He knew nothing about this riddle. Obscured by darkness, which solution was unseen by the eyes of the mortal. A lurking fear grew more and more in yet unsolid soul of the young man. An unknown worry that could not be defined, either it came from the somber look of the sky or a mere feeling of animosyty that fell upon him this very moment.
A beautiful night. The moon with an everlasting shining. And clouds, so still and heavy. The silent night. Sudden gust of wind woke him from temporal oblivion. Something was happening around him. His flow of life, a routine, it veered so weird. Standing above this dark heaven with a moonlight in the eyes he could hardly remember what occured to him last week. It was important but he forgot. Still some memory lived on. And on and on it repeated in his dreams. The images of the bygone visited him every night. An intresting thing was that he didn't understand them. A hellish circle of self repeating nightmares where he was a prey, with no force to move, only feel the coming of something horrible. It began on the last week, and now he tried his best to recall. The world was changing unnoticed by anyone else but him. And it scared him. It felt like invisible walls narrowing his mind. Maybe the day when he met that old man in the underground was more significant then he thought. And after, the chain of strange events followed. That cold autumn morning was nothing special, he remembered how he stepped down in the long tunel and headed forward for the boxoffice to buy some tokens. Strange but on the working days he used to see crowds of people hurring for its own bussinesses. And now there were just a few. He came up to a small window and gave fifty cents to a girl behind the glass. The token fell hollowly on the plastic stand. He grabbed it and turned to the doors. There were no trains yet, but a sound of one approching was obviously heard. A platform number eleven was written on the board above him. And he needed number six. It was just a few meters away when suddenly on his half way someone seized him by the hand. And this someone reeked of alcohol so badly the guy had to turn away his face to grab a fresh portion of air not to get choked. He backed a little away setting his hand free from the stranger's hold with a swift and strong move. A stranger was but a tramp. An old man with lacklustre eyes.
"D'ya have a change for a poor old man, lad?".
He hesitated for some time and than muttered,
“Ooh, I am sorry I guess I have none”.
What was an outright lie, and they both knew it. The tramp’ gaze shifted on something behind the young man and than returned focused a little with scorn and a sense of day-to-day monotony. His eyes red from the overuse of alcoholic beverages looked right into his own.
“Another civilized moron”.
Th old man turned away leaving the young one a bit surprised and offended. The boy shrugged and said grinning,
“Go fuck yourself, you old fool”,
and he was about to continue his stride to the platform number seven, but the old man grabbed the sleeve of his coat and whispered harshly right into the young man’ face,
“Listen to me, kid, when you get in trouble, help won’t come to ya. And mark my words, your trouble is coming”.
During this preaching the boy saw that there was some cryptic symbol on the inner side of the stranger’s forearm, a double cirlce with three smaller ones in it. It printed in his mind instantly. The grudge vanished, this symbol attracted all his attention. Yet the last words the tramp said were still ringning in the air. “Trouble is coming”. And that’s it. That was strange. After these words the changing of reality began. When the old man had gone, the young man thought a while about it but with a train having come he forgot that weird event. Until now when the circumstances demanded to be explained. When his own sanity was in danger. At least it felt like being in danger. Nothing extraordinary happened, no ghousts hunting him emerged from the concrete walls, neither he had the visions or prophecies embodying in his life. Everything was normal, except the feeling that his life is getting into a cirlce that narrows with each passing day. He used to visit the Rosewater Park, it became a tradition for every friday after the hard work was done , when the whole day was spent pending the rays of the setting sun to warm his tired eyes, to ignite once again the sense of mystery and infinity in his heart. There were a few indian wisdom dictums that he admired, and one of them says that when the legend dies and the dream disappears the world loses its greatness. He never wanted it, and sunset reminded him these old wise words. Until it recently turned out that somehow he gets tired too much for this, or his boss burdens him with more and always urgent work he finishes late in the midnight hour. Sometimes the sky was simply obscured by clouds. And sometimes and very rarely he just didn’t want anything and walked straight to his apartment. Next time he imagined the sun won’t come at all.
Chapter 1
"The Descend"
It was a usual morning for Jake, an article writer who has recently moved to a new apartment in the center of a small town of Silent Hill. The hotel he stayed in situated on Sanders street, a bit far away from the center, but fortunately just a few miles from the editors office. The work started a week ago, and it seemed to him the town likes him. The five-stored hotel building was the highest along all the coast line of Toluca Lake, a local sight popular among the tourists of western states. Big, deep and blue, the lake had some magnitude power that attracted people to come and see it. Jake was hooked as the others - the lake was beautiful indeed, no postcard or photographs could inprint the mysterious atmosphere reigning over the dark waters and the fresh breeze of waves full of splendor gifted by the setting sun.
