By D. Natali

Prologue

Solitary confinement.

Considered a cruel and unusual form of punishment in this day and age, it’s generally saved as a last resort for the worst of the worst criminals, and even then it’s controversial. If combined with sensory deprivation, it becomes a form of torture that can result in mental illness and social disorders.

As diverse a species as we are, all human beings have one thing in common: we are hard-wired to be social. We do everything in our power to fight off feelings of loneliness and isolation. If we’re unable to be around other people, we’ll try to ward off the loneliness by duplicating the feeling of having others around. Some rely on pets for company, others will turn on the T.V. or radio for background noise. Sometimes we talk back to the simulated voices or animals. Anything to give the illusion a stronger presence.

But what if there were no TV or radio, no other living things around?

What can happen to a person who is shunned by society, abused, and cast into a world of isolation? How would that person survive?

I never had to ponder these things before I moved into the South Ashfield Heights apartment complex.

In fact, I thought the place was wonderful at first. I practically fell in love with it—felt drawn to it, as if fate brought me there.

I had no idea how true that was.

The first two years or so seemed great, and I was very happy there.

But then the nightmares started.

---

I woke up in my own apartment, groaning in pain at the horrible throbbing headache. I was in my own bedroom, but I barely recognized it. It was dark and the air seemed thick and heavy. Despite the fact that my head was swimming, I managed to drag myself to my feet. I took a few steps, and started as I heard a scream … in my confused state I honestly didn’t know if it was coming from me or someone else.

I looked around and realized that objects that I felt should have been there were replaced by other objects, or missing entirely.

That’s weird … my red typewriter is gone.

Everything looked aged and was covered in rust and thick cobwebs. And blood, so much blood. It didn’t look like someone was killed there—more like someone had taken a fire hose and sprayed the stuff everywhere.

I tried to open the window—so dirty that it was opaque—but it was stuck. And, strangely enough, I seemed to expect that on some level. I also noticed that the pictures on the walls were different—I didn’t recognize them at all, but I was familiar with the subject matter.

As I opened the bedroom door, I immediately heard static blaring. I winced as it aggravated my already aching head, and hurried out to the living room to see what it was. It turned out to be the TV. I fiddled with the controls, including the power button, but it continued, almost defiantly. What made it even stranger was that I didn’t even remember having a TV.

I thought I had a record player here.

As I moved away from it, I noticed that the front door was sealed shut so tightly I could barely see the edges.

The door is shut for good, I thought, almost as if it came as little surprise.

I returned to the living room and looked at the wall opposite the TV. More photos I didn’t recognize, but one in particular caught my eye. It was dirty and hard to make out, especially since concentrating on it hurt my eyes, but I could tell that it was many dead bodies laid out in a star formation. I counted 21 of them, but didn’t know what the significance was.

To the left, I noticed a spot where the cracks and cobwebs and other discolorations of the wall came together and formed a startlingly detailed image.

Creepy … it looks like a face.

I blinked and shook my head several times, thinking I was seeing things, but the image refused to go away. It gave me a strange feeling of dread, and I instinctively backed away. The feeling intensified as black spots formed in front of my eyes, as if I were about to pass out. My headache intensified to an unbearable level.

That’s when the room … changed. Cracks started radiating from various spots in the walls, as if the entire room was beginning to fall apart. The floor shook violently.

The general chaos seemed to be focused on one area of the wall—the area where the face was—and it wasn’t long before a black stain formed on it, and slime began to drip down from it. I backed away further, my brain rocking with shock and confusion.

Then I froze at the sight before me.

Some sort of creature or ghost emerged from the slime-soaked area, pushing its way through some kind of soft spot in the wall I couldn’t see. This … ghost looked vaguely humanoid, with white rotting skin and no hair, clad in black. It moaned and grunted in a way that sounded barely human. Its head twitched and convulsed in an unnaturally rapid way.

Once out of the wall completely, it fell to the floor, but quickly rose so that it floated just above the ground.

I tried to get away, but its very presence caused pain and disorientation that worsened the closer it came. It wasn’t long before it was bearing down on me, knocking me to the floor, where I mercifully blacked out.

---

Once again, I woke up in my apartment … only now it seemed back to normal.

“Oh man … what a dream …” I muttered to myself as I sat up and rubbed my eyes, trying to clear the cobwebs.

I sat at the edge of the bed like that for quite awhile. Normally, it only takes a few moments for me to shake off the effects of a nightmare. This one disturbed me so deeply that I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

And it wasn’t just the content. For one thing, I’m not someone who has dreams very often, and when I do, they’re usually vague and not worth remembering. This one, however, was so vivid that I could smell the rot and blood, the death and decay. Even the splitting headache seemed to carry over into reality.

All things considered, I wasn’t all together sure that it even was a dream. Sure, I woke up in my own bed, but there’s no way my mind could have conjured something like this. Could it have been a premonition?

What could it mean?

“Maybe I just need to get out more,” I quipped, pretending that I didn’t still feel the cold terror that the dream brought on. I shook my head and left the bedroom, making a defiant decision to just get on with my day and forget about the nightmare.

But when I reached the end of the hall, I froze in my tracks at the sight to my left.

“What …?”

I blinked several times and shook my head, but it was definitely there.

The door was … locked. No, not just locked—barricaded. Twelve metal anchors with eyelets had been bolted to the wall on either side with a couple on the door itself. An obscene number of thick chains had been threaded through them, zigzagging across the entire height of the door, held together with no less than four large padlocks. It was all done in a very sloppy and chaotic manner as if in a hurry. A couple of the anchors weren’t even holding chains. A few of the shorter chains did very little, and one simply hung from its tether, but the longer ones more than made up for it.

Not only had someone locked me in, but they could only have done it from the inside.

I approached the door slowly, as if afraid it might bite me. I reached out, gingerly, and touched the chains, running my hand along several of them, needing to know if they were really there. They were. Somehow.

I began yanking on them. They pulled taut, but nothing gave.

Who would have done this? was the only coherent thought I was able to form.

I pulled my hand away as I felt a powerful terror wash over me as it all finally began to sink in.

The apartment wasn’t really all that big. It wasn’t cramped or anything, but it’d be pretty difficult for someone to break in and barricade my front door like that without waking me up in the process.

I was silent for several moments before I could put my thoughts into words: “What the hell’s going on here?” Then I quickly clasped my hand over my mouth as I realized something.

If it could be done—apparently it could since I was seeing it with my own eyes—then whoever did it could still be in the apartment.

The first thing I did was to look for a weapon so I could search the house. I was practically in the doorway of the kitchen already, and the fridge was within reach, so I opened the door and grabbed a wine bottle by its neck. I glanced around the living room, then I went down the hall where I checked the bathroom and—much as the idea disturbed me—my bedroom closet. I found no one.

Finally, I went back down the hall to the laundry room, which was to the left of the front door. Assuming it was even possible for someone to have messed with my front door, surely that room would be the best place to hide in afterwards (not to mention that it was the only place I hadn’t looked yet). I slowly took the knob with one hand and raised the wine bottle over my head with the other, bit my lip in anticipation, and threw the door open hoping to startle whoever was in there and catch them off-guard. Again, no one. I flipped the light on just to be sure, but the room was small enough that the light from the hall had already illuminated it pretty well.

I put the wine bottle away, stood by the door with my arms folded and just … stared at it. Was I even awake? Was I dreaming again? Was any of it really happening?

I had a terrible feeling that—as far-fetched as it was—this was real.

I was trapped, although I didn’t know who would do such a thing or why.

I wouldn’t be finding out any time soon.

Chapter 1: “Dont go Out!”

I was trapped in my apartment for five days. Five days.

It may not sound like a long time, but think of how many distractions you experience throughout the day that help pass the time: your job and/or school, TV, radio, friends, family.

I had none of that.

It wasn’t long after finding my door chained shut that I discovered that the windows wouldn’t open and the phone didn’t work, no matter how many times I tried. Even the TV and radio didn’t work. Nothing but my own thoughts to keep me company.

With nothing else to do, I spent a lot of time trying to get the door or windows to open, using every tool I could find (including throwing things at them) to no avail. The windows wouldn’t even crack. It wasn’t just that someone had locked me in—there was something … supernatural going on. I just didn’t know how else to describe it.

For five nights I had the exact same terrifying nightmare where I suffered from confusion and a horrible headache until the ghost came out of the wall and attacked me. A few days into it, I became dangerously close to losing my sanity—hell, I don’t know how it lasted that long. But then I just … went numb and gave up any hope I had left. I did continue to try to get out, but more out of force of habit than anything. I started to wish I’d had more alcohol in the fridge than just that wine bottle—I figured drinking myself to death would probably be more pleasant than starvation.

Then on the sixth day, everything changed.

I got out of bed, and tried the phone yet again, but of course it wasn’t working. I began to walk away and suddenly the phone rang, startling me.

I sat back on my bed, and picked up the receiver. Funny, after being trapped for five days, you’d think I’d be screaming at the person for help, but in my state of shock, all I could get out was: “Hello?”

“Help … me.” a desperate female voice, that I was pretty sure I didn’t recognize, said back.

“What?”

Suddenly, she was cut off by static and a screeching sound similar to a computer modem.

Then I realized that the phone’s base was sliding around a little too easily, so I picked it up.

The cord’s cut.

I shook my head, not entirely sure that the conversation had even taken place, or if I had just finally lost my marbles, hung up the phone and went out into the living room to look at the door and try to convince myself that there was some way to get it open that I hadn’t tried yet.

That was when the message appeared (or rather a warning) that looked like it had been written in blood with a finger:

Dont go Out!

Walter

When I say that it appeared, I mean that literally—I didn’t just notice it one day, as if I could have missed it before—it literally appeared, right before my eyes, as if by magic. I blinked a few times, thinking that maybe I was seeing things.

“What the hell? What’s goin’ on here?” I said to no one. I heard a small crash coming from the hallway outside, so I looked through the peephole.

It was Eileen Galvin, my next door neighbor—she had apparently dropped something and was picking it up and placing it in a grocery bag. As she stood up, she seemed to look at my door, even directly at the peephole at one point as if she was looking back at me. “Oh man,” she groaned, forlornly, “I hope my luck changes before the party.”

I didn’t bother to try to get her attention because I already knew it was pointless. It wasn’t just that I couldn’t get the windows or door open … for some reason, no one outside could hear me when I banged on the windows, doors, or even the walls. It seemed that no one could see me through my windows either whenever I tried to get their attention.

But I could see and hear them with perfect clarity, and it was torture. But at the same time, I needed it. For a very small moment, when people were nearby or I could at least see them, I could almost fool myself into feeling like I wasn’t alone.

I sighed hopelessly as she paused for a brief moment longer, then walked away. It was hard to put my finger on why, exactly, but it was especially painful when she was the one who was so near, yet so far.

However, I couldn’t dwell on her too much. As she moved out of the way, I saw on the wall opposite from my door fifteen dark brownish-red handprints that hadn’t been there before. It reminded me of a horror movie I’d seen once involving children being taken to a cabin to be killed, and their handprints being discovered on the wall years later. Only this was no movie, they were really there (or at least I was definitely seeing them, whether I was imagining them or not), and I shuddered at the thought.

Tired of looking at the door for the moment, I turned away from it, walked into the living room, and looked out the large window as I often did, even before I became trapped—something about watching the people outside relaxed me, despite the bitter envy I now felt.

At the sidewalk below, someone caught my eye. I saw a woman at the top of the steps leading down to the subway—she was hard to miss with her skimpy colorful clothing. Over the course of five days with little else to do, I had seen plenty of people walk down those steps, but there was something unusual about this one. She paced back and forth languidly before stretching and sauntering down the steps. There was something odd about her body language—she looked as if she was alone and bored, despite all the people who walked by. And yet, none of those people seemed to notice her, so I shrugged it off as being my imagination.

As I moved away from the window, something else caught my eye. Near the bottom of my bookcase, which was right next to the window, it appeared that someone had tucked a few pages from a very old book just behind the bookcase and left them sticking out at an angle so they’d be easily seen. Curious, I carefully pulled out the yellowed, blood-stained sheets and read what I could of the faded text:

Through the Ritual of the Holy Assumption, he built a world.

It exists in a space separate from the world of our Lord. More accurately, it is within, yet without the Lord’s world.

Unlike the world of our Lord, it is a world in extreme flux. Unexpected doors or walls, moving floors, odd creatures, a world only he can control.

Anyone swallowed up by that world will live there for eternity, undying. They will haunt that realm as a spirit.

How can our Lord forgive such an abomination?

(at this point, the paper was badly smudged and the text unreadable)

It is important to travel lightly in that world. He who carries too heavy a burden will regret it.

The text left me utterly confused. But before I had time to contemplate it, I was shocked out of my thoughts by a crash coming from the bathroom that was so loud, it may as well have been smashed by a wrecking ball. I dropped the reading material and dashed to the bathroom as fast as I could.

I threw open the door to find a huge hole in the wall, above and to the right of the sink. I approached it slowly as if afraid that something might jump out from it and attack me.

And that was when I heard the voices, the soft voices of children muttering incoherently. I swallowed hard. “S-S-Somebody in there?” was all I managed to get out.

I folded my arms and shook my head, again wondering if what I was seeing and hearing was real, or if I’d finally lost my mind completely—wasn’t hearing voices in your head one of the symptoms?

But what if it was real?

“I wonder if I can get out this way.”

I carefully reached out and felt along the wall, and along the edge—I wasn’t seeing things, there was definitely a hole there, a hole I could fit through.

The voices had stopped, but I was barely aware of it. The only thing in my way was a broken sewage pipe. I pulled on it and it came loose easily. I didn’t know what was waiting for me at the other end of the tunnel, and a steel pipe would serve as a good weapon, so I decided to take it with me.

I took a deep breath and, with no more hesitation, I crawled into the hole with the steel pipe in my hand.

For better or worse, I was glad that something had happened to break the monotony. Even if death, itself, was waiting for me at the end of the tunnel, at least it would end my prison sentence.

Chapter 2: Cynthia

Awakened by the steady hum of machinery and a sense of movement, I found myself sitting on the steps of a descending escalator, having no idea how I’d gotten there from the tunnel. It was as if I’d passed out in the tunnel and someone had moved me to the escalator without waking me.

It was a long way to the bottom, and I was able to see a lot of my surroundings on the way down. I was in a massive industrial-looking building of some kind, as the walls, floor, and ceiling were completely made of concrete. Millions of pipes, in every size, ran everywhere. Lamps were suspended from the high ceiling by long cords. It was merely functional and not meant to be attractive or inviting.

As I stepped off the escalator and looked around a bit, I was able to get my bearings and realize that I recognized the place—I was in the South Ashfield Subway Station. But how in the world did I manage to get there from my apartment simply by going through a hole in the wall? It’d be geographically impossible, even if my apartment wasn’t on the third floor.

Yet there I was.

When I entered the hole, I was so glad to finally be getting out of my apartment that I didn’t even care where I’d end up or how.

I turned and looked up the still-working escalator, my eyes following it to the top. It only went downward and the top was so high that it’d be impossible to reach again unless you were a marathon runner. There was no going back … not that there was any real reason to.

Ahead of me was a hallway, so I shrugged and started to make my way down. It wasn’t exactly bare, but not decorative, either. The walls were lined with pipes, valves, and other metal structures. The lighting was sparse—every fifty feet or so, I’d pass by a bright, florescent light on the ceiling, but between the lights, it was fairly dark, as they didn’t cover very large areas. It was like walking along a series of spotlights. They also picked up the dust in the air, which there was a lot of, giving an eerie, hazy effect.

As I approached the end of the hall, I was surprised to see someone else there. I was even more surprised when I realized that she was the same woman I had seen through the window earlier.

She had light golden-brown skin and appeared to be of Latin descent. She wore a colorful—not to mention revealing—outfit with her dark hair swept up in back, and expensive-looking jewelry. She turned around as I approached, and when she looked at me, her eyes widened in what can only be described as a lustful look (God knows why—I hadn’t shaved or changed my clothes in days, but maybe she was into that). “Who are yoouu?” she said, her mouth widening into a seductive smile, “What’s your name?”

“Henry,” I said, feeling uncomfortable as I leaned against a wall, “and you?”

She chuckled. “This is my dream, and you don’t even know my name?”

There were so many things wrong with that sentence, I wouldn’t know where to start.

“It’s Cynthia,” she said, finally. I could already tell that she wasn’t my “type”, but she was very attractive and carried herself in a way that was graceful, yet sassy, which seemed to make up for the less than tasteful way she dressed.

Still, I blinked several times, unable to get past what she’d said. “Your … dream.”

“That’s right,” she insisted, “this is just a dream, and a really terrible one, too. I hope I wake up soon.” Suddenly, she seemed … vulnerable, and despite how dire my own situation was, I found myself feeling a bit sorry for her.

“So, you think this is a dream, huh?”

“Well … if it’s not a dream, what is it?”

I didn’t know how to argue with that—how else would one explain all that had happened? Sure, maybe this and the last five days were all just one big long nightmare, and I’d been safe in bed all that time. How nice that would be. And yet, with as much as I’d been questioning reality lately, I wasn’t quite sure if I could buy the dream theory. I turned away from her for a moment to consider this without distraction.

“Anyway,” my new friend continued, indifferent to the fact that I had other things on my mind, “I want to get out of here, but I can’t find the exit.”

I was hearing her, but only vaguely. I was too busy contemplating my situation and—assuming for the moment that it wasn’t a dream—whether or not I would be able to get out of it, and how. I looked down the dark hallway, shaking my head. Despair was already beginning to set in.

“Saaayy …” Cynthia went on. We were already standing fairly close together, but I could tell by the sound of her voice and footsteps that she was moving closer as she spoke. Suddenly, she had my full attention as she grabbed my shoulder and spun me back around so I was facing her again. She was so close now that I could smell her perfume—I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a little intoxicating.

Caught completely off-guard, I just froze, forgetting where I was and what I’d been thinking about.

“Will you help me find it?” She had her hands on my shoulders, sliding them down to my chest then back up again. “I’m kinda scared, all alooone.”

I was quite a bit taller than her and with her standing so close, I had to look down to make eye contact. When I did, I couldn’t help but notice how much cleavage her low-cut top revealed. I swallowed hard and tried to avert my eyes as I felt my face flush.

She leaned in even closer, practically pushing herself against me. “I’ll do a … special favor … for you later …” she said as she ran the tip of her finger over my lower lip, then my upper lip, in a continuing motion.

A shiver ran through me and it was all I could do to keep my lower lip from quivering.

