The handle sticks, as if hesitant to turn. Putting his shoulder into it, Josh shoves hard as he turns the knob, and is victorious. The door opens to reveal a corridor, about thirty feet long. The white walls are streaked with bloody prints. On the left wall is a KRONOS style time system, and a metal rack for plastic card. There are seven cards, pastel purple on the front with a strip of white glossy plastic. On the strip is a last name followed by an initial. The back of the cards are white with a black magnetic stripe, which one slides through the side of the KRONOS. The electrical wiring leading from the unit to the wall has been pulled out. It does not work.
Beside the unit is an unlocked door with no markings. Across from the door is another door. The word EXIT is in the center, and above it someone has spraypainted THIS IS NOT THE.
To the right of the left-hand door is another door with a plastic sign of a stick figure man and woman. At the end of the hall is a doorway with no door. It leads into a room that one must assume is a combination lounge/office. To the left of the entrance there is a long desk that encompasses the entire wall. The surface is simply two doors supported by several half-height filing cabinets. There is a computer on the desk. The monitor has been smashed. There are stacks of paperwork, a coffee mug with brownish liquid in it and a floating green ring. There is an office phone and a row of binders along the wall with spines declaring mundane things like EXPENSE JAN-JUN, VACATION REQUEST, EMPLOYEE MANUAL, VENDOR SEASONAL, and AP/AR/GL. There is one black binger with a white spine marked SILENT HILL.
Along the back wall is a counter with a sink, coffee maker, clear plastic sugar jar, stirrers and a row of small hooks on the wall for coffee mugs. There are two hanging. Beneath the counter is a small fridge, door open and producing a nauseating stench. Inside are several Tupperware containers without lids, full of rotting food. There are two vending machines on the right, one for soda and one for snacks. ON the front of the snack machine someone has written EAT ME and there is a DRINK ME on the soda machine.
Against the remaining wall space to the left of the doorway are a row of lockers. Each locker is labeled with the one of the last names from the cards. There are five left, with initials only. CC, DD, HP, JR, and CL. Each locker is padlocked.
In the center of the room there is a table and three chairs. It is a clean room, unmolested by the blood in the hall.
The shuffling and dragging continue. The sound advances slowly, agonizingly slow. Floorboards creak beneath the unseen movement, but nothing can be seen in the darkness. Chris takes a deep breath and waits, but nothing appears in his line of sight.
To ascend the stairs would reveal a hallway two feet wide, with four doors on each side. The doors are numbered, but non-sequentially, and there is a piece of silver reflective duct tape over the numbers and the peepholes. It is impossible to know what the room number is without removing the tape.
Removing the tape from the door reveals a rusted number 3.
The door moves slowly, requiring greater force to open, as if something is in the way. Chris huffs in frustration and pushes his shoulder into the wood. The object in question is a torso, limbless and neckless. Its putriftied flesh slips in places, and one can see ribs in the wet sunken chest cavity.
The pale blue walls are splattered and streaked with the dried remains of gore and suffering. Along the wall of the door, there is a pine writing desk. Someone has carved the words CAN YOU HEAR THEM? on the surface. Surprisingly, there desk lamp is on. There are two drawers. Beside the desk is a small wastebasket with a clear plastic liner. The basket is empty. In the corner of the room, the floor lamp has been bent in the middle, and tilts at a useless angle. Along the left wall is a mirror, glass shattered. The jagged remnants reflect the dim light of the flickering bulb. Beneath the mirror is a low dresser with three drawers.
At the far end of the room is a four poster king size bed with a grimy while coverlet and bedskirt. The center of the bed is blackened with a reddish outer ring. The corner of a brown cuitcase peeks out from under the left side of the bed. To the right of the bed is a closet door, open slightly.
In the distance, the shuffling drag approaches, echoing thickly in hall, but there is still no sign of it's source.
Silent Hill Pet Center
Thursday April 17, 5:23am
Silent Hill Pet Center once was a jewel in the downtown shopping district. Children would beg and plead their parents to visit, and press their faces and hands against the two bay windows at the front of the shop. Facing, the left window would display the playful furry kittens, frollicking with balls of yarn and felt mice. The right would have puppies, tails wagging, nipping each other in sport. Now the pale blue paint peels from the dilapidated front, windows gone but for jagged remnants. To the left, rows of product have been overturned, the steel shelving units are rusted and dented, and lean like fallen domines against each other. The back wall is lined nearly floor to ceiling, end to end, with fish taks. Many of them are broken, and the floor is stained and littered with decaying fish. Of the tanks that remain intact, the water has turned thick, a viscous green, and dark shapes float along the top.
