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[SilentPyramid]

A Collaboration of Scraps
or
Silent Hill

Joe Mruk


The Mark of Samael
The Mark of Samael is usually represented as a two large concentric circles containing three smaller circles. The large circles are Charity and Resurrection, whilst the three small ones are Past, Present, and Future. The mark is usually drawn in red or black charcoal. Writing it in blue or white is sacrilegious, and therefore a curse on God. The etchings around the perimeter of the glyph are in ancient Latin text, reading: “Samael, in all Her glory, is the key to eternal paradise. She stamps Her hooves on the threshold of eternity. Through five circles peace shines and awaits Her resurrection.”
An article in the Boston Times:
Roger Sommers-December 12, 1948
The Silent Hill Orphanage for Young Boys, otherwise known as “Hope House,” has been under close watch for the last two weeks, as investigators are looking into the homicide case. The investigation has been postponed momentarily, as higher-ranking officials proceed to scrutinize the building.
As many people already understand, Hope House received allegation of the murder of one of its own: Sean Whitmark, 11, on November 28. Officials say the body was found crushed between a ’41 Buick and a tool shed on Mary Morton’s farmhouse property. The corpse was mangled almost beyond recognition, and police say that Whitmark must have been beaten with a blunt instrument prior to the accident. The autopsy of Whitmark revealed much damage to the skull and spine, most likely by a bat or hammer.
This reporter was lucky enough to be on the grounds of Hope House to interview the officials investigating the homicide. One researcher refused our interrogation, and only said, “Nine years have gone by since this place was built. Still fairly new. But for nine years, the complaints of the neighboring households have gone through the roof. Always [complaining] about all the crying and loud noises coming from the place, and those weird rumors about a Silent Hill Cult…I don’t believe it all, but I’ll bet everybody within the vicinity would beg to differ.”
As he says, the rumors appear to be true; Hope House has had a somewhat dark history. But crying and screaming are not the only things witnessed nightly. Neighbors state that they have heard [religious] teachers, matrons and patrons chastising children rather harshly. And there is still the rumor floating around the suburbs of a “cult.”
Regardless, Hope House superiors raised suspicion when they denied us the right to interrogate them. Further details on the Sean Whitmark homicide case should unveil themselves soon.
A vacation pamphlet from a gift and rest stop on Rt. 184, Alabama:
Visit scenic and fun-filled Silent Hill, a coastal getaway for the whole family. Dine in one of Silent Hill’s famous restaurants, or visit the Lakeside Amusement Park for some thrills and spills! See our lovely homeland attraction, Toluca Lake, from the flower-studded beauty of Rosewater Park! Home to many great shops and even a county zoo, Silent Hill is the perfect place to take a loved one on that special date. The Silent Hill Historical Society always provides an afternoon of fun, and the rowboat rental dock is perfect for a starlit evening with your significant other. Pollution-free and socially structured, you’ll always find a friend in scenic Silent Hill. What are you waiting for? A cavalcade of fun awaits you! Call 555-2894 for details on our stately getaway packages!
Silent Hill, where memories are forever.
An excerpt from the diary of a Mr. Jake Lamplighter, age 19
November 20, 1981
There’s something wrong here. I can feel it-in the air, in the trees, naked and bare of leaves…it’s going to be an early winter. But maybe it’s this town…there’s just something here, something that’s just not right, lying dead in the streets, calling from atop a lonely roof, watching me. Why is there so much fog every day here? Why is there not one person roaming the streets? Not one person in any house? Not one person tending any shop or motel? Why is this whole town devoid of people? It’s as if some horrible plague swept Silent Hill, but the bodies all disappeared. Why is no one here, yet I feel like I’m in the lead role in some twisted play, and a million empty souls are watching me with glazed eyes? God, sometimes I forget what I’m here for. I forget about Julie, how she died from that awful disease, how I got a letter from her…from this town…just yesterday. Man, I can just imagine her lips shaping the words as she wrote them…
In my restless dreams I see that town; Silent Hill.
You promised you’d take me back someday.
But you never did.
Well, Jake, I’m in that town right now…
Waiting for you.
In our “special place.”
I do hope you’ll come and see me.
But until then, I think I’ll remain here.
It’s comfortable.
There are no drafts, and I can watch the sun go down through my window.
Like we used to do, Jake.
Please don’t make me wait. I want you here, in my arms.
Come now, to our special place. I’m here.
Waiting for you.
Julie is dead. She’s gone and I’ll never see her again. I can’t seem to get a hold of that in my head, like an internal conflict. But, this letter…? It compelled me to come here. Like I was in some stupid trance or something. I don’t believe in miracles. I stopped that a long time ago. But is there a chance you’re still alive, Julie? We never even got to marry. Stay there, don’t move, not from our special place…but what “special place” is that? I have no idea, Julie, but I’ll keep searching for you…in this godforsaken town…
November 21, 1981
Still no sign of Julie. This morning, I was convinced that coming here was an idiotic idea. But lo and behold, when I tried to get out of town via the hill next to the highway, I found a fence soaked in what looked like fresh blood. I couldn’t get across. So I went to the inn and rested up. When I awoke, though, I was not sure whether the whole thing had just been a dream. One thing bothered me deeply as I sat up, though. There was a hospital stretcher in a darker corner of the room. I can imagine it, there, in the room, while I slept, thinking its own sordid thoughts. The hospital was across town…but I’ve come to expect the unexpected in this town. So I continue my search for Julie or a way out of the town. Whichever comes first. I think I’m going to lie down again. It’s chilly in here.
