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Silent Hill 2 Fanfic

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Author Topic: Silent Hill 2 Fanfic  (Read 17251 times)
Mutou Yami
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« on: October 16, 2010, 08:01:06 am »

Chapter Twenty-Five
Penitentiary

The cafeteria was definitely deteriorating, but at least it was dry. I think that since I entered the Historical Society, it may have been the only place so far that had been. For that alone, I liked it best of any place in the Abyss that I had seen.

The place I followed Eddie into wasn’t half-underwater as was the natural rock cavern God knew how many feet above, but it certainly was wet itself. Water dripped from cracks in the ceiling, filling the quiet chamber with a soft litany of hollow dripping. Puddles of the stuff collected here and there on the floor. The crooks where the floor met the wall had sunken a bit with advanced age, and the runoff pooled along them. It was humid, but it was colder down there than up above. Colder, in fact, than it had felt since Maria and I entered the hospital. It made the place feel even more depressing than it should have, and that was plenty itself. The change sure wouldn’t be nice to my immune system, but death by pneumonia was closer to the bottom of the list of possible outcomes. At least I still had my jacket.

I was in a hall of some kind, and it ended very close to my right. Before even that was a set of venerable bars and a locked gate. There was a door beyond, but there was no way I’d reach it. The hall extended much farther in the other direction. Rough, dark walls caught my light and absorbed it, giving the hall a strange appearance akin to tunnel vision. In the distance I could see another gate, this one quite closed, too.

I made my way down the hall slowly. The going was tough, for the water and dirt joined forces to create some kind of slippery slime. It was hard to distinguish on the floor, filthy as it was, but I knew it when I stepped in it. The **** was as slick as oil, and would send me flying if I wasn’t careful. The water came down from everywhere, like a soft drizzle, but I was at least several dozen feet underground, and it was rather surreal to see such a thing. Falling down those HOLEs had certainly screwed with my sense of direction, and now I wondered if perhaps I really was underneath Lake Toluca. I don’t know how on earth anyone managed to construct such a large place under a lake in the 18th or 19th century. It didn’t seem possible, the engineering and technology just wouldn’t be advanced enough, and then one would have to ask why it would be here in the first place, why anyone would even bother. Yet, it seemed possible, if not probable, because I couldn’t explain it any other way.

I decided first to try the gate down the hall. As I approached it, the radio hissed softly. I didn’t see anything beyond the bars, but a moment later, I heard that strange, gurgling cry of a straight-jacket monster. It was pretty distant. I had time to work the door.

Only, that was easier said than done. The door wasn’t locked. However, the gate door was very badly rusted, and the water that dripped steadily off of the bars provided the reasoning behind that. The handle latch was jammed, seemingly fused solid thanks to untold decades of build-up. It didn’t help that the handle was on the other side of the gate, either, but I was able to twist my arm enough to get a solid grip.

I pushed down hard, which did nothing except make the latch handle barely wiggle. Another push produced similar disappointing results. The third time, I jumped in the air and leveraged my weight on the handle. It gave this time, yes indeed. It gave too much. My hand came down on the handle, and I felt a moment of resistance. Just a moment. Then, the handle cracked and snapped off, too quickly for me to even register right away, much less prevent. Thanks to that, I was full of surplus movement. My arm continued plunging earthward, and my wrist caught on the part of the broken handle still attached to the gate. It ripped a long, white-hot slash all the way up to the crook of my elbow, stopping only because my shoulder struck the bars, being too large to pass through.

When a person suffers a sudden injury, there’s always that brief grace period, that time before the nerves inform the brain that the **** went down, a time where nothing feels wrong. It was during this time that I pulled my arm back through the bars and backed away from the gate in a sort of dull stupor. I stumbled, as my attention wasn’t focused, and I fell backwards against the cold concrete wall. I slid down to the floor and sat there. Then I rolled back the sleeve and saw the exposed skin on my right arm.

At that instant, the grace period of shock disappeared, as quickly as if it had never been there at all. Replacing it was a searing jolt of agony, drawn in a jagged crimson slash that spanned the entire length of my arm to my elbow. Already the whole arm was smeared red, and more oozed out from the wound. I hissed and bit back a full-on scream, because oh, it hurt like **** blazes and it looked even worse. Really, it was the look of the slash that sent me into fits, filled my mind with fresh new horror scenarios. Tetanus, blood poisoning, any number of infections in this damp and wet hole in the ground-

But thankfully, I did come to realize it wasn’t quite as bad or as gory as it looked. The cut was shallow from tip to end, no real lasting damage. I wished to God I could clean it, but that wasn’t possible. I opened my jacket and pressed the cut against my shirt, which was the closest I was going to get to any sort of sanitary fabric here. I held it like that for several minutes, and when I pulled it away, my good shirt gave me the look of a battlefield surgeon in a war-zone, but the blood was already clotting and the flow had become a mere trickle. It still stung like a motherfucker, but I could handle it. What choice did I have?