Now, under normal circumstances I would have turned and walked away before she had gotten that far. I’m normally not too crazy about women who assume that because I’m quiet I must be naïve and easily taken advantage of. But she was the first human being I’d seen in nearly a week, and her intimate touching did things to me that I am not proud of. In the heat of the moment, I found my hands reaching toward her of their own volition. It was all so surreal that by now I, too, was beginning to question whether or not it was really happening.

She pulled away, quickly, with a teasing smile. “It’s just a dream, so … I might as well have some fun,” she said, as she turned and sauntered away.

I took a deep breath and composed myself as I tried to get my heart rate to slow down. Now that I was back to thinking with the right head, I was relieved that she was further away—things were complicated enough without being tempted to do something I might regret later.

I caught up with Cynthia, and once I did, she hung back a bit and let me take the lead. But we didn’t walk very far before she started to really lag behind. I was about to ask if she was okay, when I found her doubled over. “Wait a minute,” she barely managed to get out, “I … I think I’m gonna puke …” and with that, she stumbled into a nearby ladies’ restroom, hands clasped over her mouth.

I leaned against the wall opposite the door and waited patiently.

After she had been in there for quite awhile, and I was beginning to wonder if she was okay, I saw the door being slowly pushed open from the inside. I expected to see Cynthia appear, hopefully feeling better. Instead, I saw … something else.

From inside the restroom, an animal of some kind emerged. It was dog-like with a cylindrical tongue that was long enough to drag along the floor as the creature walked. It had no eyes that I could see, and its skin was rotted to the point where it was greenish and patches of it were missing completely. I expected it to come after me, but instead it gave out an ear-splitting squeal before collapsing to the floor, dead.

Immediately, two other dog-creatures appeared and began sniffing at their fallen comrade. I noticed that their snouts were rat-like—as the nose wiggled, it caused the upper lip to pull back, exposing gums and sharp teeth. What in the world were these things?

Suddenly, their tongues shot from their mouths, latched onto the carcass, and they began feeding on the corpse. A hollow slurping sound seemed to indicate that they were using their tongues as straws.

All this time, I could only stand frozen with my hand clasped over my mouth, overwhelmed by the hideous sight I was witnessing and the stench of rotting meat that these creatures emitted.

Once they were done, they began sniffing the air, and finally noticed my presence.

Realizing this helped to snap me out of the trance I was in. I nearly made up my mind to run until I remembered that Cynthia was in the restroom. It was unlikely that she was alive, with three dog monsters in there as well, but I wasn’t ready to believe that she was dead unless I saw the body with my own eyes. If she was alive, I’d have to help her, and to get to her, I’d have to bite the bullet and kill these monsters.

One was already coming at me.

I braced myself and swung the lead pipe, connecting it with the side of the monster’s head. It reeled, but didn’t go down. I swung and struck its head once again, this time bringing a loud crack. The creature bellowed and fell over, but was already attempting to get back up. I swung the pipe vertically and again it went down, but this time it began twitching and making strange sounds as it struggled. I brought the pipe down on its head again, and the creature made one final screech before falling silent.

I barely had time to remember that there was a second dog, when suddenly my ankle was grabbed from behind by what felt like a vice and pulled out from under me.

I screamed and fell to the floor ungracefully. I looked behind to find the second dog biting my ankle while whipping its head back and forth, doing its best to maul me and drag me away at the same time.

I grit my teeth, ignored the pain as best I could, and focused on accuracy as I pulled back my other foot and kicked the dog creature in the head as hard as I could, causing it to reel back with a sharp yelp.

During the few seconds it took to recover, I was able to get back on my feet.

The dog shook its head and came at me again. By now, I had wound up and when the creature was in range, I swung the pipe as hard as I could. It was almost like swinging a baseball bat, but in a more downward arc that was so forceful it nearly threw me off-balance. The dog roared in pain as it was knocked across the hall.

As it lay on the floor, stunned, I delivered the final blow, just as I had done with the first one.

I took a moment to catch my breath and give my heart a chance to slow down. I had never killed a living thing before—if those undead-looking creatures could really be called “alive”-but I was both impressed and disturbed by how easy it was.

I had also come out of it relatively unscathed. My ankle hurt, but my boots had protected it from getting seriously injured, plus I could walk on it, so it was good enough. I didn’t live through 5 days of confinement then finally escape only to be ripped apart by these creatures.

In the second I recalled being alone, I suddenly remembered Cynthia and where she had gone. I ran into the bathroom to look for her.

I called her name, but received no response. I went around the corner to where the stalls were—they were all open, and there was no blood, or any evidence of Cynthia whatsoever. But even stranger than that was what I saw on the wall adjacent to the stalls: another hole.

This hole was much bigger and rounder than the one in my bathroom. It also had decorative markings and glyphs drawn around it in a ring shape, with an eye at the very top.

Perhaps Cynthia had gone through this hole.

Without hesitating, I crawled into the hole, myself, where I was quickly enveloped in darkness.

Chapter 3: Disappearance

When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was a ceiling fan. I looked around and blinked, waiting for my eyes to focus, but there was really no need.

I could already tell I was back in bed, in my apartment.

“What?” I said aloud as I sat up, “Another dream? But … it was so real …” For a moment, my groggy mind even wondered if the woman was right and I had been in her dream, but I quickly dismissed it.

Bitter disappointment quickly set in at the thought that I was still alone and still hadn’t found a way out of the apartment. I didn’t want to believe it was true, but what else could it be?

I sighed, and walked into the living room for no other reason then because the action would help distract me from my confusion and despair a little. When I did, I noticed that something was different.

There was a small stand with a lamp on it that had already been in the corner of the living room when I moved in. I never bothered to move it, I merely personalized it a little by putting two pictures on it—one of me when I was a kid, and one of me graduating high school (happier times to boot). But as I entered the living room, I noticed that one of the pictures had fallen over. It had fallen over because the stand had been moved slightly to the side, and away from the wall.

“That’s weird.”

I went to get a closer look when I noticed something on the wall behind it. I slid it away from the corner to find a pistol lying on the floor, writing on the wall to the left of the corner, and a big spot to the right of the corner where a gouge had been taken out of the wall.

First, I looked at the message, which was carved into the wall with a sharp instrument, perhaps an ice pick:

The faint hope I had is slowly changing to despair. I’ve somehow managed to tunnel this far, but no matter what I do, I can’t get any further.

The hallway, the windows, the walls. It feels like this room is stuck in another dimension. Eileen never noticed.

Not the most encouraging message, but who could have written it?

I examined the damaged part of the wall, and noticed that a tiny hole had been made in the center of the gouge. It was too small to fit my finger through, but there was a beam of light coming in from the other side, so I looked through the hole, and saw my next-door neighbor, Eileen Galvin, in her room.

There wasn’t much about what I saw that was notable except that it was inherently feminine. She sat at the edge of a bed that was covered with a patterned bedspread. There were wooden floors. A plant sat in the corner, barely within my view. A pair of dresses hung on the wall, the fancy type that were a bit revealing—apparently she liked to dress up on occasion. To the left was an opened armoire with lots of hanging clothes inside.

“Now where did I put that damn broom?” she muttered as she looked around. As her eyes scanned the room, they paused where I was. “Oh …” She stood and approached the wall.

I tensed, and nearly made up my mind to call out to her …

“There it is.”

She moved in my direction only because the broom she had been looking for was next to the hole.

I sighed, deflated, as she walked out of the room with it, completely oblivious to my plight. Before long, I heard the sweeping outside my door as she cleaned up whatever she had dropped and broken earlier. I was so close, and yet completely out of her range.

Eileen never noticed.

I picked up the gun and saw that it was loaded. As I examined it, I began to wonder if there was any reason at all why I should hold out hope that I might make it out of this alive.

That was when the phone rang.

I practically jumped to my feet and ran to the bedroom.

I picked up the phone, and heard the same desperate female voice from before: “Where did you go? Hurry … save me! If you need a token, there’s one here!” and, with that, she was cut off again.

It was Cynthia, the woman from the subway station. It wasn’t a dream. I’d finally made the connection that she was the same person who had called me, asking for help earlier. Strange that the way she acted when I met her in person was completely different than the way she sounded on the phone. Perhaps now, she really did need help.

I ran to the bathroom, and went through the hole again.

---

When I came out of the hole, I found myself in the ladies restroom again. I had used that same hole to get back to my apartment—it was good to know that there was some kind of logic involved with the way the portals worked.

I saw something out of the corner of my eye that nearly caused me to jump out of my skin—a plastic female mannequin was seated on the toilet closest to where I was standing. It looked like Cynthia (it had her clothes, hair, etc.), except that it was completely chalk-white, and its hands were covered in blood to halfway up the forearms. It was holding its right hand up, with several subway tokens in the open palm. The thing was disturbing to look at, and yet I couldn’t look away—the face had a horrified expression, and the mouth was wide open in a silent scream.

I gingerly reached over and took the tokens before slipping them in my pocket and hurrying out of the restroom—I told myself it was because the real Cynthia was in trouble. In truth, it was partly because this mannequin was giving me the creeps.

Once I was out of the restroom, I turned left and continued down the hall to the turnstiles. Looking at the tokens closely, I noticed that they all had Lynch Street engraved on them, so I put one in the Lynch Street Line token box. The turnstile unlocked for me with a click, so I pushed through it.

In front of me was a descending stairway, which I started to go down.

I stopped halfway, suddenly hit with a bad feeling that something was waiting for me at the bottom.

My head began to throb with a dull ache that felt hauntingly familiar.

Suddenly, black splotches began to form on the wall at the bottom of the stairs in one big cluster. A white hand reached out from it, dripping with black goo.

“No …”

I saw a head, also white, with dark, sunken-in eyes. The creature emerged and pulled itself away from the wall, moaning as it began to float in my direction, just as it had in that horrible recurring nightmare. The one that always ended with my certain death.

And, just as in the nightmare, the closer it came, the more intense my headache became, until it was almost crippling.

The thing reached out, as if to punch me in the chest, but I was able to dodge it. Its recovery was slow as well, allowing me to run past it. Somehow I managed not to tumble down the stairs, despite the distraction of the pain in my head. At the base of those stairs was another set slightly to the right, so I didn’t hesitate to take those too. Fortunately, the ghost didn’t (or couldn’t) follow me beyond that point, and the pain subsided.

One more set of stairs to go, and I was at the subway platform.

“Someone’s coming! Get me out of here!” a muffled voice screamed at me.

It was Cynthia. She had been locked inside one of the subway cars, and was banging on the doors, her eyes wide with panic.

I held my hands up as a gesture for her to stay calm. I looked to the left and realized that the engine was in that direction, so I turned to the left and ran.

“Hurry!” She continued to scream. “Help me!”

I could already hear moaning and feel another headache coming on, so I moved as fast as I could through the driver’s doorway. The controls were to my left, and right away, I saw a big red button, so I pushed it.

In response was the hiss of exhaust and the sound of sliding metal.

I poked my head out and saw that Cynthia was already outside and moving toward me, so I left the car, myself.

She ran to me, grabbed me by the shirt and pushed her face into my chest in an awkward embrace. “Please, get me out of here.”

As glad as I was to see her, I was more concerned with my returning headache, which was getting steadily worse, as the moans were growing louder. I looked over my shoulder and saw that two ghosts had already made it to where I had been standing, only seconds before. “Run,” I said, taking her hand to make sure we wouldn’t get separated again, as we ran alongside the subway.

I wasn’t sure where we were headed—back up to the turnstile would be pointless—then I realized that on the other side of the tracks, there might be an exit. Just then, we came across an open set of doors that led across to outside the subway car, so we ran in. Unfortunately, all the doors in the next car were closed, so we went back into the first one through a different set of doors.

We ended up having to repeat this pattern several times, weaving between the two sets of subway cars, looking for a way out of the second one.

At one point, we were cornered by the ghost of what I could barely identify as an old woman. I readied myself and told Cynthia to back away so I wouldn’t accidentally hit her. I could barely bring myself to do it, but in the end the threat of danger superseded any squeamishness about what I was hitting. As the creature advanced, I swung the pipe and discovered that these ghosts were corporeal and I could actually hurt them. Unfortunately, I couldn’t kill them—I could knock them down, just as I did with the dogs, but they wouldn’t stay down for long.

Another interesting thing to note about the subway station was that it was beginning to look less like one would expect. For example, sealed doors were not the only obstacle in this maze—some areas were blocked off by walls made of parts of chain link fences, with mannequin parts scattered here and there, sometimes laid out on the seats, and sometimes chained to the barricades.

I nearly jumped as I felt Cynthia’s hand close around my forearm. I stopped and looked at her to find that she had lost her feistiness from earlier—now she just looked worn.

She hesitated for a while before saying, “This is a dream, right?”

I bit my lip and didn’t answer at first … because I didn’t have an answer. Then finally, “I … I don’t know.” I shook my head and couldn’t continue. Maybe it was because contemplating this place would mean giving it more substance … and maybe on some level I also needed to believe that it wasn’t real. I couldn’t bring myself to lie to her either, no matter how much she wanted me to.

Cynthia let out a nervous sigh.

We eventually found the door and left the subway cars, making a beeline for a door at the other end of the hall. A ghost that looked identical to the one I saw in my dream and in the beginning of the subway station appeared behind us. I decided that trying to fight these things unless absolutely necessary was pointless, so we ran instead. Once there, I threw open the door and pushed her in first before going in myself and closing the door behind me.

I stood with my back against the door with my eyes closed for a second, catching my breath. I heard nothing, and my headache was gone, meaning we were safe for the time being. I opened my eyes. “We made it—Cynthia?”

She was gone again.

I sighed in frustration. Whatever force had taken her away before had apparently done so again. “Dammit!”

Chapter 4: Temptation

I looked around at my surroundings—I was in a small supply room with another decorative hole on the right wall. There was a ladder near the wall across from me, leading into a square-shaped hole in the floor.

Maybe if I go home, I’ll get another call from Cynthia …

No, I wasn’t going to do that again. Just because it happened once wouldn’t guarantee that it would happen again. The best thing to do was to continue looking for the exit. If she didn’t show up by the time I found it, then I would actively look for her. So, I made a mental note of the location of the hole in case I’d need it later, and went down the ladder.

When I got to the bottom, I found myself standing on a metal lattice that was bolted to the walls and suspended a few feet off the floor. I was glad for this when I noticed that the floor and walls were smooth and ivory-colored, covered with dark brownish-red splotches. The effect was unsettlingly like flesh splattered in blood. It was probably a trick of the light, but I’d learned that common sense couldn’t always be trusted in this place.

Down the hallway, I came to a break in the lattice that was covered with old wooden planks that creaked when I walked over them. I tread carefully, then continued down the hallway. After awhile, my head began to throb again, so I started running and was able to just barely dodge a ghost that emerged from a wall and lunged at me. Considering that these things could cause pain and disorientation simply by being near me, I didn’t want to find out what would happen if one actually caught me. I continued running down the hallway until I came to a flight of descending stairs. I ran down those as well, and through the door at the end.

Now I was on another subway platform, and a dog was wandering around nearby. I decided to dispatch this one as quickly as possible so I could be on my way, so I reached for my gun, and shot it three times. It fell to the floor twitching, so I finished it off with the pipe.

Just then, I saw something at the corner of my eye to the right that gave me a serious scare, and I reluctantly turned my head to see what I thought was a giant worm. I gasped in horror, and had to instantly cover my mouth and nose with my hand to keep myself from gagging, as the smell coming from it was hideous. It was similar colors as the room I had just been in. It had to have been nearly as thick as my height, and god only knew how long. It was dangling from above the wall, twitching and pulsating. I risked a look over the edge and saw that it wasn’t a worm after all, but some sort of thick fleshy tube, more like an organ than an animal.

“This … can’t be real,” I said as I looked up. I was attempting to see what it was connected to, but all I could see above was blackness—it was simply too dark to see well.

Without further hesitation, I took off running along the subway platform. After awhile, I came upon a strange metal structure that could only be described as a cage. It contained a mannequin, which was cut in half at the waist and pinned down by several spear-like weapons, impaling it. It was covered in blood (real or fake, I couldn’t tell). Even though it was merely a “decoration”, I still shook my head in horror at what it symbolized, wondering what kind of sicko would put it there in the first place.

I knew that if I stayed there too much longer, I would surely lose my sanity … or perhaps I’d become desensitized and stop caring about what I was seeing. “I have to get out of here,” I said, not wanting to find out which it would be.

And then, as if in response …

“Henry … I found the exit. Come to the turnstile.” It was Cynthia’s voice, coming from the loudspeaker and sounding … well, I wouldn’t use the word “happy”, but she definitely sounded pleased.

I sighed in relief—it was like an answer to a prayer. Not only was Cynthia okay, but she’d found a way out. Way to go, Cynthia.

“Henry, I found the exit! Come to the turnstile!” she repeated, a little more insistently.

Too bad I had no way of letting her know that I was hearing her. I continued along the platform, picking up the pace to a run.

“Hurry! Hurry!” She sounded even more frantic now.

I began running faster.

“It’s him!” She sounded downright terrified now. “He’s coming!” she screamed, before she was suddenly cut off with the screech of feedback.

I turned a corner to find another escalator, this one ascending. Figuring it must lead to the turnstile Cynthia was referring to, I quickly stepped on and began running up, attempting to make the trip to the top faster.

Unfortunately, if anything, my carelessness caused the trip to take longer. Before I knew what happened, I heard a hideous roar as something slammed into the side of my head and sent me in a backward tumble. The movement of the escalator caused me to somersault, painfully, onto my back. Fortunately, my head landed between two steps instead of on the corner of one, so I avoided a concussion by sheer luck.

Difficult as it was, I forced myself to stand and I looked up to realize that the walls of this place also appeared fleshy, but that was now the least of my worries. Vaguely humanoid creatures were coming out of the wall to take a violent swipe with a long slender arm before retreating back into the wall. They lined the wall as far as I could see. If I was to make it through this gauntlet alive, I would have to time my movements carefully.

As I saw one emerging about 10 feet ahead of me, I realized that they didn’t have eyes, making my task somewhat easier. It took a blind swipe, and as it went back in, I began charging forward—it attempted to come back out again, but it missed me by a hair.

I repeated the process with the next several. When another one came by, I did it yet again, but I didn’t expect a second one to show up so close to it. It accomplished what its partner had not, sending me face-first into the escalator steps. Again, I was lucky and landed in such a way as to not get my nose broken. I looked up and was thankful to see the top of the ride and that there didn’t appear to be any more monsters.

