Coming Home

Chapter 2

The trip turned out to be a disaster, naturally.

After customers and employee’s caught a glimpse of the blood on the wall, panic and disorder nearly erupted. Several people had put through calls to the police station, forcing James and his father to stay with the other witnesses in order to answer the officers' questions. Everyone was noticeably shaken, and with good reason. The idea of painting the wall with blood was very disturbing, and there was no apparent motivation. Even the police had a difficult time in keeping their moral high about catching the culprits. After all, how can you catch someone that wasn't even seen committing the crime? The vandalism would remain unsolved with no witnesses.

Following the fiasco in the grocery store, neither Frank nor James had the desire to brave going anywhere else. They had returned home as if in a daze, ripping their soiled shoes off and immediately threw them into trashcan.

James stayed in the bathroom and washed his hands for over ten minutes. Even then, he couldn't seem to get the smell of the blood off his skin. He had to stop eventually, skin tingling unpleasantly from the constant scrubbing and harsh soap.

When James joined his father in the living room, the older man sat uncomfortably in his recliner. He was sitting up with his back straight, hands fidgeting with the television remote control in a nervous habit. Frank would pick the remote up, fiddle with the buttons, and quickly settle it firmly onto the coffee table. Seconds later he would pick the remote up and repeat the same twitching and fumbling.

James sat down opposite of his father, forcing his body to relax. He leaned back into the sturdiness of the couch, arms folding loosely across his waist. The room hung silent except for the low drone of the clock ticking away on the mantle of the fireplace.

The silence was beginning to make him uncomfortable. James cleared his throat. "So…"

Frank sighed, placing the remote back onto the coffee table. "Yeah…"

"…" James slumped down further into the seat. Obviously, the conversation wasn't going to be heading in any sort of direction. He couldn't come up with anything worthwhile to say, and didn't anticipate his father engaging in a discussion.

But Frank surprised him. He clasped his hands together in his lap, staring down at the long laced fingers, seeming to weigh the value of his words before speaking aloud.

"Did you see anything, James?"

James frowned. It took him a moment to realize what exactly his father was referring too. That's right. The grocery store incident. "No. I didn't even see the bags ripped open. I felt it, though. The dampness and cold felt like it had burned my hand." He supplied hesitantly.

Frank fell back into the recliner, the seat rocking beneath his weight. The information appeared to disturb him deeply. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to dispel a headache. "All that blood. How could anyone possibly tear open so many packages? And so fast…"

"Don't forget the wall." James hedged to add.

"How could I forget?" There was a small hint of sarcasm in that statement, but none of it was aimed at James. That particular scene had been the most disturbing. The liberal spread of blood along the wall was permanently fixed within their minds. It would not cease to haunt either of them.

Frank continued to rub at the bridge of his nose. When he alternated to rubbing at his temples, face noticeably tensed in pain, James grew worried. "Are you feeling okay?" He asked.

"Hmm?" Frank jumped, startled out of his thoughts. "Oh! Sorry. Sorry, I think my head is still aching after that noise over the intercoms." He winced, remembering the agonizing noise. "I thought my ears were going to bleed." Frank's body gave a small shudder at remembering the horrific screams and screeches that had rippled across the intercom system.

"What a freaky incident." His son mimicked Frank's earlier actions of lacing his hands together. "Was it some kind of mechanical or system error?" James pondered aloud.

"Hard to say." Frank answered. "It was too complex for that. Possibly, someone screwed around with the system. Playing some sort of sick joke, just like the blood on the wall."

"THAT'S the one thing I don't get!" James ran his hands through blond hair, spreading and messing up the strands with his fingers. A particularly aggravating nervous habit that had had Mary constantly tugging his hands away from his hair, James' wife admonishing him for being so overtly agitated. "There's was no one around who could have done it while any customers or workers were standing so close. Workers opening the store would notice the blood staining the walls. I don't understand how the words appeared up there when they did."

"There's no way they could have 'just appeared'." Frank leaned forward, clasping his hands together. "Blood doesn't just appear out of thin air. Someone had to physically streak the wall with the blood. It wasn't anything mystical or paranormal."

James snorted, in dubious agreement, out loud. "You know, surprisingly, I'm having a hard time believing that." James argued.