None, of course. The further I got through this death-trap of a town, the more apparent that became, and even though I had long past the point where I needed reminders, they came anyway. So, there was nothing to do but press on. In all honesty though, as badly as I wanted to believe I was going to find Mary at the end of it all, there were times when even that didn’t seem worth all the misery and fright I was privy to here. As much as I hate to admit it, one of the prime factors that kept me motivated was the simple knowledge that there was no turning back. I felt that even when I was still above-ground, when there was at least an outside shot at making it back to the car and getting the **** out of Dodge. Now, of course, it was miles away from even remotely possible.

It didn’t matter either way. Running was never a real option, not from the minute I got on that nature trail. I mean, there was nothing to physically stop me until I jumped down that first HOLE, but even if I did get back there and drove away, then what? Back to my old life? An existence that held absolutely no value to me? Day after endless day of operating in a near-mindless state and being incapable of giving a damn about even a minute of it? There was no way I could do it. If I stood in front of the car right now, I couldn’t make myself turn the key in the ignition. In my more rational moments I’ve seriously questioned whether or not I would really find my wife here, but there had to be some reason I was going through this hell, some reason for my suffering.

The only way to find out was to press on.

There was a door nearby, and it was as good a start as any. It opened, and to my surprise, it didn’t even put up much of a fight. It opened into a branching hall of some kind, and the floor was a half-step lower in here. This allowed all the water dripping from above to collect and pool. I decided to go right, treading very lightly.

Around the corner, the hall ended a few lengths ahead, with three more branches to the left, each spaced very closely together. The first had a sort of wooden door, this one smashed in the center and folded across whatever was behind it. The door didn’t touch either the floor or the ceiling, and though I couldn’t see much, it didn’t look like a very large space. A toilet stall, perhaps?

But it wasn’t. The entirety of the little stall was covered in tile, tile that was probably white, once upon a time. Now, it was moldy, and dimmed yellow where it still showed through. The grout had been stained a deep black from floor to ceiling. There was no toilet. On the wall in the back, I could see a pair of faucet handles, and a few feet above them, a long, curved pipe hung out and ended in a large, bell-shaped device. It was a shower. It certainly wasn’t in working order, and I wouldn’t have used it even if it were, but just seeing a shower made me realize that I was dirty, sweaty and covered in blood in a few places. If fate was kind enough to allow me to survive this little adventure, the very first thing I was going to do was rent a motel room somewhere between here and Augusta, and take the longest shower of my entire life. I’d let the water run cold. Hell, I might start it that way.

But that wasn’t now or anywhere near it, sadly. I turned and went back up the corridor. I didn’t turn the corner right away though, because I heard something splashing around, and that something wasn’t me; I stood completely still. The radio told me nothing, but-

Then, yes, I heard that same strangled cry I heard on the other side of the bars out in the main hall, and in a dozen places besides. One of them was in here with me. I stepped around the corner, confident that I was far enough away that I had time to dart back even if it did see me. This time, my confidence was well-founded. The hall hit a corner ahead and turned to the right, and it had to be over there somewhere. I had no desire to fight it if I could manage, and to that end I crept slowly towards the door, having the gun drawn the whole time. Thankfully, if it was even aware of my presence, it didn’t seem terribly interested in doing anything about it. I slid through the door and slammed it shut.

I re-entered the main hall only to be greeted again by radio static. I glanced quickly at the barred gate, and sure enough, the straight-jacket monster I had heard earlier decided to come on down to this side and check out the commotion. It paced back and forth along the length of the gate. I stood there watching it, and once it realized I was there, it went into a kind of frenzy. It bashed its own body against the gate, groaning and screaming in unison with my radio, providing a grotesque backbeat to the madness.

Then, without warning, it sprayed that damnable acid **** at me. I was just too far away to be hit, thankfully, but I didn’t realize it at first, and I jumped backwards. It fell short of me, hitting the concrete and stone floor. Tendrils of smoke rose from where the corrosive mist landed. It screamed its strangled scream and spit again, and again, despite me being safely out of range. The monster seemed aware of that fact, and it appeared as though the knowledge drove it crazy. It kept spitting at me, repeatedly, non-stop, once every second or so. None of it reached me, but that didn’t seem to faze the monster. A thick haze of smoke from the acid-burned floor began to cloud the vicinity. I watched it thrash about like a thing possessed, for it was both fascinating and frightening at the same time. I could only watch for so long though, because I kept having nasty little thoughts about how utterly painful life would have been if I had been a step or two closer when it let loose like that.