Unfortunately, there still was no relief in sight. No sooner had I reached the top and entered the next room than I heard moaning and felt another headache coming on. Groaning and wincing with pain, I forced my battered self to my feet and ran to the other side of the room where there was a set of stairs and a sign that read: EXIT - South Ashfield Station.

Thankfully, at the top was the turnstile. But I almost instantly forgot it when I noticed some objects on the ground—a woman’s purse and several make-up items lay scattered on the floor by a door. They had to have been Cynthia’s.

I went to the door itself. It displayed a red metal placard on which was etched a nude woman, along with the word Temptation. I thought about what it might mean, and I had to swallow a lump in my throat.

The door was locked. I removed the placard and heard a click, signifying that the action—for whatever reason—unlocked the door.

But as I opened the door, my heart sank.

In an office-type room, Cynthia lay on the floor, barely conscious. She was covered with stab wounds and more blood than I had ever seen. I quickly ran to her side and took her hand—she had a pulse, but it was faint. In my panic, I blurted out, “Are you okay?” which was a stupid question, but I wasn’t aware of it at the time. I just … wanted her to be okay so badly that I needed to know if there was a chance, no matter how slim.

I know you’re not supposed to move an injured person so as not to make things worse, but there was no saving her now, even if it had been possible to call an ambulance. It was too late for her. I carefully took her in my arms and held her, comforting her as much as I could.

Her eyes fluttered open. “It’s just … a dream … right?” Her face was streaked with blood. Her breathing was labored and she had to force the words out.

I had to avert my eyes for a moment, almost unable to bear seeing her in such a state.

“I think … I drank too much last night …” She reached out and touched my cheek, seeming to appreciate what I was trying to do. “I never got to do that … ‘special favor’ for you …”

Because I never got you out of here, I thought, but didn’t say, as I squeezed her hand.

“I … I feel like I’m dying …” Her voice was weaker now, but panic-stricken.

Seeing her like this was heart-breaking and difficult to endure, but I wasn’t going to leave her now. If I couldn’t save her, I would at least try to make her last moments as bearable as possible. “It’s okay,” I said softly. “It’s just a dream.”

She began to convulse, and I knew the end was near. Mere seconds after it started, her body went limp, her hand slipped out of mine, and her head fell back as she died.

As I gently lowered her to the floor, I couldn’t help but notice that numbers had been carved onto her left breast, presumably with a knife: 16121. I had no idea what it meant, but seeing this … graffiti on her was adding insult to injury, so I positioned her hand over it.

The last thing I did for her was place my hand over her eyes, and gently close the lids.

She was gone.

---

“Cynthia …”

I had woken up in my room yet again, groggy, wondering if perhaps it was nothing more than a horrible dream. Or at least hoping it was.

Then I heard the sirens.

I stumbled to my window to see an ambulance and a police car parked by the subway entrance.

It can’t be …

Once I left my bedroom, I heard filtered voices accompanied by crackling sounds. It was coming from my stereo in the living room, the one that had stopped picking up signals five days ago (or was it a full six by now?) and now would only respond with silence. I ran to it so I could hear better.

“Hurry up and get that ambulance!” the first voice said.

“Quit yappin’ and move her already!” a second one responded.

“Damn,” someone whispered In horror—I wasn’t sure which voice it was, “She’s got numbers carved into her chest … I wonder if—”

Then it was cut off by static, and the radio seemed to turn off automatically. I tried to turn it back on, but there was no signal, so I snapped it back off.

I went to rub my tired eyes when I realized that my cheeks were wet. I dried them with the sleeve of my shirt and gave a depressed sigh.

I don’t know why I cared about Cynthia as much as I did—she was really nothing more than a stranger, no matter how intimate she was with me. Perhaps it was nothing more than my isolation making me want to reach out to whomever I happened to come across, and she just happened to be in the right place at the right time. Or maybe I felt guilty for not being able to protect her in the end.

Whatever the case, she didn’t deserve to die the way she did, but I rationalized that she was probably in a better place now and therefore she was the lucky one.

“Rest in peace, Cynthia.”

Chapter 5: Into the Forest

I spent a little time moping and sitting sideways on the living room chair while looking out the window at the people across the way—watching them going on about their lives, completely oblivious to the hell I was in. I think it helped to disassociate myself from my own situation and forget what I was going through for a little while.

After awhile, my eyes wandered to the walls where I’d hung pictures—mostly ones I’d taken myself. There was one of South Ashfield Heights I’d taken from the outside—probably seems odd to have a picture of my apartment building on the wall of my apartment, but I was very attracted to the place at first, and I liked the way the picture came out.

There was one photo that was given to me by Frank Sunderland, the superintendent of the building. It was a large panoramic shot of Silent Hill, a nearby resort town that I’d visited several times. There were also two other pictures taken there—one was during the summer and the other was in the winter, I’d managed to get the same exact shot during two different times of the year, and they looked interesting together, with one hanging above the other, with their similarities and differences playing off each other.

Then, something at the door caught my eye and snapped me out of my reverie—two pieces of paper had been slipped underneath it at some point. I went to the door and picked up the smaller one and opened it to see a child’s writing:

Mom, Why doesn’t u wake up?

I looked out the peephole to see if perhaps the person who left the note was still there, and I saw no one. But I did see a fresh bloody handprint on the wall next to the older ones, and felt my stomach tighten.

Time to look at the other note. This one had been printed on reddish paper:

Although the cult itself is gone, I’m sure the spirit of it is still alive. There are too many strange things happening in that town. I’m investigating two people. Or maybe I should say just one. I’ve just about discovered what’s going on. - April 8

How … confusing, I thought Actually, the passage looked like only part of a longer article of some kind and it probably made more sense in context.

This reminded me of a passage from the first note I found, behind the bookcase, so I retrieved that (it was still on the floor where I’d dropped it when I was startled by the huge bang coming from the bathroom) and gave it another look:

… It exists in a space separate from the world of our Lord.

More accurately, it is within, yet without the Lord’s world …

These messages were not as random as they seemed—someone was leaving me clues. What I thought was the South Ashfield Subway Station wasn’t the station itself, but … an alternate version of it?

“Forget that, who is leaving these clues?”

I could almost see a puzzle beginning to form, but I didn’t have anywhere near enough pieces to make a recognizable image yet. I took the three notes, and put them in a red book that was on a table in the corner of the room between the couch and chair. I had a feeling they’d come in handy later, once I had more of the pieces.

I also decided that it was time to try going through the hole again, as much as I didn’t relish the idea of going back to the subway station, assuming that the hole would even lead me there.

He who carries too heavy a burden will regret it.

“Good idea,” I muttered, not considering the implications of having conversations with book passages. There was a big chest in the living room, right by the hallway—I’d barely used it since I moved in, so I knew it’d be perfect for keeping important items in. I placed the Temptation placard in there (yes, I took it with me. I didn’t know why at the time, I just had a feeling that I was meant to) along with the subway tokens.

I picked up the pipe and went into the bathroom to find that the hole had gotten bigger and rounder.

I wondered what else had changed. With the gun still with me and the pipe in my hand, I crawled through the hole to find out.

When I opened my eyes, I was nearly blinded by a streetlight. I sat up and looked around to discover that it couldn’t have been a streetlight, because I was in the middle of a dark forest.

I stood up and got my bearings, realizing that I was at the beginning of a path made only of dry cracked dirt and was lined with lampposts. There was a gate up ahead, so I went through it.

Shortly, I came upon an industrial-looking building made of concrete with double doors made of metal. On either side was a sign that declared, DANGER—DO NOT ENTER. Naturally, I did anyway, because … where else was I to go?

Once inside, I was on a declining steel ramp with a chain-link fence on either side. My only guess was that this was a factory of some kind. I continued down the path and down another ramp.

I flinched with a shriek when I heard and felt something whiz past the side of my head, startling me—something big. I looked around, frantically—at first, I couldn’t see it in the darkness, then, suddenly, it was coming at me—it looked like a bat, but I didn’t want to take any chances, so I managed to swing the pipe at just the right time and angle to knock it to the ground. I looked at it, and my eyes widened when I realized that it wasn’t a bat at all, but a giant black moth, which was twitching on the ground, and practically spinning in circles on its back as it struggled.

My stomach turned as I realized what I had to do. I raised my foot, and slammed it down on the bug, crushing it—normally, I’m not particularly squeamish about killing bugs, but this thing was nearly as big as my boot. Not to mention that as I killed it, blood pooled beneath it—not the random-looking fluids you’d normally see coming out of insects, but actual red blood. I quickly wiped my foot on the floor afterwards.

Not wanting to contemplate this any further, I hurried along to the next gate and went through it. In the next area, there were gigantic vats filled with some kind of foul-smelling liquid—what it was and what it was used for was anyone’s guess. But, luckily (and inexplicably), I found a box of ammo for my gun, so I picked it up and pocketed it.

Through the next gate was where the concrete ended, and I was outdoors once again. One more gate, and I was back on a dirt path. In front of me was a yellow car—it looked like a ‘78 Chevy Nova, but it was too dark to be able to tell for sure—with the engine running and the driver’s side door open. The break pedal was engaged and there was junk scattered all over the seat, including a piece of paper with writing on it, which I read:

It’s been awhile since I came here to Silent Hill. Maybe I’ll meet the Devil this time. –Jasper Gein

There was also a memo pad:

I’m not sure what that nosy guy meant when he said: “His home is the orphanage in the middle. The lake is northwest. So the opposite is southeast.”

The nosy guy said one other thing I don’t understand. “If you bring the dug-up key, you can’t go back. Put it away somewhere before you return there.”

I didn’t take any of the papers with me, as the owner of the car might be nearby, but I made it a point to memorize them incase I’d need the info later, before leaving the car and going through the next gate.

Even before going through the gate, I saw two rocks—each was the size of a tall building, and as I stepped away from the gate, they were at either side of me. Their shape wasn’t quite natural, so I wondered if they’d been carved somehow. They also had many scratches and grooves, along with circular hollows cut into them. They were obviously very old. I shuddered a little—their sheer size itself was intimidating, but there was something else, as if I could sense an ominous presence.

Between the rocks and along the path I was on was a fence and on the fence were dozens of lit candles.

Sitting with his back against the rock on my right was what I thought was a scrawny teenager, looking at the candles. He wore jeans, red tennis shoes, and a dark green t-shirt with some kind of winged demon on it—it reminded me of those heavy metal shirts that kids wore in the 80’s. He also had one of those hairstyles where it’s shaved everywhere but the very top—the kind of style you’d be more likely to see on a black kid in the 90’s, but this guy was definitely white.

As I approached, one look at his face told me that he was much older than I thought—at least in his late twenties, maybe early thirties.

“S-So y-you c-came … t-to investigate th-this stone t-too …” he said.

I nodded, just to humor him.

“Th-There was a-another g-guy here before … a-a-a real nosy guy. B-B-But I was the one-one who f-found this s-stone first.”

The nosy guy. I guess that’d make you Jasper Gein, I thought, remembering the papers I’d just read.

“I-I-In the o-old d-days, th-the n-n-natives called it … ‘N-Na-Nahkeehona’. Th-They used it in a…a ceremony…f-f-for talkin’…with their dead ancestors. A-And n-now…th-th-those guys are, are usin’ it too…” He gestured in the direction where the path continued.

I looked at the obscene number of candles decorating the fence and wondered if it was they who lit those candles, or Jasper

“… c-c-call it the ‘m-mother stone’,” he continued. “Th-They’re just u-up, up ahead … in that … that weird building … operatin’ s-some kinda c-crazy re-religious cult…”

That got my attention. The confusing memo I found under my door said something about a religious cult: Although the cult itself is gone, I’m sure the spirit of it is still alive. There are too many strange things happening in that town.

” Th-They u-used to c-c-c-collect o-orphans… and-and-and … d-d-did things to ‘em …”

Did things? I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

“K-K-Kinda g-gives you the ch-chills, huh? This stone … Y-Y-Yeah…g-g-gives me the ch-chi-chills …”

He had a kind of fidgety body language and a haunted look about him that was a little off-putting. As I walked away, I heard him muttering to himself, “… a c-c-ceremony for … t-tal-talkin’ with the d-dead …”

Chapter 6: Narrow Escape

I went through another gate, continuing along the path, until I came to a point where there were four poles stuck in the ground in a square formation right in the middle of the path. I saw a dog wandering around in the distance, and it caused me to stop in my tracks, just short of the first set of poles … and it was a good thing I did because had I not stopped, I would have been impaled on several wooden spears that were attached to a canopy-looking apparatus that was apparently rigged to slide down the poles and impale whoever was in the middle of the four poles.

As for the dog, it didn’t seem to notice me, so I managed to sneak past it, through the next gate.

Unfortunately, I was not as lucky in the next area.

I saw a dog wandering around close by, so I readied the pipe and began to quietly advance on it—I knew I wouldn’t be able to sneak past another one, so I didn’t bother trying, I just hoped I’d be able to kill it as quickly and painlessly (for me) as possible.

Suddenly, I felt a familiar vice clamp down on one of my ankles from behind and in the split second I took to glance down at the dog that was doing it, the first one was upon me, knocking me to the ground. Once it had me pinned, it lunged at me, probably in an attempt to rip out my throat, but I was able to block it with the pipe, and it bit down on the pipe instead, its hideous, rotten, eyeless face far too close to mine for comfort. And as bad as it smelled on the outside, its breath nearly made me pass out. Meanwhile, the second dog was trying to gnaw on my left arm—I tried to keep moving so it couldn’t get a grip, but my movement was restricted by the weight of the first one.

Before I knew it, I felt something tickling my lower leg and I realized that a third one had appeared and was also considering taking a bite out of me. If I didn’t act soon, I was done for. A primal terror set in and I focused it on driving the first one off of me by holding the pipe with both hands and pushing upward as hard as I could.

The sudden motion did cause the first dog to tumble off of me, but it also upset the second dog, which began savagely attacking my left forearm. I screamed, thinking for sure that I was done for, as all it would take was one of the dogs to slow me down so the other two could have at me.

Sure enough, the third dog started trying to bite my leg, but fortunately, it merely grazed the skin and mostly ended up with a mouthful of denim. However, it was enough for it to get a good grip and it started trying to drag me away, while the one that had my arm snarled and pulled in the opposite direction. I continued to scream as the horror set in deeper—I had basically become a living piece of food for them to fight over.

There was no way I could fight all these dogs with the pipe—I had to get my gun, and I only had one free hand. I dropped the pipe and rolled onto my left side so I could reach behind my back and pull the gun from my waistband. I grabbed the handle and pulled it out.

By now, the first dog had recovered from its fall and had sensed my movement. Fortunately for me, it decided to attack the barrel of my gun, instead of the hand holding it, and in a moment of panic, I pulled the trigger—despite all my twitching and screaming, I was able to send the bullet straight through its brain (the fact that it was basically biting the barrel of the gun helped my aim a great deal), and it dropped like a stone.

The next target was the second dog, whose teeth had slipped off my arm and it was mostly pulling on my sleeve by now, but I was too hyped up on adrenaline to notice. This one’s head was next to my left hand, so I aimed at its head by bringing my right hand next to my left. Because I was still in a state of panic, it took a few shots, but this one fell too.

Finally, I sat up and aimed at the third dog, hitting it in the head, but not as cleanly as the first—both dogs were twitching and squealing. I was way past the point of being squeamish, so I stood up, despite my legs feeling like they were made of rubber, and I savagely stomped on each of their heads.

With the danger over, my legs buckled under me, and I fell, unceremoniously, back on my ass. I was shaking furiously, and my heart was pounding so hard, I thought my ribcage would break. My left arm felt like it was on fire. I brought my knees up to my chest and just sat there in a fetal position waiting for my nerves to settle down.

I’ve always been fairly independent and solitary, and I figured that if there was a way out of this situation, I’d get my self out somehow. But for the first time, I was seriously beginning to doubt my ability to go on alone. There was no one to watch my back. I’d somehow managed to survive this attack, but what about the next one?

I don’t know how long I’d sat there, but eventually I looked up and saw that at the end of this path was a tall wooden gate with a sign next to it that said: “Silent Hill Smile Support Society ‘Wish House’”. At least I had made some kind of progress. Even though I still had a case of the shakes, I was able to stand and walk, so I approached the gate.

That’s the orphanage run by the cult, huh? I thought as I grabbed the handle and pushed the latch on top with my thumb-it gave easily.

The first thing I saw was the orphanage itself. It wasn’t terribly notable in appearance—basically, it just looked like a big white house with plain wood trim with a wooden deck for a porch.

But I also saw something colorful in my peripheral vision, so I turned and saw that the fence was decorated with children’s drawings that stretched from one side of the fence to the other; mainly grass, picket fences, and flowers done in multi-colored chalk … which made sense—I guess if you live in a drab orphanage like this one, you’d fantasize about things like flowers and white picket fences almost as much as a family, which I found to be a depressing thought. In the very middle of the fence was another hole, only the decorative ring looked like it was drawn with red chalk.

Wait a minute, I thought. I had just gone through the gate, and while I wasn’t really looking for it at the time, I’m pretty sure that the fence was a normal thickness—about six inches or so—and yet this hole was a long and dark tunnel, just like its cousins. I also hadn’t noticed a hole on the outside of the fence.

I shook my head. It made as much sense as the other holes, including the one that led me here from my apartment. Trying to logically figure out this place could make a person’s head explode.

I decided to take advantage of the placement of this hole and use it to go home and tend to my wounds. God only knows what kind of germs and diseases undead dog monsters might carry.

Sure enough, there was no running water in my apartment.

Oh well, I was gonna use peroxide anyway. With my long-sleeved shirt off, I held my left forearm over the sink in the bathroom and poured peroxide over it. It stung like a bitch, but it washed away the dirt and blood. White foam collected on the wounds, and once it dissolved, I saw that the scratches weren’t as bad as I’d expected. They certainly weren’t pretty—that dog’s teeth had left some pretty deep grooves on either side of my arm, starting at almost my elbow, then coming together and almost forming a “V” about halfway to the wrist, but I could move my arm without too much pain, and while it was still bleeding, it wasn’t anywhere near as profusely as before. Plus, I was right-handed, so I was damn lucky, all things considered. After I bandaged it, I thought about putting a different shirt on, since the light blue one now had a big tear in the arm and some nasty spots of blood, but I decided not to bother—I wasn’t out to win any beauty contests anyway.

Speaking of which, I looked in the bathroom mirror—it was broken (from whatever made the hole in the wall), but there was a big enough chunk left that I could see myself … which maybe wasn’t such a good thing. I wasn’t looking so good—I’m naturally pale, but at the moment, I was looking downright sickly, and the dark circles under my eyes weren’t helping. I also had a 5 o’clock shadow that had been accumulating for a few days—no point in making myself presentable if I couldn’t even leave the house.