"James. There has to be a logical explanation--"

"Why?" James stood, suddenly angry by how both of them were circling the conversation. Trying not to trod over the other's toes, opting not to see the issue at hand. "Why does there have to be a logical explanation? Where has logic been since the night before? Dad, you were there. No one could have done those things. Something strange is going on. Like last night."

Broaching the sensitive subject of what had occurred last night made his father uncomfortable. "That was different."

"How? How was it different?" James demanded. "What, last night I was acting crazy? Seeing and hearing things? So what about today, then, Dad? Did the bogeyman from last night decide to have a little fun, this time in a store?"

"James, please. You're looking too deeply into this." Frank tried to calm his son. It was rare for his son to be so visibly agitated, and it was beginning to make Frank equally nervous and unsettled.

"For good reason!" Frank leaned back from the near-shout. James jerked his hand through the air, beseeching his father to listen. "Dad. Someone or something is screwing around with us. Messing with me, and doing a really good job of scaring me. I don't know why, but there's some purpose to all of this."

"What purpose?" Frank asked. "What sort of purpose would someone have to target you, James?"

"I don't know." James sat back down in a defeated slump, covering his face with his hands. The conversation was running around in a maddening circle, taunting them with their inability to follow the twisting path. "For all I know, it could be Mary haunting me." He said bitterly.

"James!" The suggestion horrified Frank.

"I don't know!" James cut him off. "It's not like she wouldn't have a good reason. She suffered, dad. What she went through was horrible. I couldn't do anything to help her. Maybe this is some kind of atonement for not being able to give her any comfort."

"So it's that simple, then?" Frank demanded, angry about such an assumption. Angry that James had so little faith in himself and his abilities. "You think that you need to be punished? Because you didn't know about the disease that baffled even the doctors? Should you be punished that there was no known cure for Mary's illness?"

"And what about you?" Frank continued on. "You went through your own share of misery and pain. James, you sat by her side every day, through all of the grief and through all of the anger and suffering. Mary had to deal with a lot of pain, and she ended up taking some of it out on you. But you handled it, and sat guard by her side and offered her what comfort that you could."

"James." Frank came around the coffee table and crouched down in front of his son. He caught James by the shoulders, encouraging him to lean forward and uncover his eyes. Their gazes met, Frank holding his son's. "The only thing you're guilty of is trying to be the knight in shining armor. Sometimes…sometimes, not everyone can be saved, James. You wanted to save Mary. And now that she's gone, it's killing you. You can't let her go. I think that…that perhaps, you loved Mary too much."

James stiffened. "Wha…"

"Listen." Frank interrupted, shaking James when he attempted to turn his head away and advert his eyes. "Loving her was not a crime. But James, you weren't happy! You wanted Mary to have the perfect life, the perfect house and the perfect husband. You gave her that, but during the process, you also lost yourself. In your mind, Mary deserved everything she wanted. Mary was someone familiar, someone safe. You were willing to do anything to keep her with you. Even if you had to change yourself in order to suit her needs."

James' shoulders trembled under his hands. An aching sob escaped him, eyes shining as he tried to mask the pain. "I - I don't know what to do without her."

"Let her go." The words from his father settled like a brick in his gut.

"I can't."

"James. Let her go. For her sake…and for yours." Frank pleaded. "You're suffering, and punishing yourself. Everything that has been occurring is a sign of it all piling up and suffocating you! If you don't get past this, you'll drown, James. You will go somewhere where I can't follow you and bring you back. I can't lose you, James. Not when you can save yourself."

Frank made everything sound so simple. James wanted to believe him, the desire to fall into the comfort and command his father's words was a terrible ache inside.

"It's all tricks, then?" James' voice quivered. "Everything…All these things that have been happening? I've just been hallucinating?"

"The first, yes. The store…that was a sick coincident."

"But--"

"James, you have to get past this." His father commanded, with a raised voice.

"…I…"

"This can't go on."

"But how…how can I stop any of this." James urged. "I don't even know what is going on!"

The phone's ringing made both men jump, almost clear up into the air. The shattering peal rattled them visibly, Frank actually clutching a hand over his heart. A nervous chuckle came from both men, unsettled laughter at their equally scattered states.

Standing up, partially shaky from the shock, Frank approached the phone. He lifted the phone out of its cradle and put it to his ear. "Hello? Frank Sunderland speaking."

There was a lengthy pause, Frank frowning as he listened to a voice speaking through the earpiece. James swiveled to face his father, curious about who would be calling them during the middle of the day.