The curtains on the windows slided gently aside. No cloud in the pure azure sky, clear and bright. Smile illuminated his face. Jake opened the window and thought again that living on the last floor has a big advantage - a great view of the lake landscape on the left and proud numbness of the forest ahead spreading to the right its solitude where eyes can't see. And horizon misted in the distance. He saw the thing he thought the most beautiful and yet sad each time he faced it - the water in haze. Nostalgia. Sorrow. Romance.
He sighed. Hundreds of time he repeated himself to forget her. But the memory insighted him unexpectedly, when his mind was pure. Like now. The morning and the night were the hardest periods of the day. You just do something and there's not much time to delve in the past, at least emotions cannot find any suitable corner when you're busy. He used to live so, trying to burden himself and exhaust as much as he could until the bed embraces his body and dreamless sleep swallows him up. Everything would be good, if that could happen each night. But it didn't. Sometimes sleep refused to come, and thoughts, painful and familiar thoughts stinged his mind with the spears of... Grief. And very distantly the fire of blame glared, coming nearer and scorching his heart till it blackens some day and either stop beating or hopefully feeling anything.
He turned away from the window supressing the emotions deep within and walked to the bathroom. A cold water from the tip freshed his face. A mild towel definitely got him out of sleepy condition. The head felt empty and light again. All rushed and vanished. He raised his gaze up and found the same one of the twin in the mirror. The one behind the glass, maybe from the other world, looked at him with calm and carelessness as if saying "I know what you are running from, anywhere you hide it shall find you, but relax - I won't give you away, I'm just a reflection". The glance is what he could not overcome not to revive the old recollections of the dearest one... The flow of this thought suddenly bounced in the wall of emergency - he was getting late for his work. And that saved him once again.
He burst into the room in mid stride catching the shirt on the chair, put it on and looked around in search of his black trousers. Here they are. The clock on the wall in front of his bed showed 8:37. It wasn't a big reason to move heaven and earth, but he got a good reputation in the eyes of his boss and didn't want to screw it up. He was a punctual young man, clever and sharp-witted. And that was appreciated. In his native city, surely bigger than Silent Hill, he trained himself to a discipline, to do the job in time and well. Or you go emty-handed, become a stevedore or postman. Life in a city teaches you once and for all. Especially when there's no backup like parents and friends. Jake was alone. Parents died when he got fifteen leaving a house as empty as their wallets. Quickly learning, he found a job and things had come right. Starting as a delivery boy of local newspaper, he liked what he did, he liked reading, and sometimes he took a pencil and tried his toil to describe what his imagination showed him. Tales born in a childhood fantasy. He was given a poky little room in the very office and there his stories were brought alive. One day the editor found his sheets of paper covered with writings all over it, and was impressed - the boy had a talent. Jake was offered to be an article writer, seek the news and let people know them. He agreed. And he never betrayed the expectations of the chief editor. He got a discipline. Until the day he met Miranda. Since then everything had been changing dramatically. Long sad story... And after their relationships ended, he decided to stay no second more in this town and go away. Somewhere where the things won't remind him of her. Wheels brought him to the east of the States, and then he found himself in Ashford, alone with a few hundred bucks in a pocket. The same job was easy to find, but it was kinda hard to stay in Ahsford, so familiar to his native town. The solution of dilemma came on its own, when walking across the road and nearing the pillar he saw a public bulletin board and the advertisement sheet which said the following:
"Visit the romantic town and enjoy the charming atmosphere in Lake View Hotel. During your stay you can visit the local sights, stroll the beautiful streets of Silent Hill, attend the Rosewater Park and observe a splendid view on Toluca Lake from one of out apartments".
Also down there was a price for a night and Jake thought he could afford it. So the problem was solved. He moved there spending the nights in Silent Hill and working in Ashfield by day.
His serious attitude toward the work stayed and hurry up now was unnecessary. Had he got late a bit nothing wrong would happen, but honesly – does anybody think clear in a hurry? Well-formed habits never give up easily. After he got dressed, he went to the entrance door and put his shoes on, Jake looked once again in a mirror and remarked in a whisper:
“Today will be a good day to die”
He smiled and hemmed at his joke. The reflection said nothing. He took his coat and stepped out in a hallway. It was still too early for most of the hotel residents, and no surprise he saw just a long corridor and a bright sunlight almost blinding him from the right. The day has started. When he turned left and was about to come down the stairs, something in the interior attracted his attention. It was a new picture perhaps. He hasn’t seen this one before, and for sure it was enigmatic. The image depicted a dead man hanging on the rope and a tall figure with a hat covering his head standing near and a little behind the victim as if showing what was done by his hands. Jake knew the history of Silent Hill by the books and the tall man must have been an executioner. Long ago the town served as a prison and criminals were punished there. Eerie past was not one of the favorite topics citizens liked to discuss, but everybody knew what the cruel events took place almost two centuries ago. Jake could not figure out why the hell the maitre d'hotel put this creepy thing among the other nice pictures. “Got to ask him”. The stairs echoed with a strong knocking sound while Jake descended, meanwhile overlooking if there were new additions on the wall, but met none. Here he was on the first floor when a man in years nodded him from behind the big round stand where he usually met the arriving guests and said politely:
“Mr. Daniels, good morning. How was your sleep?”