But I guessed my color would return once the trauma from nearly getting ripped to shreds by dog monsters wore off. I shuddered and realized that wouldn’t be happening any time soon.

I took a deep breath. I’d have to do my best to suck it up and move on—I’d just have to try to learn from the mistake I made and make damn sure I didn’t do it again. The dogs were slow-moving when you were facing them, but they could be damn fast if they happened to be behind you, so as long as my back was covered, I’d be okay. Besides, I’d killed plenty of them before.

I checked my leg, and the scratches there weren’t too bad—I applied some peroxide, just in case, but skipped the bandages.

I put my light blue shirt back on and made my way back through the hole.

Chapter 7: Wish House

I went up the steps to the porch of the orphanage, and tried the door—naturally, it was locked. I went around the right side to see if it had a back door, but there was only the fence with another gate, so I went through.

I continued along another dirt path until I came to a mountain with a metal gate at the side of it. Inside it reminded me somewhat of a tomb, as it was excavated from a mountain, and yet the walls were very smooth. There was more strange-looking machinery, loose pipes, and long-handled tools—I didn’t know what this stuff was for either.

Suddenly, I started to hear loud buzzing from all around me. I looked around to see about four of those huge black bugs swarming at me from various directions.

No point in wasting more bullets—all I had to do was knock them out of the air, and they’d probably be a pain to aim at with the gun anyway.

Two were close to each other and within reach, so I knocked them both out of the air with one swipe—they made a shrieking sound as the pipe hit them, and they plummeted to the floor. Not wanting to take any chances, I stomped on them immediately.

Suddenly, the buzzing was extremely loud and I felt a sharp pain in my right earlobe as another one landed on my shoulder and bit me. I screamed and managed to knock it off my shoulder with my hand, but not hard enough to knock it to the floor. However, it was slowly hovering around next to me, disoriented, so I turned and smacked it out of the air with the pipe, finishing it with a stomp.

The fourth one retreated, and the sound of its buzzing trailing off was welcoming.

I took a deep breath. I doubted that these things could seriously hurt me, but winning a battle with my wits still intact this time was an accomplishment nonetheless.

At the other end of the room was a doorway, so I went through.

Beyond the doorway was a cliff with the edge fenced off. Beyond it was Silent Hill’s Toluca Lake. I’d seen it before, but years ago, during one of my many trips to Silent Hill. There was a picture of it hanging above my bed that I’d taken myself. Even in the dark, it was serene, surrounded by trees and mountains and even now it had a calming effect on me. I had always thought that Toluca Lake was beautiful, but also sad, somehow.

There was nothing else of interest in the area, except for a hole that I didn’t need at the moment, so I made my way back to the orphanage, which seemed to be at the heart of this world, to see if there was another path I could take that might lead somewhere.

I went past the orphanage and there was another gate on the opposite end of the fence from the first door I’d come through, so I went through it.

There was mainly more of the same in this area—a dirt path, surrounded by grass and trees, leading through several gates and to a dead end with a hole—so once again, I headed back to the orphanage. This was getting old. However, one thing I kept seeing that was interesting was strange writing carved into several surfaces—walls, tree stumps, stones … it was just scattered all over, but unfortunately I couldn’t read any of it. There were also quite a few wells, but it was too dark to see inside any of them. I went back to the orphanage.

Across from the gate I had gone through was one more, so naturally I went through it.

One of the first things I noticed on this particular path was that a rather large patch of ground was stained with blood.

After going through another gate, my heart nearly stopped as I saw a body hanging from one of the trees, then I blinked and realized that it wasn’t hanging from a tree, but in mid air, and it was actually a ghost. This one was wearing a tattered pair of overalls and carrying a small shovel in his hand.

I saw a wall at the other end of the path with a door, so I decided to make a break for it and try to outrun the ghost. It immediately began to chase me, as my steadily increasing headache told me, but I kept going. Apparently it was slow, as I felt my headache beginning to subside before I made it to the door. Even so, I kept going as fast as I could, and once I got to the door, I threw it open, went through, and made sure to close it behind me—you wouldn’t think that a wall would keep ghosts away, but most of the time it seemed to work. Apparently there was a limit to how far they could go.

On the other side of the door was the last thing I was expecting to see.

I approached and bent over slowly. “Hey … little boy … what are you doing here?” I said softly, careful not to scare him off, especially in a place like this where anything could look like a threat, especially to a little kid.

The boy didn’t answer right away, but looked like he wanted to say something. He was an adorable little kid, about 6 or 7 years old—he had light brown hair and wide green eyes and wore a black and white striped shirt.

Suddenly, Jasper appeared, in the process of walking by, but he stopped suddenly when he saw the boy. “You’re …”

The boy turned to face him.

Jasper gestured in his direction. “F-Finally … the Th-Third Revelation! S-Something’s g-gonna happen …”

I was as speechless as the kid was—what was this weirdo on about anyway?

“Th-That n-nosy guy that was here, h-he said it too! Something big isgonna happen!” he continued, raising his hands high above his head, then he shouted, “Finally, it’s gonna happen!” before he walked away, laughing like a lunatic.

The boy panicked, and took off in the other direction before I could stop him.

I looked around and realized I was in a cemetery—most of the graves were your run-of-the-mill ones, each with a headstone, but one was different. It had been dug up. I walked over to it and looked more closely—the numbers 11121 were scratched on the bottom of the overturned and empty coffin. I didn’t know quite what to make of it.

There was only one other door in this area to try—it had the same symbol as the holes, but with three circles inside the ring instead of a hole. I jiggled the knob, but it was locked. I let out a frustrated sigh. “Dammit … now what do I do?”

I decided to go back to the orphanage yet again—if nothing else, perhaps the boy had gone there and I felt I should look for him.

I managed to get past the ghost again—it was definitely a slow one—and made it back to the orphanage to find Jasper standing by the door, casually, popping his neck, as if he hadn’t been yelling about some “Third Revelation” like some kind of maniac just a few minutes before.

I didn’t feel like talking to him—I’d already found him a bit creepy, but his little episode awhile ago confirmed it—so I just walked past him to the door to see if I could somehow get it open.

“Th-Th-The d-d-door won’t open,” he said, answering a question I hadn’t asked. “Th-That n-n-nosy guy g-g-gave me something really good.” He was trying to look casual, but his constant jitters made the effect kind of pitiful. “I-I-I-I c-could l-l-let you have it,” he said, “bu-bu-but not for free!” he added quickly, waving his hands.

I really didn’t have anything with me but a pipe, a gun, and some ammo, none of which I would have trusted him with even if I did want to part with any of it.

“I’m really th-thirsty … I’m so, so th-thirsty …”

You have GOT to be fucking kidding me! I thought, but didn’t say. What are you, two? I sighed. “Wait here,” I said, before making my way to the fence at the side of the building where the hole was.

I left the bedroom to hear my doorbell being rung repeatedly.

I ran to the door and looked through the peephole. It was Eileen Galvin. She was attempting to look through the peephole, her face was distorted through the fisheye lens, making her eyes look huge—under different circumstances, it would have been cute.

I began pounding desperately on the door from my side. “Help me! Help! Let me outta here!” I screamed.

“There’s something going on in this room,” She said. I thought she was talking to herself until a man stepped into view.

“What do you mean?” he inquired with an irritated tone—he may as well have said, What the hell is it NOW? He was an older guy, and well-dressed, wearing a tie with the Venus de Milo on it.

“I heard some weird noises coming from inside there,” she said, her face still close to the peephole.

Did that mean she could hear me? Holding onto that hope, I continued banging. “Help!”

“Hey, Richard,” Eileen said, pulling away and turning to face him, “Can you see anything from your window?”

“No … everything looks pretty normal to me,” the older guy, who was apparently named Richard, said. “The guy who lives here … what’s he like, anyway?”

Eileen shrugged. “I only know his name and face, but that’s about it.”

“Well … I’m gonna go call the super,” Richard said, walking away.

Eileen followed. “Yeah … good idea.”

I finally gave up the banging when they were out of sight. “Dammit,” I muttered, defeated, my forehead pressed against the door, “They can’t hear me.”

It feels like this room in stuck in another dimension.

I sighed. Of course it couldn’t be as simple as someone outside being able to help.

I went to the refrigerator and was instantly reminded of another reason I needed to get out of here—it was damn-near empty, save for that champagne bottle, and a small bottle of chocolate milk.

“Whatever you have for me, it better damn well be good,” I muttered, still annoyed by Jasper’s bullshit, as I took the small plastic bottle.

I handed the bottle to Jasper, as tempted as I was to throw it at him.

Jasper snatched it out of my hand and downed it greedily. “Oh, man, that was awesome!” he said, once it was empty.

Wow, you really are like a kid, I thought.

“H-Here, take this,” He said, throwing a spade on the ground. “There’s s-somethin’ written on it.”

I picked up the spade and looked at it—sure enough, there was a message written in blood, staining the handle: Opposite where the lake and house meet, inside the hand holding onto the ground.

Opposite where the lake and house meet. Toluca Lake—apparently it meant to start with the gate that was placed diagonally from the gate I’d gone through where the path ended at Toluca Lake, which was also the second path I’d taken which I thought led to nowhere important. So I went through that gate again.

I went through a second gate, then I came to a path that was surrounded by trees, and noticed an area where the trees parted a little creating its own little path. At the end of which, I saw something interesting on the ground.

A hand? I thought, jumping a little.

Then I felt stupid when I realized that of course it wasn’t really a hand, but some tree roots that resembled one. I took the spade and tried hacking at the “wrist”, but it was too tough, so I ended up digging underneath it until I felt a little resistance and heard the sound of scraping metal. It was a key with something etched on it which I couldn’t quite read. I brought it closer to one of the lamps and saw that it read: “The holder of this key will wander for eternity”.

Not a very encouraging message, but at least I finally had the key to Wish House, and the message was probably only meant to scare anyone from taking it. Or rather, that’s what I thought until I went back through the gate and immediately realized something different—it was extremely foggy all of a sudden, but this fog was different, somehow—unnatural and ominous, and seemed to move with a life of its own.

I shrugged off those thoughts as paranoia and went down the path to the next gate and went through it. Halfway along the path in the next area, I looked around and realized that this was the same area I was in before. No, it couldn’t be—it was just my eyes playing tricks on me from the fog. So I went through the next gate, and sure enough, I was stuck in a loop.

I nearly lost it—the idea of “wandering for eternity” wasn’t very appealing—but I kept it together, realizing that panicking wouldn’t get me anywhere, and I took out the key and read the message again: “The HOLDER of this key …” It said nothing about the finder of the key.

So, if I’m not actually HOLDING this, I’ll be okay?

But what good is a key you can’t hold? Then I remembered the placement of the holes, that there was one at the end of every path and one in the yard of Wish House. And wasn’t there something about a key in the memo I read earlier from Jasper’s car? Something about putting a key away before returning?

On a whim, I went back through the gate to find that I was now in the previous area—the area where I’d found the key—and the fog was gone. After going through another gate and finding a hole, I was so relieved, I almost managed a smile.

Back in the apartment, I dropped the key into the chest in the living room.

Even though I heard nothing from the hall, I looked through the peephole to see if the superintendent had shown up yet—instead, I flinched a little when I saw Richard’s distorted face as he tried to look through the hole. After awhile, he gave up and walked away.

I did the same—I had some traveling to do, anyway.

Back in the forest, I made my way back to Wish House, then went back through the hole once again.

I retrieved the key, and on the way back to the hole, I glanced at my reflection in the mirror and noticed that, sure enough, my color was back—in fact, I didn’t look too bad for someone who had experienced all that I had. I’d have to be careful not to get too arrogant—that’s what nearly got me killed earlier.

I crawled through the hole for what I hoped was the last time.

I exited the hole, finding myself back at Wish House. Jasper was still standing by the door, probably waiting for me to unlock it.

I couldn’t help but wonder if he really didn’t know what to do with the spade or if he was just too lazy and decided to use me as his lackey to unlock the door for him. In the end, it didn’t really matter, and I was probably giving him too much credit anyway.

I brought out the key, and slid it into the lock, and sure enough, it turned, and the door opened.

The room was pretty bare and dilapidated, with only a table (with children’s drawings scattered about) and other furniture sitting on the plain wooden floor.

I found a scribbled note in the corner, which didn’t look important—something about someone named Alessa.

I went up a short stairway that led to a door, but the door was locked. When I came back down, I saw that Jasper had entered and was wandering around, but less intently than I was—he almost seemed as if he was in a trance, “I-I-I w-w-wonder what they … did here …”

I paid him no mind, and went about exploring the room. At the opposite corner was another door, but it was also locked.

When I turned around, I saw tapestries on the floor, a candelabrum, and a very old tattered book, all scattered in the corner. I picked up the book, but it was falling apart and I couldn’t read most of the pages, but I was able to make out some of it:

The Second Sign

And God said, Offer the Blood of the Ten Sinners and the White Oil. Be then released from the bonds of the flesh, and gain the Power of Heaven. From the Darkness and Void, bring forth Gloom, and gird thyself with Despair for the Giver of Wisdom.

The Third Sign

And God said, Return to the Source through Sin’s Temptation. Under the Watchful eye of the demon, wander alone in the formless Chaos. Only then will the Four Atonements be in alignment.

Aside from “God” and “sin”, this didn’t sound like it was from any religion I’d ever heard of. Obviously, this was scripture from the cult that ran the orphanage. I tore out the few pages I was able to read, and put them in my pocket, figuring they’d make more sense later.

I was so focused on what I was reading, I was barely aware of the door behind me creaking open—the door that was locked when I’d tried it myself only seconds ago.

And that’s when the screaming started—screams of agony.

I whirled around to see that the door was ajar and a bright flickering orange light was emitting from within the room. On the door was a metal placard that wasn’t there before—this one was engraved with an image of a baby and the word Source.

I rushed in to find Jasper holding a candle holder … and he was on fire.

There was no fire extinguisher in the room, and no other means of putting him out. I went to the door to see if I could find something—hell, I’d run outside and check all those wells if I had to, however pointless it might have been—but it was closed and locked from the outside, so all I could do was stand there and watch him burn.

It was a horrible sight—I wasn’t crazy about Jasper, but he didn’t deserve to die like this. No one did. I shrank against the door, not wanting to watch, but unable to look away either. “I finally met him!” he screamed—he wasn’t stuttering, but his voice fluctuated from the terrible pain he must have been in, “The one the nosy guy talked about … THE DEVIIILLLL!” His skin was turning black and he eventually fell to the floor, but not before I saw the numbers carved into his stomach.

17121.

Once again, I woke up in my bedroom, and hurried out to the living room on a whim.

The radio was playing again, this time it was a woman’s voice.

“A special news report … In a forest near Silent Hill, the burned corpse of a 30-year-old male was discovered earlier today.

“The police have ruled it a homicide and are investigating. The numbers “17121” were reportedly carved into the man’s body.

“Due to the marks on the victim, the police are investigating possible links to the Walter Sullivan case 10 years ago …”

Then the radio snapped off by itself. Although I knew it was pointless, I turned it back on, but to no avail.

“Walter Sullivan.” I said out loud.

Walter.

Dont go Out! – Walter

My blood ran cold, and my legs nearly buckled under me—I was being stalked by a serial killer.

Chapter 9: Prison

While I was still shaken by the news report, I was further startled by the ringing of my doorbell alternating with furious knocking at my front door.

I ran to it and looked through the peephole to see Frank Sunderland banging on the door. He was an older guy, older than Richard, wearing a white sweater that matched his hair. “This is the superintendent!” he yelled with authority. “Are you in there, Henry?”

Under normal circumstances, I’d be worried that I was in some kind of trouble, but in this case, I was already in trouble and hanging on to the hope that he could help me somehow. “Help me!” I screamed with a level of desperation I didn’t know was possible. “There’s something wrong with this room!” I started banging back. “Help! Let me outta here!”

“Is anybody home?” He backed away and started looking at something in his hands that was out of my view

I continued slamming on the door as hard as I could. “What’s goin’ on here?”

Then I realized what he was doing as I heard the sound of a key sliding into the lock. He pulled it back out, “That’s strange… It’s the right key.”

I sighed in frustration, but I kept on slamming my hands into the door.

The super backed away a little and examined the door. “Umm … I’m sure I heard something in there.” He brought his hand up to his chin, thoughtfully. “Yeah … that sound … It’s the same one as back then.” He put his keys back in his pocket and walked away. When he did, I noticed a second new bloody handprint on the wall.

I turned around and leaned with by back against the door and my arms folded, downright disgusted with everything, and I wondered how many more times I’d get my hopes up.

Once the anger had tapered off, I began thinking about the name I heard on the news report—Walter Sullivan, who was the one who locked me in my apartment, and was apparently also a serial killer—and cold terror gripped me all over again. What was I to do?

Well … apparently he wants me to stay in here. That much was obvious. Did that mean that I’d be safe from him if I went through the hole? Somehow, I doubted it was that simple. But, at least the worlds outside were bigger than my little apartment, which meant that I’d be harder to find out there, meaning I’d have a better chance for survival.

Figuring that was the best I could do, at least until I’d gotten more information, I pushed myself off the door and dropped off the items I most likely wouldn’t be needing again any time soon in the chest before making my way to the bathroom. I’d already done about everything I could do in the forest, so I guessed I’d end up somewhere else this time.

I awoke to find myself face-down on a cold, wet, dirty floor. I rose to my knees, then to my feet, and turned around, trying to take in my surroundings.

The place looked like a dungeon—it was sparsely lighted, cold, and damp, and appeared to be made completely out of red bricks and concrete. By the way the walls curved, I presumed I was in a ring-shaped hall.

“Help!” The voice cut through the darkness, startling me. Get me OUT of here!”

I went along the wall, noticing that to my right were metal doors, each with a barred window. I opened the first one, and I saw a small, nearly wedge-shaped room that had only a stone slab for a bed, a table with a stool for sitting on, and a toilet and sink. No light to speak of, and no windows, save for the one on the door, and a small round one on the opposite wall from the door. The smell of mold was everywhere in this place, and small slugs scaled the walls.

When I referred to this place as a dungeon, I wasn’t too far off the mark—apparently, it was a prison, but for whom, I didn’t know. However, like the other two places I’d been to, it seemed to be abandoned, save for one other person.

After awhile, I came to a door where a pale hand was sticking out between the bars in an attempt to flag me down. When I approached, I saw that the prisoner was a balding, obese, middle-aged man who looked terrified. “He’s … he’s gonna kill me! Walter’s gonna kill me!”