There was a doorway right across from the shower room, but I had no intention of trying it with the acid rain falling so close by. I remembered seeing one other door back the other way. If it didn’t lead anywhere, I could shoot the creature behind the bars and give it a shot. So, I walked away, towards this other door. The furious sounds of the monster faded in intensity, but the sounds still echoed all along the empty corridor, and if anything, it sounded even more frightening from a distance. The door down here did open, thankfully, and the horrifying sound died when the door closed behind me.

Now I found myself in yet another hallway. This one was quite long, as was the one I just left, though more narrow. Now, if I needed any more evidence that I was in some sort of abandoned prison, this hallway gave me all I needed and then some.

Cells lined the entire left side of the hall, one right after another, as far as I could see. I looked in the one closest to me. There wasn’t much to see, really. The inside looked as wet and filthy as the outside did. I could see a cot on the wall, suspended by old, rusty chains. A rather foul odor came from within, though I couldn’t see any visible source.

Clank.

Down the hall further, I heard it.

Clank.

Clank.


My poor heart kickstarted again, ramped up by a seemingly never-ending supply of adrenaline from the stomach. It had been pumping out gallons of the fear juice all day. Crazily, I wondered just where it all came from.

Clank.

Wasn’t going to dwell on it too long, though.

My hands trembled as they held the pistol at the ready. The experience with the monster out in the main hallway had my nerves on an absolute hair-trigger, and all I needed was half an excuse to blow one of them away if I saw one here. Because while I was able to keep a safe distance out there, I wouldn’t have that same luxury now. The hallway was simply not wide enough.

Quietly, I crept along the length of the hallway, stepping sideways as I did. I passed one cell after another, each one so far as empty as the first.

Clank.

Clank clank.


And then the radio joined in. My blood pumped even faster, throbbing in my veins. I could feel it in my neck and in my forehead. I could also feel the onset of another headache.

Next time I set out on a little adventure to a haunted town from hell, I’m going with my pockets stuffed full of Tylenol.

CLANK!


I almost leapt right the hell out of my skin, but instead, I leapt to my left. I had arrived at the last cell on this block, for there was nothing but a door beyond it. The radio hissed and squealed, and while I couldn’t see exactly what was behind the bars, but I didn’t need to. Between the noise of the radio and the bashing noise against the old steel, I could hear the trademark mating call of the straight-jacket. I was so relieved to get away from that one back in the main hall, yet here I was again facing one down the same way. Deja-vu, baby.

Then, I could see it as it came towards the bars and struck them hard, almost as if it had taken a diving leap into them. If so, it recovered well, for it faced me directly. My flashlight’s glare reflected from several distorted angles off of its putrid sack of flesh. It stood still for a moment, writhing in place as if trying to break out of its case of skin. For just the slightest of moments, I wondered if perhaps it was having some sort of seizure that would find more of a concern than my presence.

Then, without warning, it reared back.

****!

Panic dug its icy claws in my neck. I scuttled sideways, willing myself out of the way of the acid spray that was sure to come. In doing so, I slipped on the wet floor and fell hard. I didn’t even have time to think about what had happened. It didn’t register until I actually struck the floor, which I did with my left elbow first, followed by the rest of my body. My elbow cracked hard against the hard concrete. At precisely the same time, my finger closed around the trigger of the Glock, a purely reflexive motion. The pistol spit fire, and of course, a bullet, one that wasn’t going to hit anything I wanted to hit.

Panting in surprise and terror, I rolled over on my back and pushed myself away from the last cell with my legs, looking no doubt like a beached fish flopping uselessly out of water. The floor was too slick for it to really help much, I don’t think I even moved an inch for all the effort. Providentially, I already seemed to be far enough away that it couldn’t reach, but that didn’t sink in right away.

I hurriedly got to my feet, and I held the Glock out right away. This monster didn’t seem as maniacally inclined to melt the flesh off of my bones as the last one was. It wasn’t spitting at the moment. My eyes were as wide as dinner plates as I snuck back towards the cell. Sure enough, this bastard was more of the disinterested type. It looked like its back was turned to me, but considering that its features, if it possessed any at all, were amorphous at best, it was impossible to tell if it was or not.