An old essay found in a Silent Hill’s St. Alessa Middle School, entitled Samael and We, the Goats in Her Pasture:
In the beginning, people had nothing. Their bodies ached, and their hearts held nothing but hatred. They fought endlessly, but death never came. They despaired, stuck in the eternal quagmire. A man offered a serpent to the sun and prayed for salvation. A woman offered a reed to the sun and asked for joy. Feeling pity for the sadness that had overrun the earth, God was born from those two people. God made Time, and divided it into day and night. God outlined the road to salvation, and gave people joy. And God took endless time away from the people. God created beings to lead people in obedience to Her. The red god, Xuchilbara. The yellow god, Lobsel Vith. Many gods and angels. Finally, God set out to create Paradise, where people would be happy just by being there. But there, God’s strength ran out, and She collapsed. All the world’s people grieved at this unfortunate event, yet God breathed Her last. She returned to the dust, promising to come again. So God hasn’t been lost. We must offer our prayers and not forget our faith. We wait in hope for the day when the path to paradise will be opened.
An excerpt from the diary of a Rachel Gillespie, likely age 14:
November 9, 1981
I’m pregnant. And no one touched me. I’m afraid, and I hate Silent Hill. I hate it with everything I’ve got left in me. I feel so weak…I can barely move a muscle. No one has come to my hospital bed for a month now. It’s as if they all forgot me. No one really ever liked me before, anyway. Just wasting my life away here in this hospital, it’s all I ever wanted, yet it’s also all I ever feared. My mother, Gloria, told me I was special. But I never felt special. And she…she never treated me like I was special. Forgetting all my birthdays, spending all her time in that stupid church…salvation, huh? More like damnation, if you ask me. But I’d never tell my mother that. Because she might stop coming altogether…and it’s so nice to have company, even if all they do is make sure the baby inside me is fine. It’s fine, all right. I can feel it, it kicks and kicks and the thump reverberates in my head when I’m trying to fall asleep and slip away. Fourteen years, I’ve had to put up with this horrible pain. Pain…it comes when I’m feeling hopeful or find faith in something…it rises from my belly and kills the joy. So I’ve got to savor that moment, like a drugging flush of pure sanity. But the baby can cause me so much pain sometimes…and they don’t care about me. All they care about is the thing in my gut. Oh, mother, I need someone to talk to…
An excerpt from the diary of a Mr. Jake Lamplighter, age 19
November 22, 1981
Why am I keeping my travels in a journal? I can’t even answer my own question. I always keep a journal, but something tells me it’s important this time.
I saw something today. Some would call it a monster. I wasn’t afraid. The monster wanted me to realize myself, to realize what was in my heart. But with this gun I hold in my hand I shot it. I shot it down. You don’t listen to monsters; you shoot them down. My uncle was a monster. But someone shot him down before I could.
Seems odd to find a gun in the middle of a daycare center, huh?
But then again, this damned town isn’t what it seems.
I read a disturbing scrap of paper in a child’s room today. It seems some would call my monster an angel. It walked about in a crazy staggering swagger, flesh stretched over its entire body. There was no face. Only stretched flesh, and veins pulsing with dark ambitions. Julie, I hope my monsters haven’t found you.
November 23, 1980 (excerpt stained a sick yellowish-red)
Jesus Christ, help me…something is happening to this town…I’m in a closet right now. My gun is ready and I can’t see anything but the light of my flashlight. God, what’s going on? I was in one of Julie’s “special places,” the old warehouse by the creek. But my head…it started pounding! I collapsed! And I woke up in a hellish nightmare…the warehouse’s wooden floor had turned to metal grating! Flesh was stretched over the walls and pulsating veins! And there were the cages, the dark cages hanging from the ceiling above me, dark forms writhing inside them, just out of my view, thank the lord…the door was shut, but I could hear unholy dirges of creatures out in the night! So I rushed in here…the door shut tight. But I can still hear them crying out for me…my monsters. I’m not scared. I’m not afraid. But I know that something is happening to this town. Something had been happening to this town, maybe for hundreds of years. It’s still foggy out, and still there is no one in sight. Oh, Julie, all I want is to escape, but even so, my mind is becoming a cage itself. A cage from which I cannot escape. A cage not unlike those hanging above…
>From an ancient bible found on Bachman street in East Silent Hill:
…And God said to the people, “Fear not hopelessness, for the Paradise I shall create will unbind your souls from the earth and bring happiness to the dam’ned.” And She presented the Holy Rules, and Xuchilbara read them to the people. They stated that no perishable mortal shall cross the word of God, and that none shall worship any other, and that none shall kill their kin, lest it be for a passable reason. And the people praised God. They welcomed Her with open arms. Living together, they were all goats in God’s green pasture.
Some, though, wore white and cursed God and Her everlasting accomplishments. These people are common throughout time, but God shall always transcend the dam’ned and banish their souls from the world plane. Even some of Her direct kin were to turn against Her. And they were dam’ned.
The name Samael was given to Her by the yellow god, Lobsel Vith, director of the Planes, and Her palace was given to Her by the red god, Xuchilbara, director of the flow of souls.
Her palace was built upon a still and silent hill, a sacred place for all who pilgrimage there. The people of the hill were overjoyed to have God in their mid’st, and vowed to worship Her to the ends of the earth.