I froze for a second. “Walter Sullivan? Is he here?”

“Just … get me out!” he begged, “Get me out of here!”

I could see that I wouldn’t be getting any information out of him unless I freed him. “Hang on,” I said, “I’ll try to find a key or something.”

The next door I tried was locked. The following one wasn’t, so I looked in. There was a noose hanging from the ceiling, and a note on the bed below it, which I read. The handwriting was a bit … crude, but not difficult to read: I’m sick of being watched. The idea of being in a room where someone had committed suicide made my skin crawl. As I was on my way out, I heard heavy footsteps and breathing as a huge shadow passed over the floor. I had no idea where it could be coming from, especially with how big it seemed—perhaps the round window. I stood perfectly still until it was gone, then I hurried out the door.

I opened the next door, and saw something odd: about five fleshy stalks that appeared to be growing out of the floor, at the top of each one was a head that looked somewhat like a brain, covered in red blotches, as if it was bloody. They swayed back and forth, making a strange sound that reminded me of the sound heavy rain makes on a roof, but didn’t seem too threatening. Still, there was nothing of interest in the room, so I decided not to deal with them, and left.

The next door was locked, but the one after that wasn’t. I saw a box of ammo on the bed, so I took it. However, on the wall was a message that deeply disturbed me: I’m being watched from the middle room. It wasn’t so much what the message itself conveyed that disturbed me, but the fact that it was written crudely, like the last note I’d found, and I had to bend over to read it because the person who wrote it was apparently short.

It was a child’s writing. I shook my head in disbelief—why would a child be imprisoned in a place such as this? Not wanting to contemplate this further, I left the room.

The next door was locked, but there was a note on the floor outside:

Lucky! I finally escaped from the cell. I decided to take a careful look around this building.

The scariest place was the 1st floor basement. There’s a kitchen in the northeast, but next door in the northwest is a death chamber. To get in there, you have to punch in the right numbers. I don’t know the numbers, and it was too dark to even see the panel, so I didn’t go in.

“A ‘death chamber’?” was all I could think of as a response.

I had checked all the cells, so the only place left to go was outside the hall through a pair of double-doors. It lead to a room with a door on either side of me and a hole in the wall, across the way. I decided a short break from this place was in order, so went through the hole.

When I woke up, I heard a metallic hissing sound coming from the living room. I went out to see what it was, but I already recognized it even before getting out there—my TV was on, the very same TV that stopped working a couple days into my prison sentence was now blaring static. What was even worse was that I couldn’t turn it off.

I was about to just say “screw it” and go back outside when I saw another red note stuck under my door, so I decided to endure the noise long enough to read it:

Lately I’ve been feeling like my life is in serious danger. I’ve been through a lot in my life, but I’ve never felt this kind of pure, animal fear. In case something happens to me, I’ve decided to write down what I’ve learned for whoever you are that’s living in the apartment now.

I’ve been investigating the mass murder that took place 7 years ago in which 10 people were killed in 10 days. They were killed in a variety of ways, but the one thing they had in common was that each corpse had the following numbers, in order of their deaths, carved into them:

01121, 02121, 03121, 04121, 05121, 06121, 07121, 08121, 09121, 10121 … the name of their killer … it was carved in as well …

His name was … Walter Sullivan. – April 4

So the notes I was getting were from whoever lived in the apartment before me … somehow. Well, at least I had a source of information. As for this particular note, I didn’t know what the numbers meant, but the connection to the deaths of Cynthia and Jasper was rather obvious.

Chapter 10: “Receiver.”

Back at the prison, I tried each of the doors I’d seen on my way out—the one on my right was locked, but the one on the left wasn’t, so I went through it.

I was now in an outer ring-shaped hall where I went down two ladders and reached another door, which lead to an incline that ended at a circular room with a water wheel. Next to the wheel, there was a rusty old sign and a key.

To turn on the lights in the 3rd floor cells, turn this waterwheel. Remember that the water must flow in the direction of the waterwheel. Of course, you also have to open the sluice gate on the roof.

I wondered how far up it would be to the roof as I took the key and noticed an “up” arrow was engraved on it.

I made my way back up to the locked door that was in the same room with the hole, and sure enough, the key unlocked it.

I opened the door, and the brightness nearly blinded me. Once my eyes focused, I realized that I was outdoors and that the brightness surrounding me wasn’t sunlight, but a thick layer of fog—the feeling was accentuated with a biting chill.

I was standing on an inclining walkway that likely spiraled to the top of the cylindrical building—as I realized this, I couldn’t help thinking that this building had a remarkable structure and would look quite interesting from a distance, picture-worthy, even. But none of that mattered when I realized that there was no railing, and as I looked over the edge, I saw nothing but whiteness, as if it was somehow built in the middle of a bottomless pit, and there was nothing below, but fog.

This was, of course, impossible, especially since I was only on the second floor. But, again, I had to remember that logic didn’t apply here.

I shivered—both from the cold, and from the fear of falling, possibly eternally—as I hugged the wall with my back. Then I saw a ladder to my right, so I climbed up, being careful not to look down, as it was just to the side of the floor, and losing my footing would be fatal.

The ladder lead to an outcropping, and another short ladder which lead back onto the inclining path and a set of double-doors, which I went through.

Back inside, I was in another hallway. The first three cell doors were locked and I had come across another group of the strange fungus-like creatures. Fortunately, it only took one swing of the pipe for them to die instantly. Giant slugs—some were a foot long—scaled the walls in this area. They didn’t attack me, so I ignored them and moved on.

The next room was unlocked, and looked exactly like the others I’d seen so far, except there was a diary on the table, which I flipped through:

I’ve been watching the surveillance room’s peephole the whole time, and sometimes he’s there. I can tell ‘cause I see a shadow move or hear his footsteps.

I looked up at what I thought was a round window—apparently this was the peephole that was mentioned. I also remembered the shadow I’d seen earlier and how eerie it was, and I tensed as my mind forced me to imagine what it might feel like to live in one of these rooms and have to put up with the looming shadow on a regular basis. I quickly left the room, not wanting to contemplate it any further.

The next room had something unusual—a cup filled with black powder. It had no smell, but I didn’t know what it was, so I left it alone. The shadow passed over again. The next two doors were locked.

The next room had a shirt and a pair of pants hanging from a clothesline that stretched across the room, and a note on the wall:

I peed my pants. I gotta wash them so no one finds out. I just saw a shadow, I think someone saw me.

I looked down at the huge bloodstain on the floor and clasped my hand over my mouth. Shaking my head, I left the room.

I had searched every cell on this floor, so I went out the double-doors to the spiral path outside, where I went up another ladder up to the third floor.

The next cell door was unlocked, but there was nothing of interest inside—only books scattered on the floor that were too old to be readable. The next one had a huge round hole in the floor—it was easily big enough to fit through, but jumping down would be too dangerous. Besides, there was blood surrounding it, which didn’t help to reassure me.

When I left the room, I saw something in the corner of my eye—in the hall, just at the point that was within my vision, before the walls curved too far—that I thought looked like a person. I turned to look at it and realized that I was quite mistaken.

At first, I thought it was a large man wearing a black, hooded cloak, but when I looked at the face, I realized that it had two heads, each looking like an infant with chalk-white skin and eyes that were perpetually shut. The heads were grotesquely pushed together and obviously grew out of the same body. Below the cloak, it had no lower body, and instead of legs, it stood on a pair of long spindly arms ending in long thin hands—a startling contrast to the chubbiness of its faces. It was about my height, but its bulk made it look huge.

It stood, staring at me—despite it having no eyes, I had no doubt that it could see, or at least sense my presence. Suddenly, it raised one hand off the floor, shifting its weight to the other hand—the effect was startlingly bird-like. It pointed directly at me, and in a deep voice, it uttered a single word: “Receiver.”

I gasped in terror, my blood frozen in my veins. With a trembling hand, I slowly reached behind my back for my gun, being careful not to make any sudden movements. It was like being in a stand-off—it continued to point, unmoving, as I brought out the gun and pointed back with it.

Suddenly, something hit my shoulder—I stumbled a little and let out a yell before I realized it was just one of the giant slugs falling from the ceiling and plopping against my shoulder on its way to the ground. Unfortunately, this was enough to alert the creature and it suddenly let out a battle-cry that sounded like someone had recorded a baby’s scream and played it back at a slower speed so it was a lower pitch, and charged at me, its massive form causing a stomping sound as its hands pounded the concrete floor.

I screamed, myself, but in terror, as I pumped the trigger as fast as I could. After four shots, I heard only clicks as the ammo ran out, but my finger continued convulsing as the creature advanced on me. I was so consumed with fear, I couldn’t will myself to do anything else.

Suddenly, it stood right in front of me … and collapsed. Apparently four bullets were enough to stop it.

I stood, trembling, and continued to aim the gun at it in case it wasn’t dead (as if it’d do me any good with no ammo), but thankfully it stayed down. I took a deep breath and wiped sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand.

Once my wits had returned, I took the spare gun clip out of my pocket and loaded the gun—if there were more of these things running around, I’d definitely need it.

The next cell also had a hole in the floor, with blood surrounding it, but this one also had a blood stain on the bed that was in the general shape of a human. I shuddered and backed out of the room quickly.

The next cell had clothes laid out on the bed with a note on the table: Now it will look like I’m sleeping. Were those footsteps? I wonder if he saw me. I took that to mean that this particular kid had a way to sneak out of the room and laid out his clothes on the bed as a diversion for the watcher. Only a kid would think this was a good idea, and that made me uneasy because I had been hoping to see something that would convince that—if nothing else—at least I was wrong about the prisoners being children, and, instead, I found evidence that convinced me that I was right after all.

When I left the room, I saw another two-faced monster, again pointing at me from across the hall—and damn me if I didn’t nearly freeze up again, but I managed to shake it off and pull out the gun quickly and pumped the trigger until the thing fell down before it even had a chance to make any accusations. Disturbing as they were to look at (and listen to), at least they were slow to react if I didn’t make any sudden movements.

The next room had wall monsters in it, like the ones I’d seen in the subway along the escalator, and a gun clip on the stool. Unfortunately, the stool was within reach of one of the monsters. On a whim, I aimed my gun at the monster that was close to the ammo, and fired once. It slumped down, dangling from the part of the wall where it was attached, but apparently unconscious. I was able to take the ammo, but just as I was in the process of walking away, it woke up and took a swing at me, sending me flying across the room to a hard and painful landing on the concrete floor.

“Idiot!” I muttered to myself as I stood, with some difficulty—it was a wonder that I didn’t have any broken bones yet.

The monsters roared as I left the room.

“Yeah, whatever,” I retorted.

The next room was another one that had a hole in the floor. The following one had a diary on the table, which I read:

We had beef stew yesterday. In the cafeteria, I heard there’s a death chamber behind the kitchen, and they take meat straight from the dead people and cook it. That really scared me.

Probably only a rumor, but still unsettling. There was another one on the bed:

I’m in trouble. I stood in front of the surveillance room and yelled as loud as I could, but nobody came out.

This one wasn’t very clear—did he yell for help because he was in trouble, or did get in trouble because he yelled? I shrugged and left the room.

The last room was empty, save for some clothes on the floor, so I went out the double-doors again.

The ladder lead up to the top, so I entered the final set of double doors.

Thank god, no more cells, I thought, realizing I was on the roof. In front of me was a set of steps that lead to a door—another door with the same design as the design around the infamous holes—but it wouldn’t open.

I backed up and realized that it was on the side of a water tower, which reminded me that there was a sluice gate up here I was supposed to open. I went around to the other side of the tower, and found another set of steps that lead to a valve. I rotated the valve—it creaked, but was movable. After rotating it several times, I heard the sound of rushing water, as the gate opened.

Chapter 11: Terrible Revelations

I didn’t know where else to go at this point, so I went to one of the rooms on the third floor that had a hole in the floor.

I sighed, as I stood and looked down at it. Am I really insane enough to try this?

It was too dark to see where the hole lead, or even if it had a bottom. I had been through every door that wasn’t locked or jammed, and had only found one key, which I’d already used on the only door it opened. There was nowhere else to go. And I had one of those feelings that told me I was meant to go this way.

I paused only a few more seconds.

I took a deep breath and jumped in.

At some point during the fall, I’d blacked out—not unlike the experience of traveling to these worlds for the first time, where I’d lose consciousness somewhere in the tunnel and wake up in the new area. I woke up in a large room in the basement, surrounded by plain concrete walls—apparently the holes were lined up in such a way that I passed through all three floors. I stood and realized that, luckily, I was completely unharmed.

“Receiver!”

“Oh, God, no.” I wasn’t as lucky as I thought. I pulled out my gun as fast as I could.

I looked around and realized that there were actually two of them, but only one had spotted me, so I decided to focus on that one, especially since it was already charging at me. I fired twice, but it closed the distance quickly and it delivered an attack that was somewhere between a stomp and a downward swipe. I managed to dodge it by leaping backwards with some agility that I must have borrowed from someone, because it certainly wasn’t mine. I fired three more times, and it dropped.

But just as the first one was falling, the second had spotted me and and suddenly started charging at me from the side. I was startled and before I could react, it launched itself at me, leaping head first like a torpedo.

I screamed as it slammed into my left side, sending me crashing, painfully, to the floor. On my back, I aimed my gun upward, firing as fast as I could as it advanced on me again. I had never been quite this close to one before, and I was noticing for the first time how disturbing it was seeing the faces of two babies react in pain whenever I fired my gun.

Finally, it fell … and landed on top of me. I screamed (more in disgust than pain-it weighed a ton, but worse than that was being able to imagine what the creature must have looked like under its cloak by the way it felt, which is a memory I would rather not conjure up) and scrambled out from under it.

I checked my left side to see how badly I’d been hurt-apparently it was my left upper-arm that had taken most of the impact. It wasn’t broken, but it would probably be sore for awhile, and leave a bruise. Again, I was glad it wasn’t my right arm that was injured-if I couldn’t swing a weapon or aim a gun properly, I’d be screwed.

I went through the only door. In the next area, there was another door at the other side of the hall, but it was locked. At the end of the hall was a ladder leading up to a hole in the ceiling. I realized that it must have lead to the surveillance room, so I went up.

Laying on a desk that was against the wall was a report, which I read:

This place continues to deteriorate. The doors to a number of cells no longer open. As a result, the kids inside can no longer go outside. But the less they now about that, the better.

I can’t open the doors, but from this room, I can watch them get more and more emaciated each day. With no food and never showering themselves, they turn into smelly little grey lumps in there.

Following the suggestion of an engineer, we’ve disposed of the corpses by digging a hole below the cells. Since each floor of this building can be rotated independently, we can dispose of the bodies without the others noticing by aligning each cell with a body in it vertically.

I had to stop reading. I clasped my hand over my mouth as my stomach tightened, and I felt ill. This wasn’t simply child abuse—this was terrible, nightmarish mistreatment of medieval proportions. My mind reeled. Did this sort of thing really take place here, or was it some kind of illusion? And if it did happen, then why was it allowed to continue? And how could anyone do something like this, and continue to live with himself? And as if simply knowing this information wasn’t traumatic enough, there I was, literally in the middle of where it all happened. I may as well have been visiting the grounds of a Nazi death camp.

There was one more paragraph:

P.S.: Chief, I bet you’re just dying to see the interrogation room behind the kitchen.

I understand your feelings, but have you noticed? There are three rooms with bloody beds. One is on the 1st floor, one is on the 2nd floor, and one is on the 3rd floor. If you line those three rooms up, then it’s “bingo.”

As painful as it was, I looked through the peepholes (I stood in front of the surveillance room and yelled as loud as I could, but nobody came out—it was too easy to imagine children screaming to be let out from inside of those tiny, dark, filthy cells which, in the end, would turn out to be the last thing they’d ever see. In fact, it reminded me of how I felt during the five days when I was locked in my apartment before finding the hole—I guess I was lucky in that respect: my escape route appeared while I was still alive).

I saw nothing really new—just the same rooms from a different angle—but I noticed that the room with the bloody bed was seen through the hole that was just to the right of the desk, and that another room was brightly lit. There was something in the report about lining up the rooms, but I hadn’t the slightest clue how that would work.

I also saw the poor man still locked in the cell, who I’d seen earlier, still wearily yelling for help. I hadn’t forgotten about him, I just hadn’t found a way to let him out yet, but at least he was still okay. The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on me—I found this guy only minutes after I was the one locked in and yelling for help from the super. And, yet, here I was watching the scene through a peephole again—double irony.

Having seen everything in this room, I climbed up the ladder to the second floor, which was identical to the first, as far as I could tell, right down to the report on the desk, which I read:

To keep a close eye on the kids, it’s important to keep the cells well lit. The lights on the 3rd floor were originally bought as searchlights. As a precaution against a blackout, they were set up to run on a private generator. There’s a hydroelectric generator in the basement. To light up the 1st and 2nd floors, use the corpse disposal chutes.

Since each floor of this building can be rotated, you can light up any of the cells by matching up the holes. Repeating this periodically is an effective way to keep the kids fearful and well-behaved.

P.S.: Chief, if you turn the valve in the middle of this room, you can easily rotate the cells. You can’t rotate the 1st floor, so align the 2nd and 3rd floors with the 1st floor cell that have the blood-stained bed. By the way, if you’re using the peephole in this room, it’s easy to make sure you’re doing it right. Give it a try. Also, please don’t forget to open the sluice gate on the roof. Much appreciated, Chief!

I looked through the peepholes and saw that the room with the bloody bed on this level was four over from where the one on the first floor was. I looked over my shoulder and saw that there was a stand on the opposite side of the hole that had the valve on it. I turned the valve—it turned fairly easy, although it creaked and groaned loudly. I heard a grinding sound as the building rotated. I kept turning the valve until it made 4 full revolutions.

Then I looked through the window that was just to the right of the desk to find that the room with the bloody bed had moved to that spot. Had I not known what the building was used for, I would have thought that was pretty cool.

I went up the ladder again to the third floor. No desk here, but there was a memo taped to the wall:

The Secret Number for getting through the door in back of the kitchen this month is “0302.” Thanks for your cooperation.

I plucked it from the wall, folded it, and stuck it in my pocket, knowing that I’d need it later (and that I’d likely forget the number if I didn’t have it on me).

I looked through the peepholes again, starting to the right of where the desk would have been if there were one on this floor—I saw some wall men looking around frantically, and a close-up view of the fungus-like creatures (something I could have done without), and that the bloody bed was two over from the spot where the ones on the first and second floors were, so I turned the valve twice.

