Message #5105

[Mutou Yami]

Chapter Thirty-Eight
A Word With the Manager

I waited in the Lake Shore Restaurant for Laura to return with Mary’s other letter. I sat at one of the tables, the one set with the white tablecloth, with my head resting in the crook of my arm. I was tired. Hell, I was damn near exhausted, and thirsty. I searched the restaurant. There was a lot of food, but much of it seemed old, and I had no appetite anyway. I did manage to unearth a carton of Evian behind the staff divider though. It wasn’t refrigerated, but the cool room temperature helped, and I wasn’t extraordinarily picky anyway. Drinking the water was like putting aloe lotion on a bad sunburn. It felt good, better than good. It felt revitalizing. I drank most of the bottle in a single gulp. My poor stomach wasn’t really prepared for such an assault, and I almost threw it all back up. I set the empty on the table and sat still, letting my innards get their **** straight again. I used what was left of the water with a table napkin, and cleaned the still-stinging gash on my forearm, as well as the bite on my leg. I left the bloody napkin on the table. I didn’t think the management would mind.

The room was pleasant even in the midst of such an oppressive atmosphere, but the silence was deafening, to give a cliché life. There was too much to not hear, and this went double in a place that I had spent time in on several occasions, a place in which I expected the background murmurs of dining guests, the soft tinkling of piano keys, the quiet bustle of waitresses serving guests and bussing tables. It was all gone, and the void left behind was too great to ignore. I couldn’t stay here any longer. I knew that what I was searching for was here, and I chafed at having to sit still while so close. I stood and walked over to the restaurant’s double mahogany doors, stepping through soundlessly.

The problem I faced here in the hotel was not unlike that which I had first coming into town. I knew this hotel was our special place, but what part of it, specifically? It wouldn’t take but a few hours to employ the process of elimination, but if there were a more direct way, I’d be all for it.

There was a directory in front of me, with a floorplan. I gave it a look, and in all of two seconds, my question was answered, as if someone had just been reading the question as it formed in my mind. The very bottom of the directory showcased the third floor, in which the grand suites were located. And it was in one of these suites that the answer was given, in great, looping cursive.

WAITING FOR YOU.

The script undeniably belonged to Mary, and it mimicked the last line of the letter I had, the letter that somehow vanished when I last tried to read it. It was written overtop of Room 312. It was so fitting, and the result was inevitable. That’s where I had to go. It wasn’t simple logic that brought me to this conclusion, not so much as it was a sort of pull I felt, leading me up the stairs and to the room, the room. I suddenly could not figure out why I hadn’t come to that realization right away. It didn’t matter, really. No reason to concern myself with the why, because I knew the where, and that was far more important.

There was an elevator right next to me, one that would deliver me almost right to the door. Would, anyway, if it actually worked, and this one did not. I pushed the button several times, but it just sat there, dead and silent. No big deal. There were stairs, too. I turned and walked down the hall until I reached the first of two large portals that led into the hotel’s lobby.

The lobby of the Lakeview Hotel was simple in its magnificence. The ceiling was tall and grand, and the north wall was all windows and the front door, so even in the dreary weather, the lobby was filled with sunlight. The staircase leading to the second floor was huge, dominating the entire area. Yet, for all the space in this lobby, there was relatively little to see. The front corners featured waiting chairs and side-tables stacked with local-interest magazines, interspersed with old favorites like Time and Newsweek. I glanced at the one sitting on top, an issue of Time from a year ago. It featured Hillary Clinton’s imperious mug, with the caption “ASCENT OF A WOMAN”. I remember reading it

in a hospital waiting room

some time ago. Setting it down, I looked through the rest of the stack. None of them were more recent than that Time issue. A few Newsweeks from 1992, a tourism guide from Androscoggin, flyers about White Mountain National Forest, even a Highlights for Kids, and not one of them published in 1994. Few of them were even as recent as 1993. It’s not that I expected the lobby of a remote Maine hotel to be a bastion of current world news, but the gap was pretty strange, nonetheless.

The reception desk was just ahead. It was almost an instinctive thing to reach for the little desk-bell, as if it would summon anything I had any desire to encounter. Behind the desk, I saw the cubby rack in which room keys were stored. Each slot was numbered, 101-120, 201-240, 301-320. Every last one was empty.

Except for one. Beneath it, on a small brass plate, 312.

Waiting for you…

The door to my left led into the reception office, and I let myself in. I reached into the slot for 312 and pulled out the object inside.

Just a piece of paper. My stomach sank to the floor. That would have been too easy, wouldn’t it? I cursed anyway, as I unfolded the paper.

It was hotel stationery.