At the right of the store, there is a door leading to long room with cages. The remains of animals inhabit the cages. There is also a floor to ceiling small animal area, each subset containing wheels, tubes, and the rmains of rabbits, gerbils, hampsters, and other small creatures. There is also a human hand in one, and a head in another. There is a U shaped counter in the center of the pet store, with a register, computer monitor, and several jars for charities. There is a small plastic box displaying dog treats, and in front of the counter on all sides are racks with informational magazines and books on proper pet care.
On the floor in black spraypaint, someone has written SHE MADE ME DO IT
In the puppy window, there is a body lying face down on an old blanket. From the shape, it is female. Her hair is short, angled, and bright, unnatural red, like a crayon, but it matches the red cotton shirt and skirt, and sensibly heeled pumps. A dark blue, nearly black hoodie is bunched up high on her back. Her black tights are dusty, and in her right hand is the strap of a backpack.
Cindi Lawran, 32, opens her eyes, groggy and unsettled. The deep unnatural fog has invaded the pet center and she has little visibility. Pushing herself up, she folds back, resting on her knees, and dusts herself off. Though she tried to remember where she is, all she can remember is that her name is Cindi and is 32. She tries to push further into the undercurrent of emotion, searching for more, but there is nothing. There is nothing in the frustrated darkness.
Posted on 2008-05-18 at 22:37:04.
Edited on 2008-05-18 at 23:10:38 by Glory of Gallifrey
Reralae Dreamer of Bladesong Karma: 129/12 2058 Posts
Wow, Bad Amnesia
"Cindi? C, I, N, D, I." Cindi murmurs to herself, trying to stimulate memory, "Nope, nothing."
Well, if her own name couldn't get any memories, then either it wasn't her name, or nothing would unlock those memories sealed in that head of hers somewhere. Chilly, the air felt cold. Instinctively, wherever the instinct might have come from, Cindi grabs her hoodie and puts it on. How fitting She thought, as she put her hood up in an 'emo mode'... whatever that might be.
Pulling herself to a cross-legged position, Cindi looks through her backpack. Perhaps something in there would be of use or could spark memory. The first thing she saw in it is a flute. Cindi liked music, or... wait... another blank. Putting the mouthpiece to her lips, and pressing down a few random keys, she tentatively blows, and nearly winces at the result. It is out of tune. By instinct she reaches to adjust the mouthpiece, but the flute is solid, and she cannot twist or otherwise move the mouthpice. Hmm, an out-of-tune flute, how does that help?
Setting it back in her pack, she reaches for the next item. A soft clinking noise can be heard as she pulls out a bag of marbles. How'd that get there? Cindi wonders. She puts it back carefully, then pulls out a pair of scissors and a ribbon. That's handy, Cindi thought, Something that I can cut and something to cut with if I needed to. Putting these two things back in her pack, she pulls out a candy wrapper, and raises a delicate, thin, red eyebrow. She sniffs the wrapper for a scent, perhaps something to trace in her lack of memory.
She puts it back in her pack, despite the fact no one would likely have qualms about her littering. There was only two shapes left in her pack that she hadn't already looked at. She pulls out one, which turns out to be a hand mirror with a crack down the middle. Looking at it seems to give Cindi a bit of a headache, but she had a... feeling... she felt she wanted it to have more cracks than that. Shaking her head, she puts the mirror away and pulls out the final object. It is a card, slightly longer and thinner than a playing card, with one side completely red that has a Chinese circle pattern in the back, while the other side has a white border around a frame of black that seeps into the plain white center. At the bottom of the frame is written 'White' and at the top right corner of the card is a small column with the characters se and bai, then the number 34. If Cindi remembered correctly, this card meant... uh... it meant... nope, another blank. This really wasn't her day. Cindi puts the card back in her pack, resignedly, and puts the pack over her shoulder.
Cindi stands up and takes a look around where she is. What a peculiar place. One part of her felt like running and screaming... wait, parts... yes, something about parts. Parts... not-cracked-enough mirror... nope, just a blank. Cindi's eyes wander, and are caught by the black spraypaint on the floor.
SHE MADE ME DO IT
Quite possible. Cindi thinks, I just don't remember.