My job there was done, so I went down the ladder, all the way to the basement.

“Don’t make me stand it in there anymore!”

As I reached the bottom of the ladder and stepped off, I heard a voice. I turned and saw the man from the cell—apparently I’d inadvertently let him out when I rotated the building. He was kneeling on the floor—groveling, in fact—with his back facing me. He was speaking to none other than the little boy with the striped shirt I’d seen earlier at Wish House.

“Don’t make me stay in that …” he trailed off into a kind of frantic mumble at this point, so I couldn’t make out what he was saying. “Don’t make me stay in there.” More unintelligible (from the distance I was at, anyway) mumbling “… please! … let me outta here … die in here. Don’t make me stay in there, Wal …”

I shook my head in disbelief. The man looked like he was begging for his life, as the kid just looked down at him, cold and emotionless—an expression I’d never seen on a child—before casually walking away.

“Walter, I’m tellin’ you … Don’t walk away!” After this, he just wailed quietly as the child disappeared.

Had he just called that kid Walter? I approached the man and carefully placed my hand on his shoulder to get his attention. He jumped, and as he looked up at me, I pointed. “Who is that boy?” While I was at it, I added, “and who are you?”

“His name is Walter,” he responded as he stood up with some difficulty, “Walter Sullivan.”

I blinked—how could that child be Walter Sullivan?

“I used to work at the orphanage, watching the kids,” he continued, while turning to face me, “I’m Andrew DeSalvo.

“They tried to make it seem like an orphanage … but according to that town’s Holy Scriptures, it was actually the center of their religion.” He tended to whisper as he talked, nervously.

“That kid, Walter,” he went on, mentioning the name with distain … or was it fear? “He was really into that mumbo jumbo … especially that ‘Descent of the Holy Mother’ business … oh, scary … oh, god … oh … oh my god …” He turned and staggered away, holding his head.

Confused, I just let him go. He didn’t really answer any questions, he only added more into the mix.

I had a lot of ladder climbing to do, anyway.

Chapter 12: Watchfulness

I had gone up the ladders outside the building once again and ended up on the third floor in the room with the bloody bed (hopefully for the last time—all that climbing was seriously tiring me out, not to mention that my left arm was killing me). And once again, I stood there, not wanting to jump down the hole. Not because I was afraid, exactly—I made it through alright, last time, after all—but because the thought of jumping down a corpse chute was just a little too unsettling.

But, again, it had to be done, if only because it was the only way out. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and down I went.

I was in the basement again, but a different part of it this time. Fortunately, the only enemies around this time were more fungus creatures, although these particular ones were of a different breed—they were whitish and more snakelike, their heads looking somewhat phallic.

After I dispatched them with the pipe, I noticed a pair of double-doors to my left. When I approached, I noticed a number pad on the left door and a metal placard on the right. I removed the placard and looked at it. It had the image of an eye and the word Watchfulness etched on it.

Damn, what was that code again? I took the folded-up memo out of my pocket and scanned it for the numbers. 0302.

I punched in the numbers and as I heard the clicking sound of the door unlocking, I hurried in, but was nearly overwhelmed by the smell of mold and death.

The doors lead to a concrete slab, beyond which was almost nothing but scummy water that was reddish in color. On the wall to the right were rotary blades and other instruments of torture hanging from the wall. Directly in front of me was an old rusty metal bridge that lead to a circular platform. I crossed it slowly, not stopping until I reached the other end.

Floating face-up in the water was Andrew DeSalvo, with the numbers 18121 carved into his stomach.

Not another one, was all I could think, as I shook my head.

What a waste.

I woke up to hear a hissing sound again, only this time it was a different sort of hissing, and it was coming from the bathroom. It stopped the second I opened the door.

I stopped as well, because the very moment I opened the door, I smelled something unpleasantly familiar. At first, I thought it was simply a flashback of some kind, but as I approached the shower, I saw that blood had pooled in the tub, and the walls and shower curtains, and even the bath mat were splattered with it. It was also dripping from the shower head—was that where it came from? And the smell—it was the same as the smell in the water-filled room under the cylindrical prison.

I was also hearing an unpleasant sound—it sounded like a woman crying, possibly being tortured. It was coming from the hole, which was now even bigger and rounder than it was before. I wasn’t ready to go out again so soon, so I left the bathroom and went into the living room.

When I got there, I saw another piece of red paper under the door, so I pulled it out and read it:

I’ve found something that’s extremely effective against the ghosts. It saved my life.

It was stuck into the huge rock in the woods near the orphanage. It’s a sword blade with a hand-made, triangle-shaped wooden handle that has some kind of spell written on it. As a weapon, it’s heavy and hard to carry. But somehow it seems to change in response to the ghost-victim’s power. Strike when the sword is energized! If you don’t reduce their power, your attacks will be repelled.

As far as I know, there are only 5 swords in existence with that kind of power. It’s extremely valuable. – July 23

It was good to know that there was a weapon out there that was specifically made for dealing with ghosts. I was glad to have read the note—I’d know to keep an eye out for them.

I thought I heard something outside the door, so I looked through the peephole to see the super and Eileen standing in the hall. No more screaming and pounding on the door—I was through trying to communicate with anyone—I decided to just listen this time.

“How’s it going with Room 302?” Eileen asked, cautiously.

“Well…I, uh, just tried to open it up,” Frank replied, “but it looks like somethin’s, um … blockin’ it from the inside.”

Eileen looked at him.

“Anyway, it’s not the first time”

“You mean … the guy who lived here before?” she asked.

Frank shook his head. “Yeah, and it wasn’t just him, either. There’s, uh, somethin’ wrong with this whole apartment.” He crouched down.

Eileen seemed to shudder. “Don’t say that,” she said, holding herself and turning away, “you’re scaring me.”

Frank stood back up. “Anyway, I just slipped a note under his door.” He noticed that Eileen was looking worried. “Oh, don’t worry about it too much. There are a … lot of strange things in this world.”

Eileen seemed to relax a little.

Frank walked away, but Eileen lingered for a moment longer. “But still … those noises …” Then she walked away as well. When she did, I noticed a third fresh handprint in the hall.

I looked down and saw that the scrap of paper that Frank had slid under the door had made it through. I pulled it out, but it was covered in blood and completely unreadable.

“Figures,” I scoffed.

Chapter 13: Urban Jungle

After getting my stuff together and going through the hole again, I woke up in a new area … and my ears were practically ringing already. The noises were deafening, not that I could really pinpoint what any of them were. It sounded like the whooping noises of jungle animals, but none that I recognized. I groaned and opened my eyes and realized that I was face-down on concrete again, but when I looked around, I realized I was in an alleyway in the city.

I stood and began walking, but I stopped for a second when I saw something above that was just barely within my peripheral vision. I looked up and saw some kind of ape-like animals jumping from one tall rooftop to the next.

The alleyway was incredibly long, but once I got to the end, and entered a more open area, the noises got even louder and were now accompanied by various bangs and a man shouting. The first thing I saw in this new area was a car, but as I looked around, I realized I was on top of a massive building so I had no idea how the car got there.

There was a door, but it was locked, so I went down the fire escape stairs.

Almost immediately, I spotted something crouched in the corner. It looked like a naked muscular man, but with the proportions altered so that it had long arms and short legs, and a thin tail was added. It turned to look at me and that’s when I realize that it had an extra smaller head growing out of its chest that flopped around, almost bonelessly, as it moved. Both heads looked grotesquely human and were connected to each other by stretchy tissue. Its skin looked somewhat rotted, not unlike the dog monsters I’d seen previously.

I aimed my gun, but, disfigured and repulsive as the creature was, it still looked humanoid, so I couldn’t quite bring myself to pull the trigger.

But a primal need for self-preservation superseded guilt as the creature let out a monkey-like scream as it reared back, then leaped at me. I managed to sidestep the attack, and I pumped four bullets into it, causing the creature to screech once again before collapsing.

Again, there was nothing of interest nearby, so I went down another flight of stairs.

I heard a scream from high above me, and I looked up just in time to see a man fall from one of the rooftops, and plummet to the concrete below, landing about 20 feet away from me. I figured he must be dead, or at least horribly injured, but he just yelled, “Dammit!” and rose to his knees, “Where the hell am I?”

I rushed to him and was about to help him up until he pointed a revolver at me, at which point I stopped and threw my hands up and backed away.

That was when I realized I’d recognized him—he was an older guy with slightly graying hair combed back and was wearing an interesting-looking tie with Venus de Milo on it. “Ah,” he said, pointing the gun away, “You’re a real person.” I wasn’t sure if that was relief or disappointment I’d heard in his voice. “Hey, you’re the guy who lives across from me!” he added, as he stood, miraculously with little difficulty, and stretched his back.

“Yeah … my name’s Henry,” I responded, finally approaching him and extending my hand.

“I’m Richard Braintree from 207,” He said, not bothering to shake it. “What the hell’s happened to us?” he said, looking around, “That hole … and this freaky world! But,” he continued thoughtfully, “If you’re here too, “Then there must be something wrong with the whole apartment building.”

Interesting point. I wondered if Eileen was in trouble as well.

“And that must explain what happened to that other guy, too!” he said, pacing around, talking more to himself than to me.

“What other guy?”

“The guy who lived in 302 before you,” he continued in the same thoughtful tone, “A journalist … he disappeared one day. He got pretty crazy towards the end,” he turned to face me, shaking his head. “Hoo … shut himself up in his room and wouldn’t come out …”

The guy who was leaving me notes—he must have gone through the same thing I was.

“Anyway,” Richard said with a wave of his hand, “I’m gettin’ the hell outta here,” pointing both thumbs over his shoulder, before turning and walking away. He stopped and looked over his shoulder long enough to add, “You should, too … if you know what’s good for you.”

“Wait!” I said, recalling the last two people I’d met.

He looked over his shoulder at me again.

“Watch out for that … kid.”

He threw his hands up with a snort, apparently writing off my warning as the ranting of a lunatic, before going through a door.

Suddenly, something dropped—seemingly from the sky—and landed in front of me with a heavy “thump”. I screamed and jumped back. I realized that it was another of those ape-like creatures, as a second one landed about five feet to the left. The first one crouched, and I stopped it with two gunshots—it wasn’t dead, but stunned.

To my surprise, the second one hadn’t moved and simply stood there. It seemed that, unlike the previous monsters I’d encountered, these creatures were more honorable fighters and would only attack one at a time. I wasn’t going to give them the same courtesy, however.

I aimed at the second one, and fired two more shots before firing two more at the first one to finish it off, then firing at the second one again, dropping it, and using up the clip.

It was then that I realized something: I’d been trying to be sparing with the ammo, but I couldn’t remember exactly how much I’d used since almost every time I resorted to using the gun, it was out of panic or squeamishness. I found a clip in one of my pockets and reloaded the gun. I searched through my other pockets, but that was all I had left.

“Perfect,” I muttered with a sigh.

It was time to put the gun away and learn to deal with the monsters in a more hands-on fashion. Killing them was becoming easier anyway, as that primal need to survive was slowly taking over—a thought that was a little unsettling.

I shrugged and put the gun away, since it wasn’t as if I really had a choice in the matter.

Chapter 14: Sword of Obedience

I looked around, and finally I was able to get my bearings and realize where I was. At the edge of the building I was standing on was a huge neon sign that was facing away from me and therefore I was seeing it backwards, but I could still make out what it said: HOTEL South Ashfield. This building was only about a block from my apartment building, and the sign was visible from my window. Like being in the subway station, there was something about being familiar with the place that made this experience even more surreal—as if I wasn’t physically far away from home, and yet it seemed like light-years away at the same time because of all the oddities.

I had finally reached an unlocked door, so I entered a room. The doors along the hallway were locked, so I continued to the living room.

It was a smallish room that hadn’t been inhabited for quite some time by the looks of it. There were cobwebs and a thin layer of dust covering everything. I looked around and realized that the place was sparsely decorated with multi-colored streamers (that were once vivid, but had faded over time) and on the table was a half-consumed birthday cake and champagne, and unopened presents. Quite a sad display.

The entire time I’d been in the room, I’d been hearing an odd sound—something like the sound of someone struggling to suck in air, but it was too steady and continuous to be human and after awhile, it nearly became white noise.

But as I walked around the table, I finally realized where it was coming from and I jumped a little at the sight. It was a ghost, lying on the floor, twitching. In its stomach, someone had plunged an odd-looking sword with a triangular-shaped wooden handle which glowed with a slow and steady pulse. I immediately recognized it as the sword described in one of the messages that had been placed under my door.

It was interesting seeing it in action—the ghost was completely immobilized. I guess I should have felt some kind of pity for it, with the way it constantly struggled, but considering that this was the first time I was able to be in the same room with one without feeling like my head was about to implode, I just didn’t have it in me.

There was a door, which I tried, but it was locked. I sighed and turned, and was about to double back when a glint caught my eye and I realized that the ghost was holding something shiny in its hand.

“No way,” I muttered.

Well … it’s not like it can hurt me right now.

I reluctantly kneeled beside the flailing ghost—even without the headache, it was an unpleasant experience. The thing had chalk-white skin and was covered in blood, its mouth open and its eyes rolled back into its head, like a caricature of someone having a seizure. I gingerly reached out and touched its hand, but suddenly jerked my hand away—I guess I expected it to feel cold, but the sensation was still unsettling. I took a deep breath and tried again, determined to go through with it this time. I pulled back its icy fingers and found a key, which I yanked away quickly.

I tried the key on the door, and sure enough, the knob turned.

I stopped and turned to look at the ghost again and paused.

As far as I know, there are only 5 swords in existence with that kind of power. It’s extremely valuable.

Before I had time to change my mind, I quickly knelt down and pulled the sword out of the ghost’s body—it came out surprisingly easy—and ran, closing the door behind me. The ghost hadn’t moved, but I had a feeling that it would soon.

I looked at the sword and noticed it was no longer glowing, which wasn’t surprising since it wasn’t doing anything at the moment. It didn’t feel too heavy, but it would be awkward to carry, especially while fighting. I guessed I’d just put up with it, especially if it was as valuable as my predecessor said it was—I could always drop it temporarily if I needed to.

The area I was currently in was fenced in with chain link, which crawled with more giant slugs (but these weren’t quite like the grey ones in the Water Prison—they looked like big brown blobs), but there was another descending stairway to the side, which I ran down. It lead to a walkway that was an ivory color and had an odd rusty red pattern on it that was reminiscent of a spine. What made it even more unsettling was the sounds I was hearing—gurgling and growling that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at the same time, confirming the “internal” feeling. When I turned a corner, I noticed a large panel on the wall that had another strange design—this one had pinkish red and white forming random shapes, almost appearing runny, and it was blurry and glowing, as if it was being projected on the wall and was out of focus, but if that was the case, I couldn’t tell where the projector was.

I came to another descending stairway

Jesus—first ladders and now stairs!

and as I reached the bottom, I came to another square-shaped area identical to the last one I’d been in, only a ghost was nearby, but I outran it without too much difficulty. At the end of the hall was a door instead of stairs, so I went through it.

Outside was an alleyway, but I was already feeling a headache and hearing moaning, so I quickly went through the next door I saw.

The next room was mostly empty, save for some big dilapidated shelves—apparently it was a store that had been completely cleared out a long time ago. On one shelf, I found—thankfully—another box of ammo. There was a horrible smell in the room and I realized it was coming from one of the other shelves where something was draped over the edge, something that looked like a very large piece of skin. I shook my head and backed away and went out the other door, not wanting to think about it.

The next place was a sports equipment store. I looked around, thinking that I might find a decent weapon in this room. There were golf clubs, which might be okay, but what caught my eye was an aluminum bat. It had a slightly shorter reach than the pipe I’d been carrying, but it was thicker, and probably sturdier, so I picked up the bat and left the pipe behind. Most of the shelves here were dilapidated as well, and there was nothing else of interest.

There were two doors-the one on the left was locked, so I took the one on the right.

I ended up outdoors again with more fencing and stairs-it’s as if the place was mostly made of fire escapes. The wall looked like it was originally white, but was now mostly streaked with red-as I was trying to decide whether it was paint or blood, I was startled by a deep and booming growl that nearly made me jump out of my skin. I looked around and saw nothing-but, like the gurgling sounds I’d heard earlier, it wasn’t coming from any specific place anyway. At the bottom of two flights of stairs was another door.

The next room was apparently another abandoned store. The first thing I saw was a dog monster stepping towards me, and I froze as I immediately flashed back to the forest where I was on the ground being chewed on by three of them. I shook it off, but not before the dog lunged at me and took hold of my ankle. I quickly brought the aluminum bat down on its head, stunning it. Before it could get up, I wound up and bashed it hard with the bat, knocking it to the floor where it twitched and squealed. I stomped on it, causing a loud crack, then silence.

Damn, that felt good!

I went down one of the aisles and realized that this place was formerly a pet store, as the shelves were stocked with dog food and cat food, along with other pet supplies and empty cages. But among them, I noticed a key sitting there. I picked it up and saw that the attached tag read: Albert’s Sports. I backtracked to the sports supply store and the key opened the formerly locked door.

It lead, of course, to another fire escape, where I saw two monkey men sauntering up the steps below me. As I walked along, to the next set of steps, another one dropped down directly behind, startling the hell out of me. I swung around, swinging the bat as I went, and I managed to give it a good crack upside the head, causing it to fall over—it had its back facing me, so it fell face down. I was still disturbed by how humanoid they looked, but self-preservation took over and allowed me to finish it off by bringing my boot down on its back, silencing it.

I went around the corner to the next set of steps where the two remaining monkey men were reaching the top. Not wanting to take any chances, I dropped the bat and sword, pulled out my gun, and shot each one twice. As they both tumbled back down the stairs, I ran to the bottom and stomped on each one.

After going down two more flights of stairs (but not before going back for my weapons), I had reached the bottom. Two more monkey men dropped from the sky—one of them was stark white and dark red in various places, looking almost as if it had been skinned—but I didn’t want to spend all day fighting monsters, so I ran instead of facing them.

They loped after me on all fours, screeching like chimps. I came to another alley—there were several doors, but they were all locked, until I came to a set of elevator doors, which slid open, so I ran in and closed them behind me. I leaned against the wall, breathing hard, as I heard them pounding on the doors.

The elevator went down by itself.

I saw movement in the corner of my eye to the left and I turned to see Richard pacing anxiously, waving his revolver. “Are you the kid he was talkin’ about?” He was yelling at someone. “You live in that apartment too? Huh?”