I wasn’t about to find out, either. I squeezed the trigger, intentionally, this time. The gun jumped in my hand as it spewed its fire and cordite. The monster seemed to heave away from the bars, and I could see why. The bullet tore into its neck, leaving a gaping hole that bled so darkly it almost looked like crude oil.

The straight-jacket staggered, and for a moment I was sure it was going to go down. It leaned, and I waited for it to fall. Except, it didn’t. It stopped before it fell.

Then, horror washed over me in a cascade. I suddenly knew why. It wasn’t leaning back. It wasn’t about to fall.

It was rearing back.

It was going to splash me with acid.

I pulled the trigger once, twice, thrice. The gun seemed to almost fight against my grip, but I held tight. I had to. My life depended on it. I didn’t know how many of the bullets hit the monster. I wasn’t watching to see. After firing the third shot, I fell to my knees and curled up. I didn’t have the time or even the energy left to dart away again. I just lay there and waited for the stinging kiss.

But the kiss never came. I heard the creature screaming its phlegmy scream, and then I heard a hard clonk. Then I heard nothing. Nor did I feel anything.

It took me quite awhile before I was able to screw together enough courage to open my eyes. When I did, I was met by a fantastically welcome sight. Apparently, at least one of the bullets hit pay dirt. The straight-jacket leaned forward against the bars of its prison, the head dangling lifelessly to the side. It was still propped up, having landed on its knees, but it wasn’t going to stand up again. It was quite dead.

I stood slowly, almost laughing at myself for the cowardly moves which had just saved my life yet again. Maybe I would look back and laugh at it, someday. Right now, it just wasn’t all that funny. Right now, I was too angry to laugh. I didn’t know if these damned things were mindless or not, whether they had conscious control over their actions or not, but I hated them just the same. That experience had left me full of frustration. I grabbed the iron bars with both hands, planted my right shoe on the face of the dead monster and shoved it as hard as I could. The monster put up no fight at all. It just fell backwards and hit the floor bonelessly. I felt no pity for it. **** bastard things were too dangerous. I stepped back from the cell.

Clank.

Oh
hell no.

Clank clank clank.


It wasn’t coming from in front of me. It was coming from behind me. I turned to face the cells I had passed.

Clank clank CLANK CLANK CLANK

They were rattling. All of them. The radio chose this moment to inform me of the fact, but I didn’t need it to. I could hear the choking and bubbling noises of straight-jacket monsters, some of them screaming in fury, all of them bashing furiously against the cell doors.

I glanced at the cell next to the one that held the dead monster. Sure enough, I could see its slick, glistening form angrily banging against the bars.

They were all empty! Where in the **** did they come from?

Impossible. I saw them all for myself. Yet, the banging and screeching continued, a testament to just how fine the line between the impossible and the possible really was in this wretched place. I just stood there in disbelief, trying to figure out how and why, but there was no way I could. No way at all.

As if to underscore just how wrong I was, I heard one of the cells down near the end bash again, and this time, I could hear a shrill metallic squeal accompany it.

Escape. One of them escaped!

And then another. And another. I could hear their homicidal cries renewed. I could hear the tapping of their hard feet against the concrete. Could hear them coming. Could hear them coming at me.

But only when the last cell near be bashed open did I finally break out of my crazy stupor. I saw the monster amble out of the cell and turn to face me. It wasn’t close enough to spray me yet, but it would only need maybe three seconds to be close enough. A pitiful, strangled cry of terror clenched in my throat to join the cries of the damned souls that approached me.

With no time to spare, I turned and grabbed the door handle so fiercely it felt like an attack.

Please God let it open…

It did. I practically threw myself through the open portal, and kicked it shut behind me. I then leaned back against it and sagged to the ground, trying to let my heart rate slow back down out of the red zone. It didn’t even have a chance to start, because it wasn’t but a second or two later when the first of the monsters began throwing its weight against the door, and it was joined by others in no time. I got up and ran away down the new hall I found myself in, unmindful of any dangers ahead, and completely desperate to get away from the terrible dangers behind.
« Last Edit: October 16, 2010, 08:06:42 am by Mutou Yami » Report Spam   Logged


All Hail The Strogg!
R.I.P. Paul Gray - April 8, 1972 – May 24, 2010.


"Stay...
 I Need You Here, For A New Day To Break...
Stay...
I Want You Near, Like A Shadow In My Wake...
Stay...
Here With Me... Don't You Leave...
Stay...
Stay With Me, Until The Day's Over..."
I love you Mutou Yami... Forever.


Long Live, Mr.Yamaoka Akira, The Silent Hill Legend.
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