Max_Writer

“Yeah,” Michael said. “Yeah. Okay.”

They continued west and found the next street was Neely Street. The building on the northeast corner of the street had a sign over the door that read “Neely’s.” Next to the door was a large glass window completely covered with newspapers on the inside. Alan looked around and then went to an automobile parked across Neely Street from the bar.

“I just want to ask, are we going into this place?” Vanderholdt said.

“Yep,” Alan replied.

“Okay,” Vanderholdt said.

He went to the door.

“Hey,” Alan said. “Whoa.”

“Yes?” Vanderholdt said.

Alan reached into the automobile and took out the crank which lay on the floor in the front seat. He walked to the window and flung the crank through the glass pain on the right. The crash of glass seemed terribly loud and startled both Michael and Vanderholdt.

“Alan!” Michael hissed.

Alan used the butt of his shotgun to smash out the rest of the glass around the large hole he’d already made. Vanderholdt looked around, nervous about what heard the loud noise.

“What the hell?” Michael hissed at his brother as he looked around as well. “Alan!”

When he finished it was terribly quiet. Michael went to his brother.

“Alan, what the hell?” he whispered.

Alan looked at him, eyes wide, then looked back at the window.

“It’s dark?” Alan said. “It’s dark?”

“Yeah,” Michael said.

“Without this,” Alan said, indicating the broken window, “it’d be worse.”

“You wanna bring more of those crazy things?” Michael asked.

“No,” Alan said. “But what if there’s one in there in the dark?”

Vanderholdt checked the door to the bar and found it was unlocked. He started mumbling profanity in French under his breath. The two brothers looked at him as he muttered angrily.

“The door is unlocked,” he finally said. “I don’t think that we need to knock now.”

Michael stepped over the shattered glass. Alan quickly followed him. Vanderholdt moved to the window and lit his electric torch, illuminating the room.

“Smart,” Michael said.

The interior of the small bar was a single room that was exceptionally dirty and grimy. A bar took up one wall, shelves with a few liquor bottles, some of them broken, stood upon it. Dirt was everywhere and, though there were no leaves within, the walls themselves looked like they were covered in filth. A piece of paper lay on the bar.

“Jimmy?” Alan whispered. “Jimmy?”

Michael held out his hand to Vanderholdt, who handed over the electric torch. He shined the light around as Alan moved towards the bar. Michael hissed a warning and motioned to the bar, indicating that something might be behind it. Alan snatched the paper from the bar and backed away. When he turned, he stopped when he saw something was written in a brownish red substance across the newspapers covering the remaining window. He pointed at it and Michael shined the light on it. Written there was “There was a HOLE here. It’s gone now.”

“Oh God,” Alan said.

“Vanderholdt,” Michael said.

“I’m here,” the man replied.

They called him over and showed him the strange message. Alan stepped out into the street and looked at the paper.

“Any idea what this might mean?” Michael asked him.

“Well, there was a hole out there,” Vanderholdt said. “Maybe it was in here?”

“You’ve been reading all these weird books,” Michael said. “I thought you might know something about it.”

“Nowhere in there did they mention bodies sewn up in bags made of skin,” Vanderholdt said.

“Yeah, okay,” Michael said.

Vanderholdt looked at his watch again. It was 10 a.m. The two men returned to Alan.

“What’d you find?” Michael asked him.

“It’s a map,” the other man said.

The map showed the South Vale area of Silent Hill. It was hard to read but he found Lindsey, Sanders, and Neely Streets, as well as Rosewater Park. Alan pointed it out to the others, saying that they could go up Neely.

“But there’s a hole, right here,” Alan said ominously. “Isn’t that where we ran into the big crevasse?”

Michael pointed out the abyss was on Lindsey Street. They decided to head north on Neely and, as they walked, Alan also noticed there was an “X” marked on the map at the north end of the narrow Martin Street, just where it ended behind South Silent Hill Fire Station. He noted that the map was from Jimmy and they should find out what the “X” was marking.

They turned right onto Katz Street and, as they approached Martin Street, they saw another figure in the fog. They recognized it as the same kind of thing that they had killed before. It shambled in the street, its head jerking to one side as it seemed to struggle against the flesh that held its arms down. Vanderholdt took careful aim at the thing with his pistol. Alan switched his shotgun to his off hand and drew his own .45 automatic pistol and aimed at the thing. Vanderholdt fired and missed.

“Wait!” Michael yelled.

Then Alan fired at the thing but missed it as well. It seemed to jerk to one side as he fired at it and he missed it completely.

The thing started to lurch towards them.

“Wait!” Michael said. “It’s coming this way! What if we hide in one of these buildings?”

Alan fired at the thing but missed again. Vanderholdt shot the thing, the bullet striking it in the foot, and then backed up a few steps, leaving the O’Shea brothers in the lead. The awful thing was knocked down by the blast, but then started crawling around on the ground strangely, making odd clicking and screeching noises.