"Who is this?" His father's sharp demand caused James to grow uncomfortable.

"Who is this? Is this some sort of joke?" Frank repeated; he was noticeably angry.

"Dad?"

Frank ignored his son's inquiry. "No, you can't speak to him. He's not here." Frank practically slammed the phone back into its cradle.

Frank was standing with his fists at his side, shaking from the throes of his anger.

"Dad, what's wrong? Who was that?"

"I don't know." Frank answered after a period of time, trying to calm himself down.

"What did they say? Why are you so upset?" James persisted.

"They wanted to talk to you."

"W-What? Who?"

"They didn't say." Frank replied.

"…So why does that make you so angry?"

Frank released a deep breath, as if trying to search deep for a measure of strength and patience. "Whoever it was…what they said…"

"Dad." James pleaded. "What did they say?"

His father looked him straight in the eye.

"They said: 'You can't keep us from James. You both may share blood, but we're the only ones who can give him what he needs. We're the only ones who can make him scream.'"

If he didn't know his father as well as he did, James would have thought the phone call, Frank's words, were a complete joke. "That…that's just sick." He said finally.

The phone rang again. James almost toppled over onto his side in the sudden haste to move away from the ringing phone, having no desire to answer.

"Damn it!" Frank snarled, snapping up the phone. "Yes?" He demanded sharply.

It was the same voice from earlier. Frank was thankful that James could not hear the words.

"James. James Sunderland." Just one voice, but it echoed as if there were dozens of voices speaking at once. A chorus of voices that rose and fell in the same pitch, swelling as if talking within a high-vaulted room.

"He's not here." Frank fired back.

Static hissed wildly over the line. Frank thought the connection was severed for a second.

In a fury, the voices raised.

"YOU LIE!"

The phone shrieked so loudly that Frank had to pull it away, his ear ringing from the blast of sound.

Carefully he put his ear back to receiver.

"Listen to us, old dog. It doesn't matter how long you stand in our way. We will find him, and we're willing to go through you. Even if we have to spill your guts all over the floor!"

"If you think that you can harass me--"

The voices rose in unison, a mad cackle of wicked glee and amusement. They seemed to be enjoying the verbal sparring.

"Would you like to join your wife? The dead bitch is bones and dust, six feet under the ground. We could put your body right next to hers."

"You sick little--"

"We will bring James home. This will not go on any longer. We will no longer allow the absence of one of our own."

"If you think you can stop us, you are as blind as you are deaf. If you don't fear us, then there will soon come a time where you will know true fear."

"If the Red Pyramid or Valtiel must seek you out…then you'll beg to die."

Hateful words swirled and massed together in one final threat that fired a web of ice throughout Frank.

"And while the Red Pyramid is fucking James through the floor, we'll always remember that you WERE NOT ABLE TO SAVE YOUR ONLY CHILD!"

Frank slammed the phone down so hard that the plastic cracked.

James almost leapt out of his skin when the phone smashed hard into the cradle.

"Bastards!" His father's face was red, forehead flushed with sweat.

James swallowed any words that rose, not wanting to know what had set his father off.

He waited, sitting stiff and alert for several minutes. His father remained standing, rigid and furious.

He was suddenly very tired. His eyes were almost too heavy to remain open, body still stiff from the lack of sleep from the night before. He desperately wanted to curl up in bed and hide his head under a pillow.

"I--" James cleared his throat, somewhat shaky when he spoke. "I think I'll just go lie down."

Frank turned when hearing the small tremble in James voice. "Are you sure? After last night…?" He asked.

James was one step ahead of him. No way in hell was he having a repeat of the previous night's 'entertainment'. "I'll put the mattress on the floor. I can sleep without the bed frame."

"Oh." Frank physically shook himself, like a dog would shake itself of pestering fleas. He joined James in the hallway. "I'll help." He offered.

"Thanks."

It took them only several minutes to wrestle the mattress off the bed frame and situate it on the floor. Frank broke up the metal framework, carried the pieces of the bed frame out of the room, and took them down to the basement. While waiting for his father to come back up, James took the time to toss sheets across the bare mattress.

James patrolled the room, even opening the closet door and checking inside. Making sure that there was nothing inside waiting and lurking, eager to snap him up.

'This would be utterly pathetic if I wasn't so scared.' James slammed the door shut, finding bitter satisfaction from the loud impact of the door meeting frame. There was a small sense of resolution, as if a door was slamming shut and sealing away all of his fears.