I couldn’t see who he was talking to—by this point, I was below them and only able to see them because they were standing on grating—but it could only have been the kid in the striped shirt I kept seeing everywhere. Watch yourself, Richard, I thought. Don’t be stupid.

“Say,” he continued. Up until this point, he’d been crouching, but now he stood up and I could swear he was casually aiming his gun at the kid. “You look a lot like a little punk that I once caught sneakin’ around there!” Now there was nothing casual about it as he moved towards the boy. “Do you know somethin’ about what’s goin’ on?”

The kid turned and ran.

“Hey!” Richard ran after him. “Hey, you! STOP!”

I sighed in frustration. I saw no buttons in the elevator, so there was no way to get it to go back up, so he was on his own. I’d done my best to warn him earlier.

Chapter 15: “Check on Your Neighbor”

I was now in an industrial-looking metal room. I looked around and found a ladder leading downwards, so I took it.

I’d come to a concrete room where I heard a familiar sound that reminded me of rain. When I came to a hall, I saw at least eight of the strange snakelike creatures that grew out of the ground that I’d seen in the Water Prison. I knocked them down easily with my bat and moved on.

At the end of the hall was a ladder leading up. I sighed wearily and climbed it. At the top was a wooden cover that I was able to push away easily.

No sooner had I climbed onto the surface, then I heard the chattering of more monkey people. They were really beginning to get on my nerves with their repulsive appearance, hyper-activity, and loud, repetitive noises. I tried a doorknob that was in front of me, but it was locked. I was at a dead end of an alleyway, so there was no avoiding them.

Two of them loped toward me on all fours. One stopped a few feet away—apparently it was the other one that planned on attacking first.

Since I was able to see it coming, I wound up, and was able to get off a good hit before it managed to get its attack in, and it fell to the ground, stunned. I finished it off with an overhead swing, followed by a stomp for good measure.

Suddenly, I felt nails raking the back of my head in a downward swipe before catching the back of my collar. Before I was fully aware of what was happening, I felt myself being hurled backwards, and as my back painfully hit the concrete, the weapons flew through my hands. The only means of defense I had left was my gun, so I sat up, reached behind, and pulled it out.

As I did, the creature came at me. I aimed, and when it was as close as I could stand to let it get, I fired, somehow managing to put a bullet through its head, right between the eyes. It dropped like a bag of cement.

I let myself fall back down, breathing hard. I’d had no idea how strong these creatures were (but they did resemble apes, so it made sense in a way). When the back of my head touched the ground, I winced as I felt the sting of the wounds the creature made when it reached for my collar. I reached back and carefully touched the back of my scalp—there was a little blood on my fingers, but not much, mostly just the clear, sticky stuff that oozes from superficial wounds. It was a good thing they didn’t have sharp claws.

I realized I was gradually getting braver, and better at fighting off the monsters. My aim was improving, and I was able to keep a somewhat clear head, even when overwhelmed.

Of course, the shred of accomplishment I felt from this realization was shortly replaced with a feeling that I shouldn’t have had to learn those lessons to begin with.

Why me? I wondered. And it wasn’t just self-pity talking—I literally wondered why it was me who was made to go through all this. There was nothing special about me; I was just a regular guy who generally minded his own business.

Oh well. In the end, it didn’t matter whether I was “chosen” or if I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time—all that mattered at the moment was survival.

As I put the gun away and gathered my other weapons, I wondered if Richard was okay. Even if he was an asshole, I’d hate for him to become the next victim. So many senseless deaths …

I shuddered a little before pulling myself back together. Enough dwelling, it was time to move on.

I went down another path with buildings on either side—there were plenty of doors, but they were all locked. I turned a corner and heard the familiar sound of four-legged footsteps.

I was dimly relieved that there were only two. I dispatched the first one with the bat fairly easily, but the second one gave me some trouble (sneaking around behind me while I was fighting another monster was something they loved to do, and if there was a way to prevent it, I hadn’t discovered it yet—I simply wasn’t fast or strong enough to kill one before the next one had a chance to take advantage of the lack of attention I was giving it) but it soon fell too.

I continued down the path and turned right.

Oh, hell!

Three monkey-things were in the area. The two that were furthest away were staring and becoming excited, waiting for the one nearest me to get its shots in first.

Not taking my eyes off the nearest one, I slowly crouched, with my back against the wall, and set my weapons on the ground.

The sound alerted the nearest monster, who was probably already wondering what the others were reacting to, so it turned around, and suddenly dropped dead with a bullet in its head.

I held the gun, still aiming, waiting for the others to get closer.

Number Two, upset by what it saw, charged at me, but it ended up with the same fate as its predecessor.

The third one tried something different—it tried to intimidate me by screaming and jumping up and down. It even pounded its chest, causing the second head on its chest to wobble—a disgusting sight.

It worked a little—I felt my blood run cold, but I reminded myself that I was the one with the long-range weapon, and I stood my ground, unmoving.

It charged at me.

I waited as long as I could, but panic set in and I fired earlier then I’d intended.

Fortunately for me, it was a somewhat lucky shot: I did send a bullet into its head, but not as cleanly as the others, and it fell to the ground convulsing.

“Good enough,” I muttered, before finishing it off with a stomp.

Oh yes, my aim had definitely improved.

It was then that I realized that there was a fourth one that I hadn’t noticed before. It stood, blocking the only door and wielding a pipe. It was hopping around anxiously, but it stayed in front of the door, waiting for me to get closer.

I decided not to make myself a target for any attack this time. I put my gun away and picked up my other weapons. I backed up a few steps, readied myself, then ran at it, shoving it out of the way and knocking it to the ground—before it was able to get up, I went through the door.

The next room contained another set of descending stairs which lead to a huge square-shaped room. There were lights fixed to the ceiling, and a grating below the ceiling where a large fan had been installed, causing a constantly-rotating shadow to be cast on the floor, which was white and rust-colored with an odd pattern that vaguely reminded me of the room I’d seen earlier with the spine-like pattern on the floor.

Beyond the next door was—surprise, surprise!—three more flights of descending stairs. The next room had nothing but garbage in one corner and old wooden crates in another corner. There were also three doors—the first two were locked, but the third wasn’t, so I went through.

The next room was a bar. To the left, I saw something that made my eyes light up: randomly sitting on a table was a rusty axe. I gladly laid the bat I’d been carrying against the table and took the axe. It was smallish, but I could easily wield it with one hand and it’d be a hell of a lot more damaging than a pipe or a bat.

Further to the left was the bar, itself—I noticed a memo sitting on it, so I read it:

The boss said that the number this time is the last 4 digits of this store’s phone number. But the phone number is written right there on the sign on the roof. Anybody could see it from South Ashfield Street. Is that really okay?

It was then that I realized where I was and I knew what billboard the memo was talking about—it was easily visible from my window. It certainly was a bad idea to have that number as a code—well, bad for them, but good for me. I had actually called that number several times during the five days I was trapped in my room—I’d gotten in the habit of calling everyone whose number I could find or remember (old friends, acquaintances, and even my parents—it would have been worth it to have them yell at me for not calling them in two years just to hear a voice on the line) and I tried the number on that billboard on a whim once and it ended up becoming part of my routine.

“I must be tired, because I can’t even remember it now,” I sighed. Fortunately, there was a hole in the wall next to a pool table where it appeared that whoever was here last was in the middle of a game before whatever happened happened.

I definitely needed a break, so I went through the hole.

For a change, I didn’t get up right away. All that stair climbing, combined with the ladder climbing from earlier, was beginning to take its toll on me. I normally felt somewhat rested whenever I appeared back in my bed, but this time it wasn’t quite enough.

So I stayed curled up on the bed for a few minutes. I wish I could say that it was a nice, comfortable rest, but the urgency to hurry and get out of my situation was nagging at me and it just didn’t feel right to stay there. I sighed, frustrated.

Suddenly, I heard a heavy knock at the front door so I used it as an excuse to get out of bed. I wondered if it’d be Eileen and/or Frank at the front door, but on the way to the living room, I realized that it wasn’t the typical frantic banging and doorbell ringing that I heard when they were there. It was a steady three-knock-then-pause rhythm, almost mechanical-sounding.

I looked through the peephole, and I gasped from the shock of what I saw. Outside, there was no one—only huge words written in blood, on top of the handprints:

BETTER CHECK ON YOUR NEIGHBOR SOON!

Eileen? Is she in trouble?

I ran to the hole that had been made in the wall and looked through.

Eileen was sitting on her bed, reading a book. I couldn’t help but notice that there was a large pink stuffed rabbit on the bed next to her (any Silent Hill tourist would recognize it as the mascot of the Silent Hill Amusement Park) and it was slumped over. She was in almost the same pose, as the book she was reading was in her lap. She was even wearing a pink shirt. Under normal circumstances, I would have found this unbearably cute.

But, under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t be spying in the first place, would I?

In any event, she was okay for the time being, but I figured I’d better hurry up anyway. Since I hadn’t found a dire use for it yet, I deposited the sword in chest in the living room and I made a beeline for the bathroom, then—

“Oh, crap!” With everything else going on in my head, I nearly went through the hole without even checking the billboard outside for the number.

I went to my bedroom instead and looked out the window. I had to crouch a little and look up and to the left to see it, but sure enough it was there—an image of two beer-filled glasses with the title that read: Bar Southfield: 555-3750.

Chapter 16: Chaos

Back in the bar, I punched the numbers 3750 into the keypad by the door, and heard a satisfying click as it unlocked. It lead to yet another fire escape.

Suddenly, a horrible high-pitched scream cut through the silence—it could have only been Richard. It came from above, and I groaned as I looked up and saw countless flights of stairs that lead so high up, I couldn’t see the top.

As if this wasn’t bad enough, a ghost was coming at me. Not having the time or patience to deal with it, I simply ran as fast as I could up six flights of stairs without stopping—the urgency of the situation made me forget about how difficult it was.

By now, a second ghost had shown up and was also chasing me—fortunately, they weren’t very bright about it, and, while they were following closely behind, they ended up below the stairs I was running up. My head was pounding fiercely, but at least they couldn’t touch me.

Four more flights of stairs, and I’d reached the end of the path where there was a door, but it was somehow the door to Richard’s apartment because it looked like the outside of my door, only it had 207 on it.

Below the numbers was a metal placard with an abstract image and the word Chaos engraved on it.

Oh no. Please, not again. I didn’t know how many more deaths I could stand to watch, but I also couldn’t simply stand by and let it happen—if there was the tiniest sliver of a chance that I could save this one, I had to take it. Besides, I didn’t have time to contemplate it, if only because the ghosts were gaining on me, and would be on top of me any second.

I threw the door open and ran in, but nothing could have prepared me for what I saw.

Poor Richard was sitting on a chair, restrained by metal straps that held his wrists to the arms of the chair. I could hear the hiss and crackle of electricity as he thrashed about, trying to scream in agony, but only able to produce quick, halting shrieks.

I ran to him and was so determined to get him out that I tried pulling on one of the wrist straps, but I reflexively yanked my hand away and screamed as I received a nasty shock. That was when I realized that this wasn’t a normal electric chair—not only was the electricity being pumped into his arms, instead of his head, but there were no cords or switches anywhere—in effect, there was no way to stop it.

Holding my hand, I looked past him and saw the kid in the striped shirt again, with his back facing me. He raised his arm and pointed out the window.

Richard continued shrieking and convulsing, as his head started to smoke. “Ah! … Ah! … Ah! … Ah! … Ck! … Ck! … Ck! …”

In my panic, I was about to yell at the kid to stop this somehow (something that I probably would have regretted later) when he suddenly vanished.

“Ki! … ‘Kid’?” Through his torture, Richard was trying to tell me something.

As difficult as it was, I looked at him and listened hard. The number 19121 was carved into his head.

“Th!… Th!… Th!… That’s nn! … Nn! … No … Aagh! … no kiiid!” Tears streamed down his face and veins stood out all over as blood poured from his nose. “It’s! … Th! … The 11121! … Mm! … Mm! … Man!” Finally, mercifully, he slumped over, dead.

I hung my head, and began wondering if I was in hell, and my punishment was to eternally watch other people die, one after another, with no way to stop it. Even then, I doubt it’d ever get any easier to endure.

The extent of the horror I’d witnessed didn’t take full effect until I woke up and was suddenly struck ill. I instinctively ran to the bathroom and emptied the contents of my stomach into the toilet—the sight of the blood in the shower and bathmat, and the smell it still carried helped the process along, a little.

Before I closed my eyes and did the deed, I noticed that there was almost no water, as the toilet had stopped running, and probably some time ago. Afterwards, I quickly closed the lid and pushed on the handle—more out of force of habit than anything else—but, of course, it didn’t flush.

“Gross,” I muttered, weakly. My apartment was falling apart almost as fast as my sanity.

I stood slowly and looked at the hole to my left. It now looked like the holes I’d seen outside—bigger and unnaturally round with glyphs drawn around it. I shook my head, not quite willing to go through it just yet.

I left the bathroom and my radio popped on, almost as if on cue.

“Looks like another one, Captain … got 1 … 121 … on his head … it’s just like that case from ten years ago.”

I was only hearing one side of the conversation again, as if he was talking to someone through a C.B. radio, and my radio was picking up only his signal.

“Yeah, that Walter Sullivan case … But Sullivan’s dead. They even got the body …”

“What?”

“Must be some crazy copycat,” the guy on the radio continued, “Yeah, but even so …”

And, with that, it went off again.

Hearing that report brought back the queasiness. It wasn’t just Richard’s death that was getting to me—though that terrible memory would certainly stay with me for a long time, I knew—it was the feeling of panic and hopelessness that had been slowly overtaking me and was now reaching a climax so intense, it was literally making me sick.

I wasn’t at the point of needing to throw up yet, so I went to the kitchen to find something to settle my stomach. I already knew that the fridge was empty, save for a bottle of wine (which certainly wouldn’t help in this case) so I looked in the cupboard and found some saltine crackers. I slowly munched on a few of those, and it seemed to help. Unfortunately, they also made my throat dry. Come to think of it, I could barely remember the last time I’d eaten something, so it was surprising that I was able to get anything up in the first place.

I searched further and found a health drink. I didn’t even remember buying it, but it wasn’t past the expiration date, so I popped the lid and downed it. It was warm, and probably wouldn’t have been that good even if it was chilled, but it killed the thirst, which was all I cared about at the moment.

I leaned with my back against the counter. Calmer now, I was able to recall what Richard had been trying to say without dwelling on the circumstances: A kid? That’s no kid, it’s the 12111 man!

So, somehow, that kid was, in fact, the same Walter Sullivan who had committed those murders and was now—according to the radio—dead. I shook my head in confusion, but I supposed it made as much sense as everything else. Although, I had a hard time imagining DeSalvo, with all his bulk, being held underwater by a little kid—not that I wanted to. But which victim was number 11121, for Richard to mention that number specifically?

Speaking of the kid, wasn’t he pointing at something through Richard’s window?

On a whim, I walked across the living room and peered through my window.

Across the way, in room 207, a man was standing and pointing. I couldn’t make out any features since his head was hidden behind the edge of the window, except that he appeared to be wearing a dark blue coat. At one point, he tipped his head forward and glanced at me before quickly pulling it back to where I couldn’t see it again—it was too far away for me to be able to make out any specific features anyway. He wasn’t pointing directly at me, but slightly to my left.

“Eileen’s room!” I hurried back to the hole in the wall and looked in.

At first, I couldn’t see her, but it turned out that she was just too far off to the side, on the edge of her bed, probably putting shoes on. She got up and walked past me wearing a fancy—not to mention revealing—dress. I remembered her saying something about a party, so I hoped she’d leave her apartment before anything bad happened to her.

… unless I could reach her somehow.

Chapter 17: The Man in the Blue Coat

When I opened my eyes, all I saw at first was a vast space filled only with pipes of various sizes covered in rust and blood. Then I blinked and realized I was face down on a metal grating and the pipes were below.

I looked around and realized that I was in a hallway, but the walls were red and blotchy, looking almost like living, raw flesh. It wasn’t until I noticed the door to my right that I realized where I was—it had the number 301 on it.

It LOOKS like my apartment, I thought. What the hell is this?

And that’s when I saw him. He had long, stringy, dirty-blonde hair and wore a long, dark blue raincoat. He was across the hall, knocking on the door of room 303, Eileen’s room. He had a strange, almost hypnotic, way about him—he knocked slowly and mechanically, then he turned and walked away, his boots thumping heavily on the floor.

He didn’t appear to notice me, for which I was glad. This one wasn’t a victim—the next victim, I feared, was Eileen.

I started down the hallway—at one point the grating part of the floor ended and I came to a part where the floor was disgusting—it looked like someone had smooshed raw hamburger all over the floor until it was several inches thick. I could feel and hear it squish under my feet and it smelled terrible, like rotting meat. Not something I’d voluntarily touch.

The first thing I did was examine the outside of room 302—as I approached it, I saw the kid in the striped shirt knocking on the door, but as I came near, he vanished. Strangely, there was about a 10-foot-wide circular area in front of my door that looked normal—immaculate, even. I looked at the bottom of the door and saw that a red sheet of paper had been stuck under it. I tried the door, but it was locked—I had somewhat expected that.

I went to room 303 (past three dog carcasses that were scattered on the floor) and tried the knob—it was locked. I even knocked, even though there was no reason to believe that Eileen would be in there, as all the other places I’d been to had been completely abandoned, save for me and one other person, and I’d already seen the other person who was in this area.

I went back to where I started, and into room 301. I only vaguely recognized it as an apartment—the walls and floor looked old and dirty and there were areas that were fenced off with chain link fences and places where the floor was missing that seemed bottomless where all I could see were pipes in the darkness.

There was a diary sitting open on a table, so I read it:

The last few months, Joseph, the guy next door to me who gave me that rare porn magazine, looks like he’s been working super hard. He said that if he found another rare one, he’d give it to me, but he hasn’t shown his face around much lately.

He said he was a journalist and he is always investigating stuff. But I think something strange is going on with him. He’s been shut in his apartment and I can hear all these weird noises coming from there.

July 1 –Mike

So this was the apartment complex of the past. At least now I knew the name of my predecessor.

I looked around a little more—in the corner on another table was a three-foot high stack of said porno magazines with a gigantic pile of them on the floor next to it.

In the back room I discovered a picture hung on the wall of someone who looked familiar. It took me a second to realize it, but it was the super, Frank Sunderland. He looked quite a bit younger. There was a lump in the middle of the picture as if something was behind it—I pulled up the picture to find that there was a key taped to the back, which I removed and looked at. It had a tag attached which read 105 on it—it was the key to the superintendent’s room. What was this guy doing with it?