“I slept well, Gordon, thanks for asking”, said Jake letting the pace to slow down, “I was wondering what is that strange picture near my room and who placed it there, honesly it gives me a chill”
Gordon squeezed his eyes as if recalling something and after a few seconds of looking in the ceiling said:
“I’m sorry sir, but I fear I can’t say who did this, coz I have seen no such picture you tell me about. Yesterday in the evening when I was making the round, I didn’t notice any new picture on your floor”
"Nevermind, Gordon. When I come back I'll talk to metre myself".
"As you wish, sir. I'll tell him you wanted to talk with him. Have a nice day".
Jake turned to the door and in a morning dim light went out to the street. It was still early, perhaps only few of the citizens had to wake in such an hour to get their feet ready and go to the undeground and than to South Ashfield. Most folks worked here, shops of manies were located around, speaking not of the several hotels, pharmacies, amusement park that was the only place of entertaining in 5 miles around Silent Hill, and of course Historical Society, a famous building dated few centuries ago to be errupted over the former prison. So Jake's road ended at the entrance to the underground, twenty stairs down and ahead. The whistles of the rails under the huge mass of the train, compressed air, it never depressed Jake. In contrary inspired. And he didn't know why. Tourniquets accepted the token and passed him with a crunching sound. Ashfield was in twenty minutes of ride, and this time he usually spent thinking of nothing, letting the day to start while his mind has not yet awakened from sleepy netting of a dream. The lights appeared in the dark tunnel and the roaring sound smashed into his ears. Doors opened aside, lamps illuminated inside. He stepped in and sat on the nearest seat. This time his head was infested with one question and it was not going to fade away so easily. Where the hell did that picture come from? And what is more important why it looks so familiar to him. The shadows outside the window danced in turn with a flickering lights inside the tunnel. This flashing scene confined his attention for a moment and the fixed thoughts about the picture were forgotten. Odinariness came back and he felt a relief, as if the sticky fingers of the mystery let him off. For this time.
The loudspeakers named his station. Walking outside and than up to the downtown Jake found out that his mind was empty, as if all memory hid in the deepest corners of his mind. He thought it's normal for a morning but the feeling of loneliness scented a warning that he could not undersatand. As if something of his own "self", being his best adviser, tried to force him to look again and feel what's wrong with this feeling of being lonely. It was not natural for him, never before. He drove away these thoughts and looked around. Cars, people, buildings, the rush of it all seemed distant to him. An emotional background changed. A little but it did. Quite unnoticible if he was not so selfconcentrated this morning. He walked in the direction of his work office and enjoyed this routine that was so "his". Eyes fell on the pavement here and there sprawled with crevices, and it was hypnotising him, he walked on and gentle wind caressed his skin and somewhere above a lonely bird shrieked. "Silent surroundings silent as never before", he thought. A lull before the storm. On a usual morning what kind of storm could happen? It was unsettling.
Finaly he saw metalic entrance doors of the five-storied building with a plate saying "Daily View, third floor". A weak lamp light shone inside showing the way to the few doors and a short corridor leading to the elevator. When first time Jake came here he was impressed how strangly old it looked from the inside. Wallpapers frayed, lamps heating coil half working, wooden floorplanks creaking and plus it smelled musty as if no stream of a fresh air could ever find a way here in.
Jake stepped in the gloom and pushed the button. The elevator became alive and with a howling sound it began to descend lower and lower. Ding! Metallic doors stood for a moment steady, than the line between them widened as it seemed immensely, inviting in its den. When he walked in, the fluorescent lamps above flickered once and twice, and than the blue light lit the hall. The doors grided and shut tight. There was a moment of numbness that Jake did not like, it was strangely mechanical. The whole elevator gave him an idea of its own behavior though his sanity quickly took control over the mind and choked this idea in the embryo. He felt the inevitable coming, yet it was blurry feeling, and having nothing for his cautious attention to cling to, he let it pass.
The button of a third floor easily bent backward glaring a little as Jake tried in vain to explore the reason of his morning solitude. The opening doors distracted him. Beyond the corner he saw his office and heard people buzzing somewhere inside. An ordinary awaited him, a comfort of busyness, a shield versus emotions.