Finally, Frank could find nothing else to do in the room. James father stayed long enough to make sure that his son was as comfortable as he could be before leaving him to his solitude. He closed the door firmly shut behind him as he left, reminding James that if he needed anything, just to shout for him.

James sat down on the mattress and rumpled sheets. He pulled off his shoes, tossing them carelessly to the farthest corner of the room. His jacket slid free from stiff shoulders, laying it near the edge of the bed.

He didn't bother to turn the light switch. There was no way he was sleeping with the lights off.

The nest of blankets and pillows felt like paradise, after such a short yet terrifying day. James curled up on his side, winding arms around a fat pillow and holding it tight. He buried his face into the soft material, immersing himself in the momentary bliss and comfort--

The sound of his cell phone rudely interrupted him.

James jerked up, pushing the pillow to the side. How…It couldn't be? The cell phone was turned of in his suitcase. Exactly where it had been for the past week or more.

James rose and carefully approached the closet door, pulling it open and tugging the suitcase across the floor. He knelt down as he shuffled through the various compartments until he found the steadily vibrating and ringing device.

He frowned when he tried to read the screen to determine whom the caller was. Instead of the usual letters and numbers that stretched across the screen, this time there was only a bright luminous blue glow.

James sat, crouched in front of the suitcase for over a minute. Trying to think, weighing the costs and benefits of answering the call. There was a small chance, however small, that it was the same caller that his father had picked up. If that was the case…was he really willing to answer the call?

'Just answer it.' James ordered. 'They're only voices. They can heckle and threaten you, but they can't reach you.' He tried to assure his steadily rising level of unease. A small part of him scoffed in disbelief at his assurance. It wasn't as if anything before had had a difficult time reaching or grabbing him.

'Fuck it.' He finished bitterly. 'It's not like I have anything else to lose.'

He pressed a button that allowed the call to come through. The ringing drone fell silent.

"Yes?" James was secretly proud of the firm and steady tone of voice while his insides quivered with trepidation.

James didn't know what he had been expecting. After witnessing his father's words and reactions, he had expected vicious words and threats. Anticipating sinister barbs that would make him cringe back in fright. What he heard amazed him.

"James!" The voice was ecstatic, almost giddy with excitement. Strangely, it echoed, like there was more than one voice speaking. That couldn't be possible, though. James was certain that it was only something wrong with the reception.

"You answered! You finally picked up!" The body of whoever was speaking must be close to bouncing in animation.

The tone was reminiscent of a child deprived of a loved one or friend. Almost painful to hear, aching with the physical force of its need.

"We've wanted to speak to you. It's been too long."

Too long? The voice spoke as if they had encountered each other at least one time prior.

"I don't understand." James' honesty made the voice pause.

"…James?"

"How do you know my name?"

"…Your name was the First. The first one we Knew. The first word we ever Spoke."

"This doesn't make any sense."

"Don't be afraid. Everything that we have done, it has frightened you, yes. It's all for you, James. We do it all for you."

"You're trying to justify your actions?" He felt violated and enraged by the lack of compassion. "Have you any idea what you did to me? Attacking me - making me so afraid that I can barely close my eyes. Afraid that someone or something would come after me."

"We do it only for you."

"How could you possibly, even remotely come up with the idea that you know me or even know what the HELL I need you to do for me?" James' voice fell. It was pointless to shout or rage at the voice…voices? The confusion laced alongside the words of the individual across the phone was palatable. Whoever was speaking seemed to have no genuine concept or understanding as to what their actions had done to James.

A soft, restless shuffling proceeded the voice. "We only want to help you. It's the only way we can get your attention. We've been waiting for you, for so long."

"……"

"James…" the voice hesitated. "We don't understand. Why are you so upset?"

"I can't understand your reasoning for all of this. We've never met or spoken before, to the best of my knowledge." He said, sitting down on top of the mattress, suddenly feeling weary and uneasy from the direction of the conversation. "Do - do I know you?" James asked carefully.

Silence fell over the line, heavy and hard, sounds ceasing as swiftly as a curtain falling.

"Look…you need to stop this. I think you have me confused with someone else."

Silence. But…if James listened long enough, he could swear that he could hear faint breathing over the line, breathing that wasn't his own.