An excerpt from the diary of a Rachel Gillespie, likely age 14:
November 12, 1981
The baby emerged today. I didn’t like it. What came out was evil. It was just a shapeless form quivering on the bloody bedspread…much smaller then any normal baby, and very deformed. I expected something like this; it was in the way my mother exalted the baby when she talked about it. But this baby…this baby-thing…I hate it. Its intentions are nothing but cruel, and the power that fathered it must be black with tainted dust. For no man had impregnated me. It was a divine intervention-I’m sure of that now. But I’m also sure that the force-the deity, if you will-had nothing but hate in its heart. I can feel it. And that deity is now…reborn…in my baby…and crawling its way through the dark streets of Silent Hill. I tried to kill it before it left me, I really did; but I had no strength left in me at all. I really do think that I might never escape here, but I’m fine with that, even if Mother doesn’t come to see me again (which I’ve a sure feeling she won’t now that the baby’s out). I feel, somehow, that I’ve…done my duty to the world, and I’d be more than happy to leave peacefully, as long as I’m carried away from this desolate town that hates me. It got its use out of me-now, can’t it just be done with me?
However, even above all that, I fear my baby will do something terrible to Silent Hill…to the world…
I can just see it now.
In shadows growing wings…
Article from the Boulder-Ogunquit Dispatch:
CULT IN SILENT HILL?
Yusuka Nawakami-February 11, 1967
Rumor has it that the people of Silent Hill, an isolated town off of Highway 91 in the middle of America, have developed an esoteric “cult” that worships its own god.
One account of the outlandish story, if our reporters may be so bold, depicted an event of sacrificing small children and lambs in the woods surrounding the town. Another depicted a series of priests in a stark procession through the town streets in the dead middle of the night, their arms outstretched before them, and their hands ablaze with balls of fire. The “witness” of these obviously false events seemed blatantly afraid of the cult, almost as if the “cult” held prestige over the rest of the town citizens. Many of the town’s residents refused to be interrogated a propos the “cult,” and Silent Hill, the average family vacation town in the heart of the United States, remains a mysterious hub of odd goings-on. This reporter shall keep in touch.
An excerpt from the diary of a Mr. Jake Lamplighter, age 19
November 24, 1981
I slept all night in that cramped closet, too fearful to look out amid the scene before me. But this morning, I opened the door and saw that it had all gone back to normal. The grated floors, the stretched flesh, the cages…they were all gone. So I went to look for you again, Julie. On one of the streets, still completely empty, I found what looked like a religious pamphlet. It really disturbed me. It seems that this town-Silent Hill-had some kind of a cult that worshipped its own god. Whatever happened to them, I thought, must distantly be related to why this town is so wrong. Their “God” sounds more like a Devil to me. “Samael,” they called it. The depiction of the “god” in the pamphlet chilled my veins, and still does even as I write these words. Samael had the head of a great goat, the black wings of an angel, the torso and arms of a human, and black hooves that champed the ground in fury. And the “cult” praised this god-thing with more disgusting heartfelt devotion than I could stand. I’m not a religious man myself, but I can at least tell right from wrong; at least, that’s what the nuns in my formal school always told me. I always heard that I had a good head on my shoulders. And right now, I can tell that this weighty belief in Samael was what killed this town. But then I had to ask myself, how much can a town die before it swallows itself whole? And I’m smack in the middle of it, the uninvited guest. And I’ve also the strongest feeling that I might return to the “alternate world,” as I’m so used to calling it now. I dread that moment more than any other. If I were to be caught in the midst of it during the dead of night, I just might go insane.
A pamphlet for Brookhaven Hospital in Southern Silent Hill:
…and the health care plan used in the wonderful Brookhaven Hospital is solid, secure, and safe. Our patients are treated with gentle, tentative care, and you can always find a friend in our nurses and doctors. Loving care is key for rehabilitation, and Brookhaven Hospital never ceases to give you that awesome opportunity. Never before has there been a case of a mistreatment of a patient, or neglect of supplies. Brookhaven is clean, safe, reliable, and you can always depend on a quick recovery.
Here’s a list of our wonderful ideals:
--Caring HMOs and health care benefits
--Productive and active health plans
--Friendly, yet educated staff
--Award for outstanding cleanliness
--Plan for a half-off discount for children under 7 years of age (ask at front desk)
There’s virtually nothing Brookhaven cannot handle! If you or one of your loved ones needs medical attention and lives in the vicinity of beautiful and scenic Silent Hill, make Brookhaven Hospital your first choice for the maximum in great health care!
An excerpt from the diary of a Mr. Jake Lamplighter, age 19
November 25, 1981
I made it through the night in the darkest depths of constant fear, locking myself in this dark room at the end of the hall in Brookhaven Hospital. I know it happened; the alternate world was upon me. When I felt it coming over, like a black ocean wave, to consume me, I shut my eyes against it all, and saw nothing. But the sounds I heard…they were just awful. I heard my monsters, black against the night, searching for me, to punish me for my sins. Off and on, I heard the pitiful sobbing of some girl in the room directly above mine, and the industrial clanging of some black machine in the basement of the world, consuming coal as it belched bright red flame. I heard the terrible squelching of blood-filled veins as they grew like wildfire up all the walls of the building like ivy, branching off into eternity. I heard the useless panting of blind nurses looking for me in the long hallways of the hospital. I heard the burlesque grunts of the demons with the flesh stretched over their faces and glistening moist. I heard the low moan of pain from a room down the hall; a grown man, not sane, lay there, alone and dying of cancer. I heard the steady drip, drip, drip of blood dripping from a corpse that hung upside-down in some empty attic, an all-out bloodletting. I heard the scraping of knives and blades against the walls of the basement below, like some terrible creature was trying to escape…terrible, yet pitiful. I heard distant sirens, I heard calliope music playing “The Funeral March” backwards, I heard the stamping of hooves, I heard all of this and covered my eyes with my hands and cried. I felt the pulsing flesh of my cot start to bleed, scab over, and start bleeding again. I could feel the veins under me, spreading and growing across the bed like an unholy disease planting its roots deep inside my brain. I smelled decay, I smelled death, I smelled matted goat-fur, I smelled blood, I smelled dogs with tight collars. And I laid there, the world twisting itself into a shadow of evil as I sobbed into my raw hands, a man in hell. And then it was over.