LAKEVIEW HOTEL

3200 Sanford St.
Silent Hill, ME 04235

Mr. James Sunderland,
It was discovered that you left behind a video cassette.
You may claim it in the Manager’s Office
on the first floor.

MGT.

Manager’s office. Not very far away at all. I slipped the stationery into my pocket. I exited the reception office and out of the lobby, back to the main hallway.

I didn’t know the precise location of the manager’s office, but there was a door leading to a restricted STAFF ONLY area right next to the Lake Shore Restaurant. It was cordoned off with velvet rope, but that was nothing. Certainly the manager’s office would be somewhere past that door. I grabbed one of the rope poles and set it aside, then I reached for the doorknob.

thump

A noise? I thought I heard it, and my hand rested on the knob while I strained my ears. I heard nothing. If any noise had been made, it wasn’t repeating itself. I took a quick look behind, but all I saw was the hallway, retreating into darkness. I turned back to the door, shaking my head.

The doorknob did not turn. It was locked.

Damn it. So close! Why can’t things just be easy once? Only once! That’s all I ask! If

thump

My thoughts were severed clean as I heard the sound again.

thump thump

Louder, now. Closer, too. I spun around, the Glock in my hand so fast one would think it was a lifetime practice of mine. Right now I’d be inclined to agree, in a practical sense, anyway.

There was nothing there, at least, nothing I could see. I reached for my flashlight and flicked the switch. I held it with my other hand and aimed it down the hall as I walked slowly back towards the lobby. It didn’t really help much, but only because there was mostly-sufficient ambient lighting to begin with. I could clearly see the doors at the end, which lead to the first-floor guestrooms, but there was nothing between those doors and myself. I sighed, and set the flashlight back into my pocket, leaving it on this time. It was nothing. Nothing at all. The events of the last twenty-four hours had me jumping at shadows even when there weren’t any shadows to see. Besides, Laura was wandering around somewhere. I had to show some self-control, because even though there had been times recently where the idea of shooting the kid seemed horribly attractive, even then I would never want to do that. I’d never be able to forgive myself if I killed her by accident. Yes, she was a brat, a snot-nosed little rug rat with a sharp tongue, but she was just a kid. I don’t think she really meant wrong by anything she did. I don’t think she knew there were monsters in that examination room. I don’t even think she knew there were monsters at all. Maybe I’d ask her more about that when I found her.

thump thump

Behind?

I turned again, the gun raised in spite of the self-admonition made just seconds ago. Only, this time, there was something. The radio chose this moment to come to life, but a fat lot of help it was now. I could see it quite clearly without the radio’s help.

It wasn’t Laura, either.

My first thought upon seeing the creature was that it was a straight-jacket monster hunched over, though one that was larger than most. Of course, that couldn’t be. Each one I’d seen so far was almost of an identical size and shape. So…

That’s when it came to me. I had made such a mistake before. It wasn’t a straight-jacket monster at all. It was that hideous, deformed thing I had seen in the labyrinth, when I found Angela. It was the monster she called Daddy. It stood, squatting on its haunches, its disgusting fleshy lips in constant, wordless movement; as if it were speaking in a voice and language only it could hear.

And with an impossibly-low, guttural yell, it charged.

I couldn’t reach the lobby doors in front of me. It would get to me before I got to them. There was another set of doors behind me that also led there, but what if they were locked? I might not even have the time to find out. There was only one option left, and I took it without question: the stairs to the basement, to the Venus Tears bar. It would be able to follow, but if I timed it just right…

The floor seemed to shudder under the monster’s thundering gallop. It took every last ounce of resolve I had left to not bolt down those stairs that very instant. I stood still and tensed, waiting for it. It was coming fast, but I had an idea that would at least give me a few seconds.

It was only five feet from me when it stopped, as if perplexed by my decision to hold my ground. It reared back on its haunches again, and that’s when I knew my idea would work. It was going to launch itself at me.

I have no idea just which of us made the first move, and perhaps it didn’t matter, so small was the gap, but in either case, my move counted for more, I twisted my body and shot towards the stairs. The pain in my shoulder and arm flared up with the sudden move, but they were nothing compared to the pain I’d certainly feel if that beast knocked me down and tore my face off. Nothing even close.

Said beast flew several feet through the air, but it completely missed me, and the momentum carried it several more feet down the hall. It was just what I was hoping for. I took the stairs down to the basement level, two by two. I could hear the angry moans of the Daddy monster upstairs. I didn’t have much time.

The basement level was pitch-dark, and I was glad I already had the flashlight going. The bar was just around the corner

God help me if it’s locked, too

and I took off in a sprint, turning the corner on a dime.