“Will you stop shooting at that damned thing!” Michael hissed.

“Why? Why? Why? Why?” Alan hissed back.

Vanderholdt methodically fired another bullet at the horrible thing. Alan leveled his own pistol and fired at the thing, striking it in the lower torso. Blood spewed out of the horror and it stopped moving. A pool of blood started to form under it.

“Oh God,” Alan said. “Oh God.”

“Are we going forward or back?” Vanderholdt said.

“Forward,” Alan said. “Jimmy’s ... down there.”

“Do you mind?” Michael said. “Can I ask a question?”

The other two looked at him.

“Do you understand the idea of being QUIET!?!” Michael hissed, his voice rising at the end.

“Yeah,” Alan said.

Michael shushed him.

“Just shut up, Alan,” he said. “Just shut up!”

“In the land of the Brothers O’Shea–” Vanderholdt started to say.

“And you especially, shut up,” Michael said.

He walked towards Martin Street ahead of him, giving the dead thing in the street a wide berth. Alan quickly holstered the pistol and then rushed after him, pointing the shotgun at the thing as he passed it. Michael slowed his pace and the other two easily caught him just before they reached Martin Street. It was narrower than the other streets and looked like an alley. They headed down it, passing garages, and picket fences that bounded back yards on either side.

They crept down the narrow alleyway and made their way carefully to the end of the street. The alley ended in a brick wall, obviously the back of a larger building. Someone was sitting on the ground, leaning against the brick wall. There was a dark stain around him and over his face. He wore a trench coat over a coat and tie. A hat was on the ground nearby.

“Oh God!” Alan said, jogging forward. “Jimmy! Jimmy!”

Michael moved to keep up with his brother while Vanderholdt looked all around.

The man was obviously dead. Blood covered the front of his shirt and his face was mauled beyond recognition. He had dark hair but they both realized that the haircut was the same style as Alan’s. A closer look proved that the man was wearing a suit that was identical to Alan’s as well.

“Oh God!” Alan said. “Oh God! Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!”

Michael looked around and then, as Alan was muttering to himself, he went forward and used the pistol to push open the dead man’s trench coat. There was a holstered .45 automatic within. He searched the body but found no wallet or identification. He did find a ring with two keys upon it. One was stamped “Wood Side Apartments” and the other “202.” Both of them looked like keys that would fit tumbler locks. He also found two magazines for the .45 automatic pistol.

Alan was still muttering to himself. He had gotten worse when Michael had removed the two magazines. He also carried two magazines for his pistol. He suddenly grabbed the corpse’s hand and looked for an L-shaped scar on the web of his right hand. Unfortunately, something had torn his hand and it was impossible to tell if the man had such a scar.

“It could be. It could be. It could be,” Alan mumbled. “Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.”

“Alan, what’s the matter?” Michael asked him. “You okay?”

“You don’t see it?” Alan asked, scooping the shotgun back up.

Michael shoved the two magazines at the man.

“No, Alan,” he said.

“No?” his brother replied.

“I don’t see it.”

“Yeah, yeah. I mean anybody ... anybody could’ve ...”

“You know why? ‘Cause I see you, standing here, next to me. Yeah?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Sure.”

Alan tucked the two magazines into his pocket.

“Why was this marked on the map?” Alan asked.

They looked over the map once again and found Wood Side Apartments marked on it. They discussed the elusive lighter once again, and finally found it, lighting up cigarettes. Vanderholdt very quietly started singing “Frere Jacques” to himself.

“Vanderholdt, shut up!” Alan said.

“I’m not saying anything,” Vanderholdt replied.

“You all right, Vanderholdt?” Michael asked.

“The longer we stay here, I’m feeling less all right,” Vanderholdt said.

“He’s got a good idea,” Michael said. “We should keep moving.”

“Yeah, sure,” Alan said.

They headed back down the street. Alan had hooked the keys on his ring finger of his left hand. Michael followed last, quickly taking the hat that lay nearby and covering the corpse’s face. He crossed himself, backed away, and then caught up with the other two. He startled Vanderholdt, who was following Alan. Michael asked for the lighter back.

“You think I have this in my mouth for my health?” Michael asked, gesturing at the cigarette there. “It’s my lighter anyway.”

Alan handed over the lighter.

They returned to Katz Street, heading west. The body of the thing they had killed and even the stain of blood it had lain in was gone. They crossed Neely Street, and continued down Katz Street. On their right, they soon saw a chain-link fence with what appeared to be a large, modern-looking apartment building behind it. It was three stories tall though the uppermost part was obscured by the ever-present fog.

Lying in the street, not far from a gate in the fence, was another body. It lay face down and wore a trench coat. Alan realized that the shoes and pants the thing wore resembled his own. Scattered around the body were several pieces of notebook paper that looked like they were from the same type of notebook that Alan carried around.

“Oh God, Mikey,” Alan muttered.

“A lot of private investigators apparently died around here,” Vanderholdt quipped, trying to break the bleak mood.