I laid there for two, maybe three hours more, cold as a razorblade, tight as a tourniquet, dry as a funeral drum. Then I opened my eyes slowly, and I saw a clean white hospital room, a bit dusty from neglect, but clean nonetheless. Dawn shined through the windows, and I crept into the gaunt hallway, dim, yet normal. Now I’m sitting in a deserted café on the edge of town, feeling wonderful as I flush these dreadful words from my mind into this black journal. And I regret my actions last night, as I should have opened my eyes to the sickening truth, for I heard once that no man should shut his eyes, because what one does see isn’t half as disturbing as what one doesn’t. I think I’ll sleep here, on this counter, for a little while longer, my revolver ready, to catch up on some much-needed sleep. Even in the midst of that horrible disease, Julie, you were beautiful. I remember that. Julie, please, don’t let my monsters get to you.
>From an ancient bible found on Bachman Street in East Silent Hill:
…And God collapsed, at the end of Her strength, half-way through finishing Paradise. But She told Her disciples not to fear, for She promised to rise once again, to reunite the people, and to create the Paradise whose completion was not yet reached. We avidly await that day, yet we do not know when our Lord will return. All we can do is pray, for resurrection, for salvation of all mankind, to see Her great horned head once more. We must not corrupt our ideals, we must not change out dutiful ways, and, foremost, we must not forget out faith. For She shall return when we least expect it, and She shall damn all heretics and non-believers. She shall sweep the nation with her everlasting righteousness. That is the Judgment Day for which we lie in wait. All sinners and doubters shall perish and be confined to the internal prison. For that day, nothing means every-thing and every-thing means nothing at all. It is for this we live, for this we must survive. And She shall rise up, cleanse the world with fire, and pave the road to Paradise.
An excerpt from the diary of a Rachel Gillespie, likely age 14:
November 15, 1981
I counted the days as time swept by, but Mother finally came to visit! I was so surprised, so happy! I had no doubt in my mind that she’d never care to see me again. But she did! And she told me that she’d come again tomorrow and tell me everything…I wonder what it is she wants to tell me? I’m so excited! Maybe she wants me to come home!! Maybe we can celebrate the birthdays I missed here in the hospital!! Maybe…soon…I’ll get my strength back!! Oh, how I can’t wait!
November 16, 1981
I feel numb. My lips are white and cold. Every inch of my body sags. It took me all day to summon up the energy to write this, but I need to let the words out somehow. Maybe when someone reads this…when I’m…long gone…they’ll be just as shocked as me.
Mother told me everything today. Everything. About how my family descended from the first disciples of God. About the woman with the reed and the man with the serpent. How they created God from hope. How my lineage is holy. How the baby I bore…was the true God that promised to return so long ago. That little squirming thing really was in shadows growing wings. But I knew the thing. It was vile. And it was out to create Paradise, as my mother called it.
Ha.
I caught my first glimpse of Paradise last night, but I thought it was only a dream. Paradise…was flesh, made into structure. It was pulsing veins growing rapidly like ivy. It was blood coursing down the corpse of an unknown shadow. It was Paradise. It was Hell on earth. And it was being created bit by bit.
Mother couldn’t be more overjoyed.
I’m sick. I loathe myself. I brought this stain to the world. A great stain, in the middle of America. I brought God back to Silent Hill. It’s too bad there isn’t anything sharp in this room; if there was, I’m sure I’d take my own life. I bore God and God will bear destruction. Is there no hope? Will mankind salvage any truly righteous people?
There isn’t much time. God is out and creating Its loathsome Paradise. And every time Paradise lapses into actual reality, it remains there longer and longer. I’m sure it won’t be long until Paradise is here to stay.
Here to stay.
I can’t let that happen to all of us. I’m going to get on my feet again. For the first time in seven years, I will walk again. But I will not be weak. I will repeal what I unleashed upon the world. I will kill God. And I will do it without…false hope.
As I leave this journal behind…if anyone ever finds it and reads it, I just want them to…I just want them…to remember me…
Goodbye.
>From an old tome written by a citizen of Silent Hill, entitled The Holy Scriptures of Samael:
…And as the world was once cleansed with water, so shall it be in the future, with fire, though not through the same God. For Samael is all, Samael is what we live for, Samael is infinite. She will never die. None can stop Her in all Her profound power. Paradise will be united with the earth, and the people of the world shall make contact and be happy for-ever, and banish the sinners into exile. For they have forgotten, as it is a sure thing that many will, the awesome might of Samael. Alas, it is man’s nature to grow greedy, gluttonous, and ignorant as time passes, so we shall try to salvage and protect what we have for the time being. Our Order already holds sway over most all of Silent Hill, and so shall it spread to the rest of the world in the future, as I hope it will be. The silence in the space between the times where these eyes have seen God, is deafening. I shall tell the wondrous tale to all the people of this horrid world, to tell them of Samael and Her glorious Paradise. I wait, in anxious hope…for the day of Her return.