The radio hissed warnings again, but this time I was going too fast to even realize. I had only a split second to see what was waiting for me, and it was something familiar, though I hadn’t seen one in quite some time.

A mannequin. It wasn’t moving. I had just enough presence of mind to catch that much. It wasn’t moving, standing stock-still as if frozen in place, suspended by invisible puppet strings. Nor did I give it enough time to try. Instead, I lowered my good shoulder and charged directly at it. The monster’s upper legs flailed in place as it finally realized what was going on, but it was too late. My shoulder struck it dead in the torso. It gave a strange, hollow cry as the impact sent it flying down the hall. It crashed into the wall and fell, striking a small buffet table as it did. Down on the floor, it writhed and thrashed with maddening speed, as if desperate to relieve some kind of full-body itch. I stared at it for a second, still mystified by the strange behavior of these things even though I’d been around them for much longer than I would have liked.

thump thump thump

It was coming down the stairs. There was no time left. I sidestepped the flailing mannequin as nimbly as my injured knee would allow, and darted for the door to the bar. It was a rather ornate thing, unlike most in the hotel. It had a large window with faceted glass arranged in a geometric design. It was thick glass, too. I would only accomplish breaking my elbow if I tried to bust it. There was no other avenue of escape, either. The elevator at the end of this hall was the same one that I had unsuccessfully tried to summon upstairs. My only hope lay behind this door.

God looks after fools and drunks, so I hope He left it unlocked for them

I grabbed the handle and depressed the thumbswitch, all the while certain that it would not open, that I came so close to my goal only to fall victim to monsters and my own shitty judgement.

The switch pressed down solidly under my thumb, and the click of the opening latch was like a clarion in the madness. I pulled the door open and then shut behind me as I practically leapt through. As soon as it clicked home, I threw the bolt and locked it. The door was heavy and the bolt was strong. That monster would not be able to break it down anytime soon.

Or so I hoped.

The bar had been on my mind before and now reality met memory. Their resemblance was pretty fair. The bar was pretty small, not nearly of a size or sophistication as Neely’s across the lake, but pleasant enough. It was decorated in a fisherman’s motif. Several decorative rods adorned the walls, along with numerous photographs of prize catches made in the lake. A display showcased a number of colorful lures, each with a legend behind them. Yard ropes and fragments of net were hung from the ceiling in one corner, and a replica of a ship’s tiller was a centerpiece on the long wall. There was a jukebox next to the door, with a varied playlist featuring the likes of Johnny Cash, the Everly Brothers and Crosby, Stills and Nash. Beside that was the bar itself, still stocked plenty well with glistening beer taps and all sorts of familiar faces on the shelves behind. Jim Beam, Stolichnaya, Jacky D, Woodpecker, Southern Comfort, Jose Cuervo and dozens more, all twinkling in the muted light. Back among friends.

They weren’t my concern right now, though. If I survived this town, it would take a colossal effort not to fall back into the destructive embrace of the bottle again, but I would worry about that bridge if I had the chance to cross it. For now, I ignored the liquor bottles and stepped behind the bar. There was a door back there, and it was certain to lead into the staff area, if it was unlocked. If it wasn’t unlocked, I would be trapped here. If that happened, I might just kiss one or two of those bottles, because escape was an impossibility, and if I was going to die, I’d rather die drunk.

That future would have to wait a little while longer though, because the door was not locked. It led into the bar’s small kitchen. It was nothing like the one behind the Lake Shore. The pantry to the right was stocked mostly with old dry goods, and the kitchen itself was smaller than my own back home. There was nothing of any interest here, except for another door. I opened it and stepped through.

Now I found myself in a branching hallway, narrow and dark, with little in the way of decoration. Certainly not an area intended for guests. I felt a little twist of good cheer. The manager’s office was upstairs, but there had to be an employee stairwell here somewhere. No way would the basement only be accessible through the back of the hotel’s watering hole.

The basement was warm and humid, and I could hear the low humming and throbbing of machinery nearby. The humidity was probably from the boiler, which fed the radiators in the upstairs guest rooms plus the commons areas. I didn’t notice them running when I was up there, but apparently they were, if I was feeling the heat as I knew I was.

The hall’s layout was unfamiliar to me, and I wandered around, looking at the door plates. Electrical Room DANGER HIGH VOLTAGE, one said, and right after that, Pump Room and Boiler Room, both with cautionary warnings of their own. There were twists and turns galore down here. The hall ahead of me turned at a right angle, and hopefully, that’s where I would find stairs, because I had yet to find any others yet.

I turned that corner, and again the radio in my pocket awoke. It was another mannequin, standing just like the one outside the bar, frozen still in a position that seemed impossible to balance so evenly. I could see an open door behind it, and inside, stairs. Can I get a hallelujah?