The whole day was spent in the dizziness of city traffic, carried upon the air in the window and then to his ears. The city was noisy. As the events that took place here. After the noon the news about a suicider in northern part of Ashfield spreaded through out the city. Firemen have found only the charred corpse in the apartments of some few-storied building, and only medical experts could tell who that person was. The call came from neighbours, complaining on howlings and screams going from the apartment of Mr. Haley, who was supposed to be some teacher in local instute. They said he was not quite a normal man, that he drank sometimes, especially after his divorce. But never before the neighbours were forced to call police for disturbance caused by Mr. Haley. Later in report detective will find that he ignored the knocks on his doors and warnings that residents had to use. After police arrived screams ceased, and when the door was smashed away everybody understood why. The hexagram faced the first who stepped in. Supposedly it was an ash, and the body, or better say the remains of a thing that once have been a man, that sprawled in the middle occasionaly erased the geometrically accurate lines of the figure. The whole room was crammed with candles of all different sizes, melted in half and in full as well. It was obvious the room was tided last perhaps few months ago. The questions of police officers about some strange behaviour of Mr. Haley that might have taken a place, fell in vain. People spoke that he was just like the others, except that recently he spent more and more time at his work and on weekends it was almost impossible to notice him leaving his apartment. Ashfield was not of those cities were news about maniacs, spiritual cults and psychopathes became a usual title for the newpapers. Till the evening there was no man who has not heard about this eerie event or who hasn't read it from Daily View news, that came alive under the toil of Jake. It interested him much. He didn't try to block it with some bizzare explanations in order to make it less frightening and distant as if it happens regularly, we just don't know about it. Yet somehow he knew – this is not the end.
At the end of the day, after the emergent work was done, Jake felt a need to explore the question of how Mr. Haley came to such a pity end of his life. It was not a habit to stick his nose in someone's private life, but now it felt tempting and even necessary. In fact, he was sticking his nose in Mr. Haley's death. He hoped that won't bother the holy spirits, as he opened the browser and typed in a search bar - 'suicide in Ashfield'. The few first articles were about a man who fired himself in his own flat. It was definitely him. But after several minutes, Jake has found no real facts but only rumors and guesses. Whether Mr. Haley was a member of a sect or just an ordinary school teacher was of no one's concern. Perhaps the only way to find out the motives of a dead man was to go and talk to school staff personally. It was his job – to get as more interesting news as he could, especially when his own interest is involved. He opened a map in the browser and in the six blocks away from his office Jake saw a title 'South Ashfield elementary school'. It wasn't too far and he thought it would be nice to walk there after sitting many hours in the stout room, breathing the thick air and listening the everlasting calls and conversations among his colleagues. Outside the sun was going down and the reddish-yellow light from it was fading slowly from the walls, giving Jake a soothing and peaceful manner of self-identification. At the moments like this he wished it had never left him. He stood up and faced the coat rack, put his jacket on and grabbed the drafts folder where the school address has been written in.
- Hey Jack! Where are you going?
It was his boss, Larry, the gargantuan fat maggot with a hoarse voice and bold head.
- Need to check something about that Mr. Haley. I guess it may come to a good article.
- Do I need to repeat my question?
- I mean we know a bit more than nothing about him. He used to work in the elementary school few blocks away from here. That's where I want to head myself.
- Good. I wait a nice story from you.
Larry turned around and shut the door of his office. Jake was a bit irritated by the manner this man speaks, but he knew that a less commanding boss would not hold the publishing house in one piece. He pushed the door and went to the escalator.
How much time has he spent in Ashfield? A year? Two? It might have been more, but the dry numbers on the calendar are always right. Two years on the train, two years riding from Silent Hill to Ashfield and then back again. Almost every day. Isn't that strange? A body of eighty kilograms moving through space in time to get to another space for the mercy of another time. He thought it was weird that he never has realized it before. There was no end. There was always a start for him, a moment of rather sadness then good morning. But no good ending. The days, months and years have passed so quickly. Will it remain the same for him? Does he need it? What for?
A firm solidness of the ground beneath his feet was comforting. It was already dark outside. The cars flashed with their lights and people buzzed all around. The night life was just at the beginning. For some people this is when the all the fun starts, when clubs and restaurants are infested with humming visitors and each one may find a quiet place for his tired mind. Jake felt these were the words about him, alas he was alone in the whole town. Maybe one day the melancholy will come and tell him 'it's time, Jake, let's go to the other side of the mirror'.
'What a shit am I thinking of? I need to find school before it's too late'
The road was straight and only once he turned left in the narrow side street. If someday the walls of the alley he was walking by were cleaned, now it looked horrible as hell. It was a familiar feeling when the worst is hidden behind the beautiful fa;ade. A usual practice for city administration and human nature as well.
In a couple of minutes Jake saw the front access door of the school. The doors were shut, but the lights in few classrooms told him that someone is still in there. He opened the doors and walked in the silent darkness.
'Damn, I can't see anything. A single lamp would be enough, greedy bastards'.
Another thing that disturbed him immediately was silence.