And when she does, She shall clear the way for a road with fire, and then She shall pave the road to eternal Paradise with gold.
An excerpt from the diary of a Mr. Jake Lamplighter, age 19
November 26, 1981
Almost a week in Silent Hill has driven me to the very verge of insanity. I found Julie today, in Rosewater Park. It was one of our “special places.” But…it wasn’t really Julie. She was only a monster; a mere shadow of her former self. It wasn’t the girl I loved so recently. I shot her-no, I shot the monster down with my shiny revolver. Whoever reads this journal-I just wish you could witness these beasts as I have…the way that dead flesh, glistening wet, is stretched over their entire bodies like straitjackets…the way they walk, staggering forth as if fleeing form the very hounds of Hell, staggering, like wounded victims of sexual torment…the way they scream when they go down with the rounds inside my shiny revolver…the way I kick them after they fall, to silence them once and for all, to end that hideous screaming. But it is a kind of guilty pleasure-I revel in my monsters’ deaths, ending the existence of something that looks so hideous. I enjoy the way they scream. I take pleasure in their final moan of death. But I still need to find you, Julie, the real you. I’ve got to save you from my monsters. Alas, I have only one remaining bullet. Julie, be my guide, and help me fend these things off. They’re eroding my mind.
November 27, 1981
I met someone today. There is someone here. In Silent Hill. As long as it wasn’t a dream, I know I am not alone. But what scares me is that I didn’t care that much. I should have been jumping for joy, even if the sudden company was a bitch. The woman’s name was Gloria Gillespie. Gloria Gillespie was a bitch. She was an avid believer in that Samael shit. I didn’t question her ways, though; she had a shotgun with a full magazine at her side, and I had a mere revolver with one bullet. I met this bitch at a hospital in Eastern Silent Hill…Alchemilla Hospital, I think it was called. She was looking for her daughter, who was missing. Her daughter’s name was Rachel. I told her that I hadn’t seen anyone else in this town at all, and Gloria turned resentful. She didn’t really seem to care about her daughter all that much, as if she was at the hospital strictly on business. And she hadn’t seen Julie around anywhere. What was odd was that this Gloria bitch hadn’t seen any monsters at all. What was odd was that she couldn’t remember what had happened to the townspeople. What was odd was that she had also witnessed the alternate world…the “coming of Paradise,” as she had so lovingly called it, but her interpretation of the spitting hell pit was completely opposite from mine. She called it a safe haven for all mankind. She was completely overjoyed with the place. And she really frightened me when she praised the newly resurrected God. Of course, I didn’t believe all of that shit in the first place, but it was exactly like that pamphlet I read had foreseen: Samael would be reborn, and immediately create Paradise for all mankind.
This bitch dismissed herself, going back to the church from whence she came to collect her daughter. And I was left in the dismal and dark hall of Alchemilla Hospital, contemplating what she had said, and how it was so relevant to everything I had read. If God really had been reborn, and if the “Paradise” I’ve witnessed (or the alternate world, as I still prefer to call it), was really the same Paradise that Samael wanted for the salvation of mankind. I stood there, stupid and scared. I was just a wanderer, floating around like a lost soul in this soulless and dead town. It brightened my spirits a bit, though, when I was heading out the main door of the hospital and saw a rifle strung up to the ceiling with a big red ribbon on its barrel, like a deadly gift. Had Gloria strung it there to help me on my way? Or…had the town given it to me to help free its dying soul, and solve the mystery of Silent Hill? The beautiful gift had two barrels and had a fresh round inside. Also, I found two more rounds of ammunition outside on a bench. More gifts. I’ll be the first to tell you to expect the unexpected in this town. I’m tired again, Julie. Think I’ll go lay down in this drug store. Thanks to my new present, I feel a bit safer. But I still dread the sickening moment when I have to wake up and find myself in Paradise.
Excerpt from a mandatory student’s journal, found in Silent Hill’s Midwich Elementary School, grade 2:
Today is a gold star day. I got to gold stars but Jeremy got three. Mrs Shire told me I’m not pay attention good. I got all ansers rite on the test yesterday. But mrs shire was mad when I askeded her why learning about god is so important. She sent a bad note home to my mommy and I don’t want to go home. My mommy likes god to, she will be mad at me to. But I think i should beleeve in what in want to beleeve. I wont tell mrs shire that any more but I want to think on my very own. I don’t want to be a preestess like my mommy wants me to, I want to be a righter. And when I grow up im going to move way, way far away from silent hill. I don’t like it here.