I had to get past the mannequin first, though, and it was more responsive than the last, finding life and stalking towards me with its upper legs dangling forward like grotesque antennae. This time I reached for my pipe. I didn’t quite fear the mannequins like I feared most of the other monsters, and I had very little ammunition left, with scant chance of finding more. Pipe in hand, I retreated to an intersection, to give myself enough room to strike. It followed dutifully, unaware or unafraid of the danger I posed.

I swung first, but I didn’t swing last. The bastard thing was quicker than I gave it credit for. My swing was high, catching it in one of its upper legs and knocking it backwards at a painful angle, but the monster had every intention of giving as well as it got. Before I was even able to retract my arm, its other suspended leg lashed out like boxer’s fist. The hard, knobby end caught me right in the elbow joint, sending a fiery lance of agony spiking through my right arm. I howled in shock and surprise as I instinctively clutched my arm, dropping the pipe to the concrete floor as I did.

The mannequin’s damaged leg hung limp and immobile, but its other one was quite intact and rearing back to strike at me again. I wasted no time, not even enough to reach down and retrieve my weapon. I darted past the monster, feeling as much as hearing the dull crack of the mannequin’s leg crashing against the brick wall. I hooked the corner and through the doorway to the stairwell, slamming it shut behind me. I leaned back against it to catch my breath, and from behind, I could hear the monster clattering towards me. The door was pretty solid, and even though I had just been given a damn good reason to respect and fear the mannequin monster, I knew it wasn’t strong enough to break in. I was pretty upset about losing the pipe. It had proven to be rather valuable over the last few hours, but I wasn’t about to go back to get it. I was safe for the moment, and I might be able to find something to replace it.

I got my breathing back to normal levels and started up the stairs to the first floor. I took them slowly at first, but picked up the pace after a few seconds, because I heard the mannequin reach the door, and it was apparently none too pleased to find it shut. Sharp metallic raps echoed about the stairwell as the monster pounded on the door with its remaining good leg. I didn’t think it had the capacity to operate a door, but I really wasn’t in the mood to stick around and find out. I reached the top of the stairs and entered the first floor.

I found myself in another hallway, but this time, my destination was in no doubt whatsoever. Almost directly across the short hall was a blinded window with David Kennedy, Manager stenciled across the glass in black lettering. Bright light filtered through the blinds, and the door was unlocked. I wasted no time.

Inside, the office was a mess. Cardboard boxes were lined up against the far wall, stacked on desks and tables, piled all the way up to the ceiling. Another desk was to my right. It had no videotape, just an employee schedule. I looked at it, and I got that weird feeling again. It was for this week, or so I thought at first, until I saw today’s date, May 15th. The schedule began on Sunday, May 9th. May 15th was the last day, a Saturday. Only, that couldn’t be right. Today was a Sunday. Couldn’t be right. Someone made a mistake.

Only, no. It wasn’t a mistake. It was just old. It was from last May. It made sense. Last May 15th would have been on a Saturday. But why would such an old schedule docket be sitting here on the desk? It wasn’t old, either. It wasn’t even finished. It was just like those magazines up in the lobby, none of them more recent than last year.

What’s going on now? Time warp?

Not possible. I had seen a newspaper across town with yesterday’s date, and more in the labyrinth. Yet, nothing in this hotel was more recent than a year ago. Another job for Sherlock Holmes, maybe, but it wasn’t important to me outside of being a really strange curiosity. I continued to search the office.

Not even a minute later, I came across a safe. Someone had forgotten to close it, as it hung open just a crack. I pulled it all the way, revealing an object to me, and I realized that I found what I was looking for.

A black VHS tape sat on the bottom of the safe. It was a store-purchased blank, and on the side, Silent Hill was written in black marker. It wasn’t flowery cursive, just simple manuscript, but I recognized it anyway. It was mine. It was a videotape I had recorded. I bought a JVC camcorder right before our last visit, and I went nuts with it while we made our last stay,

Are you taping again? Come on!

taking in views of the lake, Rosewater Park, and anything else of interest that I could think of. Mary would be all over it, and it was immensely valuable for that reason. I had photographs and other items, but this was the only recording I had with her. How could I have possibly left this behind and not even remember it existed until now?

I picked up the tape, handling it like it was a priceless vase, examining it at every angle before I slipped it into my pocket. Thankfully, my pocket was large enough, and even still, it barely fit.

There was something else in the safe, too. A glint of light shined against a small piece of metal, which I picked up. It was a key, a hotel passkey. Etched across the head, in bold copperplate numbers, was 312.

Waiting for you.

I dropped it in my pocket too, feeling both excited and terrified knowing that my next step was sure to be the last.