"Please. Just be honest. Give me one honest answer, at the very least. Are you the one who has been doing all of these things? Are you --" James stopped himself, taking a moment to gather his words, "Did you do all of those things, in this room, and at the store?"

Finally, the silence shattered. For a moment, James felt relief that there was a response to his question. Dread replaced it, however, when a new voice spoke over the line. This one far heavier, more authoritative then the previous ones, a roaring tide unlike the fragmented sighs and whispers before it. The voice poured across the line, a rumble that made the room appear to tremble.

"YES."

That one heavy, pounding word nearly made James snap the cellphone off.

This speaker was something else entirely. He didn't have the same trace of emotions as the other previous voice. The newcomer had to be considered a possible threat; the voices from earlier had the comprehension level of a small child. This individual would not be so easily placated or unmoved by James' angry tone. He would have to speak carefully with this one.

"Why are you doing this?"

"……"

"Tell me!" He didn't resist holding back the demand. Whatever threat the newcomer may pose, was becoming swiftly irrelevant. James was becoming sick and tired of playing the jester in order to amuse someone else's sick jokes.

"COME TO US...SILENT HILL… THAT IS WHERE WE AWAIT."

"WE ARE WAITING FOR YOU."

…Silent Hill?

The resort? Why there, of all places?

Any further words that James was preparing to utter failed him as the connection was severed, leaving only the dial tone. He stared at the cellphone, as if it held the answer to all of his problems.

The two words continued to haunt him.

'Silent Hill.'

Mary had wanted to go back to the resort town, after they had had a wonderful time there. Everything was so peaceful and perfect. Right before the disease had risen and engulfed Mary's poor body.

So what purpose did Silent Hill have? Was it where everything had all begun? The disease? The freakish events that had been taking place the past day? God, it felt much longer than that. More like a lifetime.

If Silent Hill was capable of giving James answers…

He stopped that train of thought. Silent Hill was a resort town. That was all. What on earth was he thinking, actually believing that the quiet town could possibly hide the monsters and demons that saw fit to torment him so badly?

'This is beyond insane.' James shut off the cellphone, keeping back the urge to fling the phone and smash it against the farthest wall. Instead, he laid it down on the floor beside the mattress.

He was restless and confused, but still James lay down. Curling underneath the sheets and thick blanket and wrapping around a pillow, trying to squeeze silent comfort from the inanimate object.

Then the mattress rose underneath him.

"Shit!" James almost leapt out of his skin. He pushed up onto his hands and knees, scattering the blanket and pillow.

The mattress fell back, lying flat against the floor. A few seconds later, it rose again, the center swelling and pulsing outward. It rose and fell, contracting and expanding. Reminiscent to the pattern of a person breathing and taking in deep swallows of air.

James shoved the bed casing over, until his hands spread along the bare mattress. He ran his hands along the slick base, the mattress strangely warm under his hands.

His hands flinched back when something firm pushed up against his palms.

Immediately pulling his hands off the mattress, James made out the impressions of --hands, there was no way that hands! -- hands pushing against and upwards, firm along the thin barrier, opposite of where his hands had been.

It was impossible. There were no reasonable explanations for a body, let alone hands to fit in or under the mattress without him realizing!

The hands slid and scraped along the opposite side of the mattress, fingers impossible long and sharp. The tips stroked along the slick material, a sharp hiss following the cutting slip of fingers, barely keeping from shredding thin lines along the mattress.

Another pair of hands joined the first, near James' left knee. He drew back, watching the hands stretch and stroke the area where his limb had been. As if attempting to chase after the residue of heat and flesh that persisted in eluding it.

James yelped when a searching touch nudged his ankle, several more pairs of hands appearing out of nowhere. All of them were dancing and weaving paths along the mattress, fingers leaving long lines across the surface.

He fell off the side of the mattress, landing in an undignified heap.

As soon as his body left the mattress, it surged upward. All of the hands pushing up at once, threatening to burst through, ready to give birth to whatever lay lurking and preparing to shred their way through the thin barrier.

The soft sound of whispers caught James attention. Words that made no sense swirled around him as the hands pushed and pulsed. He covered his ears as the voices began to rise, words increasing in pitch and speed until it was a long babbling mantra.

James covered his mouth with one hand when the outline of a face began to push against the mattress. No features were visible, only the outline of a jaw, forehead, and temple. Face and head jerked, twitching madly as if in the middle of an epileptic attack. The mattress's lining was dangerously close to tearing against the façade, stretching tight as the face pushed completely against the barrier. Large hands shuffled and raked fingers along the mattress, the entire body rising and clambering as if searching for a single tear or weakness.