An excerpt from the diary of a Mr. Jake Lamplighter, age 19
November 28, 1981
I’m in Paradise now. And it’s never looked more beautiful. I wasn’t the coward this time I was before. I’m proud of that. I woke up in the drug store with a split-headed dog staring me in the face. The thing was nauseating; its head was split right down the middle, a gaping vertical slash. The thing leapt off as my eyes snapped open and rebounded, going in for the kill. But I knocked it to the side, grabbing the twin barrels of my trusty rifle, and shot the damned thing over and over. In the haunch. In the head. In the heart. And it was dead. I looked around me, and saw everything was normal. It was nighttime, and I was in a normal drug store. And that was when the yellowish lights went out. I fumbled my way to a wall switch, hearing an odd clank-clank under my feet. Oh God. It was the alternate world again. I turned the lights back on, and I was in Paradise. Metal cages containing insane black humanoid shapes hung from the high ceiling, and the walls were crimson and pulsing with life. I was surrounded by these disturbing monsters-they were mannequins, but just legs. They consisted of a pair of legs attached to a pair of legs. There were dozens of them in the room, all around me. And they were squirming and glistening in the light, patched together by flesh, and I ran out of that drugstore into the spinning night, where monsters awaited me in dusk’s shadow. I ran and ran for blocks. All I could hear was the steady clank-clank under my feet as my shoes slapped the metal grating on the street. The buildings rose up on my right and my left, red and veiny and fleshy and pulsing, ever pulsing. And the road came to a dead end. A horde of flesh-covered monsters came lurching unhealthily from the small municipal building in front of me. I was frightened out of my mind. And that’s when I went apeshit on all of them. I raised my rifle and was lost in a storm flood of insanity. A maelstrom of fury rose from my dampened heart, and I unloaded both barrels into the crowd’s horrible faces. Changed my magazine. Rushed forth, firing in front of me and behind me as I went. Rushed into the municipal building. More of the bastards awaited me inside. I started to fire-but then stopped, and my craze faded and died when I realized I had only one more magazine left. If I went insane on these guys, too, I’m sure I would be finished. I gotta conserve my ammo, I told myself. My monsters clawed at me as I dashed into the storeroom, which is where I remain until now, writing this entry. It’s dark in here. Really dark. And I can hear them outside the big metal door, scraping away to get to me. I can hear their flesh quiver and swim across their bodies like a big wet fish. I’m covered head to foot in blood. Blood more from the bleeding town than from the monsters. The floor I’m sitting on now won’t stop bleeding and scabbing. God, I know if anyone reads this, of course they won’t believe a word I say. Ha-ha. But Julie, if you’re there, or if I’m dead and you’re reading this, I just want to tell you…I feel as if you were with me this whole time. You’re the only one keeping me from going completely crazy through this ordeal. Julie, I can’t tell you how much I miss you. And if you only remember one thing in the darkest hours of the night, let it be this:
I love you, Julie.
November 29, 1981
I slept all night. And thank God that Paradise had fleeted before the dawn. And, Julie, I think I know where our “special place” is! The Lakeview Hotel, remember? Are you waiting for me there? In our special room, on the third floor? The one with the broken refrigerator and the little television? Where we spent that wonderful vacation years ago, right here in Silent Hill? Oh, how bright everything had been that summer? Can you remember? I forgot once, but I’m sure I won’t again. I promise. Remember the video we made there, Julie? That’s the thing I remember best of all.
I’m going there. To the hotel. To Room 312. I hope I’ll see you soon…maybe I’ll even see you before the return of Paradise! We can escape together, from this wretched town! The municipal building is empty, and I’m on my way. There were two full metal jackets in the supply room. I swear it’s as if the town is trying to help me. To help me help it. Julie, Silent Hill doesn’t want to be damned anymore. Maybe you can help me. Yes, I know you can. I’ll see you soon.
Comments and questions note found in the office of the Lakeside Hotel in Silent Hill, dated a year ago:
My fiancée and I had a restful sleep, though our neighbors next door down were quite loud. You got some rusty bedsprings in there. Maybe take a look at those, eh? The VCR was kind of old-the screen on the TV kept blurring and getting static. And the refrigerator’s broken, you should fix that, too. We had a bottle of bourbon, but no rocks! Overall, though, the stay was nice, and the view of the lake was even nicer.
--Jake Lamplighter
Excerpt from the diary of a Mr. Jake Lamplighter, age 19:
November 30, 1981:
Ten days I’ve been in this town, and I couldn’t be more sick of it. But I remembered the way to the hotel, Julie. Nathan Avenue. It was a long walk, but I’m finally here. I’m going to see you soon. I was so excited I had to write this now, or I might explode. I’m sure of it now; you can’t be dead! That disease, it must have gone away! You have to be alive! What else could spur me on this far? Also, something else has happened. I found our videotape on the check-out desk, with a note next to it, saying something like ‘Dear Mr. Lamplighter-you left this in your room. Feel free to take it home.’
Maybe when I climb those stairs I see before me and meet you in our room, we can watch the video again. Julie, those are some of my happiest memories. And just think; pretty soon, we’ll be together again and leaving this godforsaken town.
Nothing written for the rest of the day.
Scrawled at the bottom of a random page in the journal:
Julie. Hon. I…I remember it all now. I’ve never felt sicker. I’m dying on the inside. Decaying, like your corpse in the ground, right now. You are dead.
And that’s because…
I killed you.
Oh Julie, I remember it all now, I killed you. I saw you on that bed that night after we came home from our vacation in Silent Hill. You were so, so sick. Your face was almost black. I remember that. And I saw and remembered it all on that videotape in our hotel room. It captured everything. You were bitter, and your heart held nothing but hatred. But it was not your fault. It was the damned disease. You hated me. You hated everyone. But had it been me in your situation, I would have been the same way. Julie, I couldn’t bear to see you that way. I hated you. But I also loved you. That’s why I ended it. You were in so much pain…it chokes my heart just to think about it.
You said you were ugly.
And so you were on the outside.
But on the inside, you were dying. Rotting. Decaying from the disease. And you couldn’t help that. You didn’t like the flowers I brought home that day. You said they were ugly, just like yourself.
