~Silent Hill: World of Madness~ Ch. 3: Fun and Games
I know, I know, the title clearly says "Silent Hill" and I promise you, they WILL eventually GET to Silent Hill. I promise!!! 1 more chapter. And then all you fans can bask in the glory that is blood, gore, mystery, horror, and Pyramid Head's strange fetishes, okay?! ...okay. So keep reading. This chapter is pretty fun. Includes some cute stuff...and by cute, I mean the Seal of Metatron painted in black slime on Deirdre's wall. Cute...“It’s been a week…” Tamara murmured quietly through the door to her friend on the inside. Deirdre remained silent and unresponsive, just as she had all these days. “And I know how you must be feeling. I know how much you cared for Vikk, but… you can’t stay here forever, Deirdre. You need to get out, shake yourself off. At least just this once…Please.” She waited for a response, but it was not given to her. “Please, Deirdre.” she repeated. “Do this for me…” Agoraphobia; that’s what the doctors had told her. Deirdre was hiding inside because she was afraid of the outside world--the pain she might feel, the people that might hurt her, the humiliation she may feel, the simple sensation of being in an unfamiliar world. They said it was this fear that kept her inside, away from the rest of humankind. Trauma had led to terror, thus Deirdre may never leave her home again. But for some reason, Tamara did not believe that. She knocked her fist against the door, this time with more fury. “Dee,” she said assertively. “Unlock this door. Please, you need to talk to me. I want you to talk to me.” ----- The mirror sat broken to pieces, shards of glass scattered on the floor. A single red handprint adorned the wooden frame; bloody, gruesome, beautiful. Deirdre chipped away pieces of the old, festering wallpaper, scraping her fingernails against the wood. She sat hunched in the corner, staring catatonically at nothing in particular. Wincing in pain, she touched an abrasion on her hand, pulling out a small sliver of glass from her knuckles. It dropped to the floor beside her, joining a congregation of its bloodied and glittering brethren. An abstract image of Deirdre’s face was reflected in their surfaces. “Only a little further,” she whispered to herself, standing up and ripping away another chunk of wallpaper. Beneath it, the oily black marks wove and curved their way around, forming a shape of sorts. Deirdre smiled, the first time she had done so in a week. She stood before her discovery, filled with both pride and relief, for even in her insanity, one must always have a goal. She took up a shard of mirror in her hand, squeezing it almost hard enough to cut her flesh, and knelt before the stripped, rotting, and leaking wall. With a jerky hand, she carved two words into the wood. Two words…ten letters… ----- “Deirdre, please, open this door!” Tamara said in a raised voice. “I don’t want to bust through, but if I have to, I will…” She waited, hearing nothing on the other side--nothing at all. Her patience had finally come to its end. She had hoped that it would not come to this. Tamara jiggled the doorknob--once, twice--just to test. Once she had fully concluded that it was indeed locked, she backed up a single step. She began to turn, only the slightest bit, with the intent of grabbing an object with which she could pick the lock, when-- The door creaked open… She watched it from the corner of her eye, stopping where she stood. “Deirdre?” she turned, expecting to see her friend behind the door. There was no one, only empty space. Tamara peeked through the crack, squinting in the darkness to better see. Yet, there was hardly anything to see. Deirdre was gone. Tamara realized that within seconds, but her attention was soon drawn to something other than her friend’s absence. She stopped in the center of the room, her eyes scanning the wall that stood before her, and the image that adorned it. A large circle was drawn, standing from ceiling to floor, carved into the wood and dripping with a thick black liquid from every pore. In the center of this circle was a triangle, unknown characters and symbols surrounding it, spelling out an incantation that Tamara knew nothing of. And just below this symbol--in the corner, where it could certainly go unseen--were two words carved by hand into the woods; carved by Deirdre’s own shaking, unsteady hands. Two words…ten letters… Silent Hill. Tamara backed away, lightheaded and overwhelmed, and fell to the ground with her back against the opposite wall. The window remained locked from the inside. There were no other doors in or out of the room; no ways that young Deidre could have escaped. She had merely disappeared. And this image--this seal on the wall--had she created it? Or had it been there all along? “Silent Hill.” Tamara whispered, the words tasting bitter on her tongue. “…is this where you are, Deirdre?…is this how’s it’s gonna be? You want me to come hunt you down? Like…like a game?” She stood to her feet clumsily, and stumbled from the room with a catatonic expression as though she were in a dream. After all, that’s all life was to her now; just one, huge, confusing nightmare. “Fine,” she said under her breath as she closed the door behind her. “If it’s a game you want, then a game it’ll be. You made your first move…now it‘s my turn.” And with a sigh, Tamara slipped on her shoes, pulled a jacket over her shoulders, grabbed her purse and her car keys… …and walked out the door… …on her way to Silent Hill.
Did you like this story? Make one of your own!