The whispering words were a rising gale, James' eardrums threatening to pop from the drastic upsurge of pressure in the room. Words fell into a continuous shriek of noise, like nails grating along a chalkboard.

James closed his eyes with hands over his ears, hiding from the sight that was unfolding. 'It's not real. It's not real. You're dreaming. Wake up.' He commanded. 'Wake up. It's just a dream. It's only a dream.' None of this was happening. It was just his imagination. It wasn't real. All he had to do was "WAKE UP!"

A loud 'pop' of air made James jump. Everything fell into deathly silence.

James took a moment to garner his courage before he removed his hands, and eyelids fluttered open.

The sheets and pillows were scattered across the floor, mattress lying flat and bare. Face and hands that had trailed and pushed up from within the mattress were missing, as if they had never been there in the first place.

James shuddered, wrapping arms around his waist. He sat, silent and vigilant, watching the mattress with a wary gaze.

Apparently, he wasn't safe anywhere.

The next morning, James muscles and back felt as stiff as a board. He had barely slept a wink, staying up most of the night jumping and leaping from every shadow and noise. The lack of sleep was beginning to get to him. All he could do, though, was swallow down cups of bitter black coffee in hopes of staying awake and somewhat coherent.

He dressed in casual jeans and t-shirt, pulling on his long green jacket. James checked the room, tossing into his suitcase the items he absolutely needed.

Shoving his suitcase into the back of his old blue car, James slammed the trunk down, curling the keys in his hand.

Frank stood at the doorway of the house, frowning as he son finished loading up. "Tell me again, James." James' father begged.

James felt guilty. His father seemed to have aged several years in the past few days. Frank's face was lined and tired, hair and clothing unkempt. "I told you what happened last night." James answered. His father hadn't been happy to realize the following morning what had happened to James. He had been upset, and hurt, that his son had not called out for him.

"But why this?" Frank persisted. "Why do you have to go? Especially to that place?"

"Someone desperately wants me there. Even go as far as to scare me into action." James pushed away from the trunk and came around to the driver's door. "Well, I'm done running away from this. I'm no knight in shining armor, but I can't ignore what's been happening. Silent Hill may be the only place that can give me answers."

"How do you know that you're not driving into a dangerous situation?" Frank was very troubled, the thought of what James might be walking into, terrified him.

A small, shaky and disturbing laugh from James caught Frank by surprise. "It's not as if everything that has been happening to me, hasn't been dangerous in its own way."

"Please. Please, wait." Frank continued, going down a step and cutting James off before he opened the driver side door. "Just wait. Don't go rushing into this. Let's take this step by step. You need to go to a doctor. Or the police! James, this can't go on! Look at yourself! You're wasting away, and you can barely sleep without waking up nearly screaming your lungs out."

James knew he looked terrible, he didn’t have to be told. He felt like shit, and having to look at himself in the mirror had only confirmed his pathetic state.

"Doctors and police can't help me!" James snapped, swinging the car door open, using it as a barrier between him and his father. "If I tell people what has been happening, they'll just think I'm going insane. No, dad. This has to stop. Every time, it keeps getting worse. What next? Should I wait until something else happens, more terrible than the last?"

Frank's fingers caught the edge of the door as James slid into the seat. "At least let me come with you."

James looked up at his father, grasping the handle of the door. "I have to do this alone." He denied his father's plea.

"Please. You can't do this--"

"I have to."

"I don't want to lose you!" Frank finally admitted out loud, his fear now laid out before them.

"Dad." James spoke softly, raising a hand and resting it over the fingers tightly gripping the door until they were a pale white. "If I stay here, all of these things will just keep happening. I…I don't think I would be able to remain sane. If that happens, then you really will lose me."

James removed his father's slackening grip from the car door. The door slid shut, James pulled on his seatbelt, pushed the keys into the ignition, and started up the car. Frank looked back at James through the car window, face twisted with devastation.

He carefully eased out of the driveway, righting the car, and slowly began to head towards his destination. In his review mirror, his father, the house, and the neighborhood disappeared from sight. James had to look away, a part of him feeling as if it was dying from leaving everything he knew behind.

'Silent Hill.' James soundlessly ran that name along his tongue. 'What secrets could that place possibly hold?'