(Tear drops blur and obscure the writing)
You weren’t ugly. By God, you weren’t ugly. But I remember how you flung the vase at the wall. It was your pain, your pitiful anguish. I remember how it shattered, like your heart, into a million pieces. It was then I felt the greatest sorrow one could ever feel. There was nothing more in a million worlds I hated more than seeing you there, dying on the inside. So I took up the syringe in the tray beside your bed. And I-
Julie, I would damn myself a thousand times, just for you to forgive me. The monsters inside my head were eating away at my thread of sanity long before I returned to Silent Hill. I created them to punish me for my sins. The only Paradise I know is the one I spent with you, Julie. But even I forgot…I forgot how I murdered you. I forgot my sorrow. I forgot the bloody syringe. It was because I made myself forget. But now I remember, and I am numb. My monsters are still lingering in these dark hallways, more than ever before, but they can harm me no more. If one so much as stabbed me in the gut, I wouldn’t feel it. I can’t feel anything. My lips are cold and dry, my heart is deeper in my bowels than it’s ever been before. And I can’t bear to think: now what? What do I do?
Julie, I’m sitting on our bed now, wishing it had all never happened…even that I had never met you, for then I wouldn’t be a murderer. You were sick, but I’m sicker. I will always be sicker. Oh, Julie……….
>From an ancient bible found on Bachman Street in East Silent Hill:
…And the road to Paradise shall be lined with the corpses of sinners and wrongdoers, impaled on spears of their own tangled webs, as it is they who shall be the ones to show us the burn’ed way of redemption. The still and silent hill that God’s palace is built upon shall draw sinners and reveal to them their mirrored evil. Let the reprobates draw their own horrors from the mists of hell, for internal damnation is the worst of all.
A yellowed scrap of paper found in the lobby of the Lakeview Hotel in Silent Hill, written on by Rachel Gillespie:
I had to write this; I had to write it on something, anything, in hopes that someone finds it. And I found this blank registration sheet in the lobby. And that’s what I’m using to tell you that I saw a man today, in this very hotel. I was so very glad to see a different person in Silent Hill; overjoyed, really…but this man, he had so many shadows in his face…he looked at me the way a murderer might look at his innocent victims once he realizes what he had done. He appeared to me, in my mind, much like a ship leaving harbor, bidding the land farewell, as it may never return. This man was sitting on a bed in the third floor of the hotel, clutching a videotape as if he might not ever let it go. And before I could say anything, he asked me…he asked me to kill him. And of course I shook my head, and he stood up and simply said that if I didn’t kill him, he was going to kill everything. That’s when I told him how I was out to kill the god of Silent Hill. He asked me a few questions about God, the shadows still in his face, and I answered them, and he volunteered to join me! He said he didn’t want “this” to happen to anyone else who wanders into Silent Hill. I didn’t know what “this” meant, but I let him join me regardless. Something inside told me I didn’t want to hear his story, and so I didn’t inquire him further. I don’t know the name of the man, or why he has so many shadows in his face, but I dare not ask as he sits there in the corner as I write this now. He’s staring off into space, and his eyes are burning the walls with cold, naked flame. He can see through this town, I know it. I cannot, but I will stay alongside this man to the end, where I will fight God to my very last breath.
--Rachel Gillespie
>From an ancient scripture found on a dusty pew in an old church in Silent Hill:
…And whether they are aware of their sins or of their hatred, they will fight an endless battle with the very God that borne them unto this cold world, but God will vanquish all oppressors and send them to their own hell, where they will battle themselves, chasing their own tails until they collapse and fall off the edge of sanity, an inside-out abomination of their former selves. That is the coda of God’s power, to rid the world of the rodents who oppose Her.
>From another yellowed scrap of registration paper, found nailed to the signpost at the entrance to Silent Hill, written by Rachel Gillespie.
May the angels above weep silver tears over the night I saw God. There, over Toluca Lake, north of the hotel, It answered our cries to show Itself. The water had risen up from the depths and became fire, and the fire paved a long road into the darkness beyond the imagination of the stars, and so was the path laid out for It to come. And It was there, as described, in all of Its dark glory, rising above the pillar of fire that welcomed it to earth. Its tremendous arms trembled with power, its hooves champing the roof of the night. Its black wings spread over the town of Silent Hill, summoning up walls of flame around the perimeter, and its twisted goat-head reared back to the sky above and breathed vertical columns of black flame, and we stood there, me and the man I had met in the hotel, seeing God. It had progressed a long way since it had emerged form my womb in that dismal hospital a million miles behind us. The sight was blinding, and we shielded our eyes. The gaunt moon was an evil, beating heart in the ribcage of the sky. And still, there was God above it all, ever so deafeningly silent, and ever so blindingly dark. That’s when my mother came form the shadows behind us and threw herself on the ground before God. She was sobbing and laughing and screaming, yet God paid no attention. It focused on us, and I stepped forward through the pillar of fire, the flame not burning me, and cried out to God to return to the dust again, lest It be killed. But God paid no attention to me either. Instead, It reached within itself and pulled out a woman. The man from the hotel recognized the woman and cried out her name, “Julie,” and God presented the woman to him, Its arm outstretched in an aura of kindness. But then I called out to the man and he clutched his head in confusion. He dropped to his knees, the shadows gone from his face in the red of the fire everywhere, and he denied the woman in God’s hand. He rejected the hand and damned It to the place from whence it came. But God did not leave. The woman in Its hand erupted into flame and smoke, and it withdrew Its arm. It reached for the sky and swirled it with Its long finger. A storm broke out and the sky was a tempest sea of might. The man started to sob, and buried his face in the dirt. My mother leapt to her feet, her eyes full of horror, and cried out once again to God. And God ignored her once again. And my mother realized that God did not love her, and that God was less than dirt, and she cursed God, and then It reared its head again and champed the sky, and my mother, too, erupted into flame. I cried out, to, for I loved her, even though sometimes she did not love me, and God twisted Itself to face me. The wind screamed a soulless dirge above our heads, and lightning shredded the clouds into ribbons, and it rained fire.
