age: 21. Blood type: A Positive. Race: Caucasian. For that was all he became then--just another toe tag. He was not an individual--not someone who would be missed or mourned or even thought of. The next day, a murmur would pass through as the apartment natives would gossip: “Did you hear about Deirdre’s friend?” “Oh, yes, that foreign boy.” “How unfortunate.” No one really cared. No one really knew him. Not even Tamara had spoken more than two words to the boy. He was just another order on the butcher’s bill.
Tamara Beckett shut and locked the door behind her, throwing her car keys onto the kitchen table. She stumbled slightly as she walked, a few drinks and a couple shots in her system.
“Deirdre?” she called again for her room-mate, with no answer. “Come on, sweetie, this is getting a little silly, don’t you think?” She giggled lightly before a sudden sharp pain in her temporal lobe destroyed her cheerful disposition. She collapsed onto the couch, sprawling out with her hair cascading around her face like a short, curly brown veil.
At last, she spotted her--sitting on the ground with her back leaned against a stone archway, her head in her pale shaking hands. Deirdre’s long black dress glimmered with a mysterious fluid substance. As Tamara approached, she could spot a scarlet hue contrasting against the girl’s ashen skin. That red was the red of blood…
After all...what would one thing, seeing their friend soaked in someone else's blood?
Out of the corner of her eye, Tamara watched as the paramedics came filing out of Vikk’s house, carrying with them a white sheet in a stretcher, the shape of a human being beneath its shroud. A single arm had fallen out, and she could see in the flashing lights and chaos, a thin trickle of blood fell from the fingertips of the young man who inhabited this home.
It was not until then that Tamara realized the extent of this situation. It was not just any ordinary accident. Deirdre was not just another ordinary witness.
This young girl's world, as she knew it, had just fallen to peices. Only moments ago...
Just one more stiff in the morgue, lamented by only one person on earth...
And that was the last day Deirdre Adaire stepped out into the world...
Did you like this story? Make one of your own!