On the second Floor of Jack's Inn, Chris has entered the room at the top of the stairs, the first on the left. Room 3. As he stands in the doorway, surveying his surroundings, the sound of an out of tune flute pierces the early morning eerieness.
In the Flower shop, Josh Rood opens the Employee door into a halway when he too hears the flute.
Delilah Drake peers into the ruined husk of a truck in the parkinglot of Rosewater Park when the quiet of her surroundings is shattered by the flute.
As Hank Preston wanders down the abandoned street, the flute startles her, causing her to flinch.
And as Cindi Lawran reads the floor, the world as they know it dissolves...
Posted on 2008-05-19 at 01:37:16.
Edited on 2008-05-19 at 01:42:29 by Glory of Gallifrey
The dense fog pulls back, recedes into a gathering darkness that is complete and total. This is a darkness deeper than night, more complete than evening, and the absence of light. it is a lackness that sucks in all light and leaves abominations in its place. And the fog seeps in again, thpugh thin and tnuous, and it breaks away like smoke when brused aside.
At once, the bodies laying about where they have fallen rise, yet they are changed, malformed. They twitch and shamble, moving sightlessly in hestiant, jerking motions. The bodies of the dead seem to be covered in a thin flesh that envelopes the creatures from head to waist, rendering their arms useless.
As he stands in Room 3, Chris suddenly feels his iPod vibrate, like a cell phone. He fumbles for it and is amazed that it has begun playing. The video is static snow, and there is somehow sound, a high static. Chris spins around, his hand on the door, and stares in open-mouther dorror as one of these beings advances down the hallway from the farthest end. It moves slowly in that hatling quivering twitching gait, and it is not alone. Rather, the creature coming towards him is attatched to a second torso that drags behind it like a thick tail.
Hank turns, feeling the flesh on her back crawl, as a low, deep growl rips through the darkness. Frozen by fear, the switchblade in her hand trembles with her grip. She stares, wide-eyed, at a fleshy dog-like creature, head encased in thin flesh, mouthless, struggles towards her.
Delilah backs away from the cars, a scream dying on her lips. The cellophane people rise and stumble, trip, correct themselves. THere are three of them advancing upon her.
Josh remains unconcerned. There are no creepers around him, and he is safe. For the moment.
The sounds of machines, of gears turning and engines churning from somewhere, everywhere, invades the stillness. It is a thumping, grinding, rusted industrial sound, and one can not escape the noise.
Chris watches as his surroundings change, and as the shambling, urching figure--figures?-- come into view. As his ipod goes off, a white static fills the screen and it plays a crackling noise. "What the bleep!" He comments. He judges the timing of the creature's movements, and if he thinks he's got the time, he will run and grab the suitcase under the bed and make his way downstairs.
If the creature catches him in the room, he wil keep the four poster bed between him and the luching monster, and when it moves to clamber over the bed or around it, Chris will run from the room closing the door behind him and running downstairs.
Cindi Lawran raises her head, and her angular face twitches, foxlike. Above the mechanical din, she hears a shuffle, a sound that stops and starts and stops and starts, and she turns slowy searching for the sound. It comes form the small room with the cages.
As she moves around the U shaped counter, the sound becomes clearer. Armless, body wrapped in cellophane beneath a paperthin membrane pulsing with blue, green and black veins, a creature stumbles ahead on stumps of knees, the rest of the legs twitching uselessly onthe floor behind it.
Delilah trembled, leaflike, mouth screaming feet unmoving. She stood rooted to the spot. She could not tear her eyes from those things, those wrapped in plastic creatures that approached. Her mind raced with images of death when suddenly she stopped. Her shoulders relaxed, her breathing evened. How, she wondered, were they supposed to harm her? They had no mouths to bite, and no hands to tear or wield weapons. Nothing. Wheat wer they supposed to do, bump into her to death?
Delilah giggled at the absurdity of the situation and continued to check the cars and trucks in the lot. She takes the envelope, the picture, the tire iron, and the tape.
The suitcase was stuck, "DAmnit" Chris mutters, as he bends down to see what's keeping it from his easy grasp. He can hear the approaching creeper, but information was what he lacked, and he was determined to gain some. He'd been in his fair share of scuffles, his scars both recent and ast would attest to that, and for the moment, his curiosity outweighed his fear.
Chris jumps as the light on the desk explodes, casting the room in darkness. Taking out a stilleto, Chris reaches under the bed behind the suitcase and jabs it into anything that might be -ugh- holding it, trying to pry it loose, keeping an eye on the doorway for the creeper to enter into view.