And then all was silent.
God rose above us, still, the flames burned on quietly, and the man from the hotel lifted his face from the dirt. The sky swirled above us, but it unleashed no lightning nor fire.
Then a great roar beneath the earth caused the world to tremble, and the still surface of Toluca Lake rose with the brute force of an age-old hellion revisiting the world and emitting one last battlecry. The water erupted and extinguished all the flames, the clouds parted in the dead of night and silver light shined through. From the lake came hundreds, thousands of souls, all priests, priestesses, schoolchildren, housewives, altar boys, churchmice, all rose from Toluca Lake and groped for God, who looked down and stamped Its hooves in confusion. The souls of all the people that had followed It, all the souls It had misled, all arose from the cold depths of the lake and floated on thin clouds to God, and they pulled It down, pulled It down, pulled It down to where they rest eternally in repent for their misled religious beliefs. And God realized at that moment the irony of it all, that the very ones that had once followed It so faithfully, and in turn, had been backstabbed and sent to Hell, were now getting their bittersweet revenge on It. They were casting It back down to Hell with them, back where It belonged, and I saw It being swallowed, bit by bit, by the black and gaping hole to Hell in the lake. I saw It use the last of Its strength to try to plunge as much of the world around It into darkness and flame as It could. A carpet of fire spread across the town from Its bleeding fists, and I leapt behind a boulder and shielded my eyes from the horrid brightness, my brow furrowed and crying sweat. I could not see the man from the hotel, but I prayed he be okay. The fire wrapped itself around the buildings and carpeted the streets and spread like reaching fingers. Silent Hill was consumed by flame, entrapped in a cage of Hell letting itself loose. I peeked from behind the boulder, squinting my eyes. The vast goat-head was almost under the water now, one immense arm rising above and spitting fire across the land. The eyes in the depths of the goat-head were deep scarlet, and then they were hopelessly yellow, then faded to black and were gone. The fire glow swallowed us and we were blinded.
And all was silent again.
I opened my eyes and saw the cool nighttime dark of the town. Silent Hill was in perfect shape, there was no trace of fire, and Toluca Lake was still and tranquil. For the first time in the town, I heard crickets chirping, and a songbird sung a single note in the still of the darkness. And it was then I realized we did it. We killed the god of Silent Hill. I collapsed, smiling. No more would the dark curse affect anyone who straggled into the town. The demon was done, cast into Hell forever with all of Its followers. I shed a few tears for my mother, who was now in another plane…but I had to see the man from the hotel. I stumbled over to where he lay, burned and scathed rather badly. He was to pass away soon. He opened his eyes and thanked me for everything. With that, he told me to leave him where he lay. He told me that he’d soon be with Julie. So I left that town, I left Silent Hill, I stepped out onto the inviting highway and wrote this. Wrote this so that people could understand it all, and to not fall into the very holes they dig, as they had once done before. And…above all, I want whoever reads this…not to forget me. I don’t know where I’ll go now, but I think I’ll start by wandering along this lonesome highway to see where life takes me. Because…that’s what I feel like. I’m a feather, whisked through the air to wherever the wind wills me. And I say to whoever reads this, and to this town that lies dormant and quiet and dark behind me, don’t let me be forgotten.
All in Silent Hill was right with the world. The night wind stirred lazily around the gaunt buildings and into the dark windows, and crickets chirruped their odd, quirky song through the silence. The Goats in God’s Pasture laid at peace below Toluca Lake, and not one person uttered a single breath anywhere. The town was set to become dust, to return to the dirt from which it rose. And that night, the silence spread over the whole of the earth, if at least only for a few hours. For God’s empire had been built upon that still and silent hill, and upon that hill the empire had fallen, while the buildings remain and rise above the world of dusk that lays, forever captive, in silence.

[Alex-X]

Ты немного перепутал. Это русскоязычный форум по Silent Hill. Тебе, наверно, на http://www.silenthillforum.co.uk

[SilentPyramid]

Вот , выставляю на публичный Суд (или Казнь ?) один из моих любимых фанфиков - действительно очень интересная в плане концептуальности вещь (правда , на буржуинском языке , но при наличии хотя бы минимального знания английского проблем возникнуть не должно ). Особенно радует понимание автором идей САЙЛЕНТ хилла - сюжет раскрывается как бы кусочками , которые читателю придется складывать в единую картину - сам город умалчивает о происходящем , и только клочки бумаги хранят тайну города , находясь в безнадежном ожидании быть прочитанными . Также хотелось бы особо отметить проводимую автором достаточно оригинальную параллель между Алессой и Лаурой . P.S :первоисточник - сайт Alternate Silent Hill .

[SilentPyramid]

Ты немного перепутал. Это русскоязычный форум по Silent Hill. Тебе, наверно, на http://www.silenthillforum.co.uk 

Ты правда считаешь , что никто в РФ не знает английского ? Переводить текст такой величины все равно никто не станет (в любом случае лично я отрицательно отношусь к русЕфЕкацЫям ) , т. ч. ,естественно , пришлось выложить в оригинале , но поверь ,он того стоит ! ( кстати у меня ссылка на http://www.silenthillforum.co.uk не работает - возможно комп глючит - бывает )

Изменено: SilentPyramid, 18 Апрель 2004 - 02:41

[Alex-X]

http://www.silenthillforum.co.uk/forum - всё работает!