On another wall was a picture of a nurse with the words I love you scribbled on it. This one also had a key, which turned out to be a key to one of the lockers in the lobby, number 106.

There were porno magazines everywhere, but I didn’t have time for that. However there was a different magazine that lay open, so I read the article:

Teaching Despair: Wish House

“Wish House”, an orphanage on the outskirts of Silent Hill.

But behind its false image is a place where children are kidnapped and brainwashed.

Wish House is managed by the ‘Silent Hill Smile Support Society’, a charity organization sometimes called “4S”. Its true that 4S is a well-respected charity that “takes in poor children without homes and raises them with hope.” But at its heart it is a heathen organization that teaches its own warped dogma in lieu of good religious values.

Mr. Smith (temp) who lives near “Wish House” had this to say: “Sometimes at night I can hear their weird prayers and the sounds of the children crying. I went there to complain one time, but they ran me right out. Since then it hasn’t changed a bit.”

In fact, this reporter was refused admission when he attempted to take photographs in the facility. What exactly do the folks at Wish house have to hide?

During my investigations I was able to discover, however, a suspicious looking round concrete tower which appears to be part of their facilities. Unfortunately no one was willing to tell us what the tower was used for. But it seems unlikely that it has anything to do with the business of raising orphans. It may in fact be a prison or a secret place of worship.

The cult religion that operates Wish house is known by the locals simply as “The Order”. It’s a religion that is deeply interwoven with Silent Hill’s history. But its worshippers’ fervent belief that they are among the elite ‘chosen people’ has a dark and dangerous side.

I intend to continue my investigation of “Wish House” and the cult behind it. I’ve always believed that ‘telling the whole truth’ and showing the children the true path is our most important duty.

- Joseph Schreiber

I nodded upon reading the article—I’d discovered some evidence of what he was talking about shortly before Jasper Gein met his end. Not to mention that I had been inside the “concrete tower” he mentioned.

I went back toward the living room and found a hole in the wall. Finished with this area, I decided to try putting the scrap of red paper I’d found under room 302’s door, just to see what would happen. Once I did that, I went back to room 301 and used the hole to return to my apartment.

On the way to the front door, I heard a grinding sound that was coming from the laundry room, but stopped when I came near. I entered to find blood splattered everywhere—it seemed to come from the dryer’s door, which was open a crack, as if it had turned on by itself and just sprayed the stuff.

I sighed and shook my head—nothing I could do about it, after all. Not to mention that I was becoming desensitized to things like this.

I left the laundry room and went to the front door where, sure enough, were two notes. It was weird to think that I’d gone into the past to supply Joseph with paper to write notes on that I’d later find in the present. I pushed the thought away—it was one of those issues where if I thought about it too much, I’d probably give myself a headache. Besides, I doubted that the process was quite so straightforward.

I read the first note:

I figured out the riddle behind the numbers. “01121” is actually “01/21.” In other words, 1 out of 21. So Walter was planning to kill 21 people? But he never finished the job. He was convicted for the murders of Billy and Miriam Locane, the 7th and 8th victims. Afterwards, he committed suicide in his jail cell.

The grisly mass murder of 10 people shocked the world and came to be known as the “Walter Sullivan Case.”

There are two big puzzles here. The first is: What was the motive for the murders? The second is: Why did he kill himself before completing his task? Was he simply insane?

- May 2

So, going buy the number theory, by now he’d killed … nineteen out of twenty-one people. But, what did it mean?

I read the other note:

I picked up the key that Eileen from Room 303 must have dropped.

I thought I’d return it but she wasn’t home. I guess I’ll give it to the super.

- May 20

So the next stop would be room 105.

Before leaving, I checked on Eileen again. She still seemed okay—she paced back and forth, nervous about the party, perhaps. I pretended that I didn’t notice how good she looked in the purple and black mini-dress she was wearing—doing so made me feel guilty, like a voyeur.

Chapter 18: Exploration

Back in room 301 of the past, I left the room and made my way to the stairway leading to the lower floors. On the way, I ran past room 304, but it was locked.

I came to the stairway, and stopped suddenly when I saw that the man in the blue coat was sitting at the top of the steps with something in his hands he was examining. He didn’t look directly at me, but he turned his head slightly in my direction as a signal that he noticed my presence.

I needed to get downstairs and the only way was past him, so I inched my way toward him, clutching the handle of my axe tightly. There was something about this man that made me uneasy.

“I got this from Miss Galvin,” he said, softly, catching me as I was right beside him. “A long … long time ago.”

I stopped and looked down at him as he presented a small, cloth doll that was old and dirty.

“She was younger than me back then,” he continued, wistfully, looking down at the doll again.

Something about that didn’t sit right—how could she have been younger only “back then”? But perhaps he was just crazy and didn’t know what he was saying.

He paused for a long time, shaking his head. He turned the doll over and over in his hands, seemingly mesmerized by it. “She looked so happy … holding her mother’s hand …” he sighed.

I was about to walk away, when he suddenly looked up at me. “Here,” he said in the same soft voice, “I’ll give it to you.” His face had a calm and serene expression, but his piercing green eyes made me feel like a deer trapped in headlights.

Before I even realized it, I was reaching out and he was putting the doll in my hand.

I looked at it more closely—it was very small, about the size of my hand—and was probably cute, once upon a time. I looked back at the man, but he was looking down at the steps, almost as if he’d forgotten I was ever there.

Since he obviously wasn’t expecting me to say anything, I took my cue to leave.

Down a flight of stairs and around the corner (where I was out-of-site of the man in the blue coat), I’d found another bottomless chasm.

“Sorry, Eileen,” I muttered, as I chucked the doll into the chasm. I felt a little bad for throwing away something that had once belonged to her, but I supposed that, since she’d given it away, she wouldn’t miss it. I just didn’t trust that guy and wasn’t about to keep anything given to me by him.

When I’d gotten to the lobby, I saw that it was similarly disfigured as the third floor. It looked metallic and rusty, but at least there was no meat on the walls and floor. There were also more dead dogs scattered about. I tried the front door and—just as I expected—it was locked. I unlocked locker number 106 with the key I’d found, and it turned out to have nothing but love letters from Mike to someone named Rachael (the woman he had a picture of on his wall, I gathered). What a waste of time that was.

I went through one of the doors that lead to the apartments on this floor, and down the hall—the floors in this area looked like they were made of old wood that had been dyed red with blood. I went to room 105 and entered, using the key I’d found earlier.

It was weird to think that I was snooping around in the super’s apartment until I reminded myself that it wasn’t literally his apartment, but some kind of weird alternate version of it. Some of the rooms were caged off, looking like tiny prison cells, serving as constant reminders that I wasn’t in Kansas anymore.

On a table were two boxes full of random objects-presumably lost and found, neither of which contained anything interesting except for one-and-a-half pieces of red paper, so I took them, making a mental note to stick them under my … err, room 302’s door later.

On the wall, a little to the right, was a series of hooks, presumably where the keys to various apartments were kept when they were vacant-they were all empty except for one hook. I took the ring of keys from it and found that it held keys to each of the apartments. I looked through it and sighed when I realized that #303 was missing.

I looked around a little further, and discovered a bookcase, which was when I noticed the smell. I didn’t realize exactly where it was coming from at first until I found a small red box and when I brought it a little closer to my nose, it nearly brought tears to my eyes, almost like ammonia. I put it back down quickly and backed away-I didn’t dare open it.

The only other room I had access to (the rest were barred off) was the bedroom where I found a diary next to the bed:

The red box seems even stranger today. It’s giving off a terrible smell. It’s disgusting, but I just can’t throw it away.

It must have been around 30 years ago. That young couple was living in the apartment, but one day they just suddenly disappeared. Ran off just like thieves in the night. I don’t know why. It must have been money troubles, or maybe they got themselves into some kind of danger.

The problem came after that. They left their newborn baby when they took off. I even found the umbilical cord. I called the ambulance right away and I heard the baby survived, but I don’t know what happened to him. Although a few years later, I often saw a young kid hanging around the apartment. One day he just stopped coming by.

I paused for a second and thought about this. A kid hanging around the apartment. Suddenly, I remembered what Richard had said to the kid I kept seeing: “You look a lot like a little punk that I once caught sneakin’ around there!” Was it the same kid?

But now that I think of it, I’ll bet he was that abandoned baby. It’s a horrible story. Abandoning a newborn baby. That all happened in Room 302.

I nearly dropped the book at that point. I had no idea my apartment had so much history. First Joseph Schrieber’s disappearance, and now this. “If I ever get out of this, I’m gonna ask Frank why the hell he kept renting it out,” I muttered, indignantly. Then again, I supposed he didn’t make the connection between the two-it’s not like there’s an obvious link, only the room number and that could have been coincidence as far as he knew.

There was one line left:

And the umbilical cord I found there … well, I still can’t get myself to throw it away.

“Eww,” I muttered, “is that what’s in that box? Why the hell would you keep such a thing?”

Room 106 and 107 had nothing of any real interest, so I went back down the hall, past the super’s room, and to the next area of the first floor. 104 and 103 had nothing of note either.

Then, I came to room 102, which I nearly wrote off as being as uninteresting as the last few, until I noticed all the slugs. These were like the brown ones I saw in the last area I was in, they were just as gigantic, only they were pink … and they were all crowding around the refrigerator. I kicked them out of the way as best I could. Some broke open, and some I ended up stepping on, which was disgusting to say the least.

The refrigerator smelled terrible, so I don’t know why I opened it—I guess curiosity got the better of me. When I did, I saw something wrapped in a pair of bloody jeans. I gingerly grabbed the very corner of the fabric, and pulled it away, revealing the body of a dead cat. Poor thing, I thought, who would do something like this?

At least my efforts were rewarded—in one of the pockets was another scrap of red paper.

When I entered room 101, I saw a rifle sitting on a counter, but unfortunately, I’d gotten my hopes up for nothing—upon closer inspection, I realized it was only a model. However, sitting next to it was ammo for my gun, so I took it.

Hung on the wall were the sort of paper targets you’d see at a shooting range. Kind of pointless, since you wouldn’t be able to shoot at them here, I thought. I guess he just thought they looked cool.

On a bookcase in another room, I found another journal:

My eyes and skin are so itchy! That stupid cat next door made my allergy go crazy. I was so pissed off, I took my converted model gun and blasted away at the thing at point blank range. It was way cool. The thing just dropped like a stone.

By the way, that revolver that Richard in 207 carries … it’s the real thing. That guy’s dangerous.

“Says the guy who killed someone’s pet,” I scoffed. What a jerk. Although, he may have had a point about Richard—I did see him aiming a gun at a kid. I had the feeling he was just blowing smoke, but I didn’t really know for certain either way.

Finished with the first floor, I went back to the lobby and up the stairs to the second floor.

There was nothing noteworthy in room 204. However, in the hall was a ghost. Despite my throbbing head, I managed to run past it, into room 203.

Unfortunately, in room 203, was yet another ghost. I needed to explore the room, so it was time to put the sword to good use.

I was glad to have the axe with me. It turned out to be a powerful weapon and it was easy to swing. However, it still took quite a few swings to wear down my opponent, but it was easy to tell when it was defeated, as it fell to the ground (albeit slowly—really, it floated to the ground).

I dropped the axe, took the sword in both hands, and plunged it downward. It met with only a little resistance on the way down.

The ghost twitched helplessly, as the sword’s handle glowed with a steady pulse, and I breathed a sigh of relief before taking a moment to catch my breath.

There was nothing interesting in the kitchen and living room—just thousands of empty beer bottles and the smell of old alcohol. However, in the bedroom, there was a bloody shirt lying on the bed with another half-sheet of red paper in the pocket, which I took.

Before I left, I pulled the sword out of the ghost and was out of the room before it began to rise.

Chapter 19: Epiphany in 202

I entered room 202 to find rather large oil paintings everywhere, lined up against the walls—not hung, merely propped up, probably to dry. I’d taken some art classes in college, and these reminded me of a lot of the paintings I saw done by students back then—the subject matter was recognizable, but they were nothing special, and usually looked like they were copied directly from photographs, and a lot of times they lacked depth and imagination.

The first one was of a young man reclining in a chair with headphones on. There was a small sheet of paper tacked onto the upper right corner of the painting. It read: 107 – He listens to great music. But I feel sorry for him, having to live under Braintree. I was mildly amused by this as I realized that I’d seen this guy before—Richard Braintree lived across from me, and this guy was in the room directly below him. I remembered seeing him through the window as he danced around in his apartment. The noise must have drove Richard up the wall.

The next painting showed a family with lots of kids. The memo read: 206 – How can they even sleep with so many noisy kids? Besides that, they have to live next to Braintree. Another mention of Richard Braintree—you’d think he was some kind of celebrity around here.

The next painting was a self-portrait, and the one following was the nurse again—the memo implied that she was his girlfriend and that Mike guy was her stalker, which wasn’t surprising.

The next showed a plump woman posing by a stove. 204 – She’s always eating something. But I wish my girlfriend liked to cook like her. The next painting showed an old couple.

After that, was a painting of a woman holding a cat. 102 – She loves cats too much and missed her chance to get married. I kind of felt sorry for her when she was mourning for one of her dead cats. I thought about it and recalled that room 102 was where I found the dead cat in the refrigerator—apparently when her cat was killed by her neighbor, she couldn’t part with the cat so she attempted to preserve it. Disturbing, but also sad. I’ve always been someone who liked animals, but I could never understand people who mourned the death of an animal over that of other people. But, I suppose we cling to whatever we happen to find comfort it—be it human, animal, or inanimate object.

The painting of the cat lady was the last one in the living room, but I spotted a few more in the hall.

In the first one, I barely recognized a much-younger Richard Braintree. He was thinner with fewer lines on his face and his hair was jet black. His clothing was a similar style than I’d last seen him in, but it was black as well. 207 – Braintree, that prick. He’s always yelling at kids. Especially that weird one that hangs around. But he took Mike into his apartment and peeled his skin off, so he’s my hero.

“Uh … what?” Okay, so I’d seen evidence all over the place that Richard was a loud-mouthed asshole, and likely violent, but I seriously doubted that he was capable of inflicting that kind of torture on someone. I looked at the next painting and figured it must be Mike because he was holding a porno magazine and I remembered seeing about ten thousand of those in Mike’s apartment. 301 – That perverted stalker, he got what he deserved! That didn’t help. Suddenly, I remembered the bloody clothes I’d been finding—a shirt and pants that could have belonged to the same guy. They were covered with a lot of blood. No … I still couldn’t buy that—it takes a special kind of sicko to actually skin someone alive. Richard may have been many things, but … no, he would have been locked up or something by now.

The next painting was a buff guy, holding a video game controller. 205 – He’s always shut in his room. It looks like he has a lot of weird interests. I heard he tape-recorded Mike getting beaten up by Richard.

“Okay, now that I can believe.” So Richard just beat up Mike, that I could see happening. But there was still quite a lot of blood, and this version was inconsistent with the blurb on Richard’s painting. Odd, since they were written by the same guy.

The last three paintings depicted the alcoholic from 203, the “gun maniac” (as described in the memo) from 101, and—last but not least—Frank Sunderland, the superintendent.

Before leaving, I paused for a moment and stepped back and observed this gallery of characters. Amidst the smell of linseed oil and turpentine, I noticed something: all these people could be defined as a room number and a single hobby or quirk. And such … uninteresting quirks, at that: “this lady has a lot of cats”, “this guy plays his stereo loud”, “this lady is a good cook”, “this guy plays video games”, and on and on. It seemed that these people did nothing but go on about their boring, private lives—indulging in their hobbies and whatnot, and their only other entertainment was observing each other, as if the world ended just outside the apartment complex. Pretty pathetic.

And then something hit me: how, exactly, was I any better? What had I accomplished during the last two years I’d lived at South Ashfield Apartments? Actually, forget accomplishments—what had I even done in all that time?

I drew a blank. Seriously, I couldn’t remember. Well, that’s not true, I did remember doing things. I remembered getting out of bed in the morning—usually late morning, or sometimes noon. I remembered doing some work—I had a work-at-home type of job and did as little of it as I could get away with. I remembered watching the nice big T.V. I had in my living room—I did a lot of that. I remembered the usually light, but not always drinking I did—I needed the buzz to help hide from myself how dull and uneventful my life had become. And that was mostly it—two years’ worth of days, each almost identical to the last so it all practically blended into one long day.

I found myself imagining what my portrait would be like. An amateur oil painting of me with my pale skin, colorless, unkempt hair and five o’clock shadow, plain-looking clothes … maybe I’d be holding a camera, and the note on it would say: 302 – he takes pictures. Or, more likely, 302 – I only know the name and face.

Wow, what a masterpiece, I thought, dryly.

How did I get this way? I’d always been somewhat shy, especially around women, but it never stopped me from getting out of the house and doing things, which usually, somehow, lead to meeting people. I loved photography, and the only way to cultivate it was to go out and find things worthy of taking pictures of. I had dreams of traveling the world and visiting monuments just so I could capture them on film. The point is I didn’t isolate myself from the world then.

But once I’d moved into Room 302, I began shutting out people, little by little, day by day. I’d stopped keeping in touch with friends and family, never even called my parents. The superintendent even tried to make friends with me—he once had a son who was about my age when he disappeared, and I think the picture he gave me was meant partly as a way to break the ice, but it was a waste of time because I was blind to that fact. I just accepted it, thanked him, and I’d barely spoken to him since. I must have come off like a self-absorbed ass.

I remembered all the times I’d run into Eileen Galvin in the hall, the first time being when I was first shown the apartment and I noticed her walking by and she shot a smile in my direction. Then again when the deal was finalized and Frank was giving me the keys to room 302—she was leaving her apartment and when she greeted Frank, he introduced us to each other. I remembered that I sensed a little nervousness when we made eye contact and I wondered if it was because she liked me. I remembered thinking how lucky I was to have such a cute and friendly next-door neighbor, and wondering if I could eventually muster the courage to ask her out. I also remembered how I stopped showing any interest in her shortly after I moved in. And now I wondered—assuming that I’d ever find a way out of this nightmare—if it was too late now, if I’d just missed my chance completely.

I was barely even acquainted with any of my neighbors. Take Richard Braintree for example—I’d seen him when looking through my window, but I didn’t know his name, and I certainly didn’t know his reputation. And, as he made clear to Eileen, he didn’t know me either. And when I looked around at these paintings, I didn’t even know how many or which of these people still lived in the same building as me. All because I’d isolated myself.

And that was, quite possibly, the most ironic part of all. It wasn’t Walter who imprisoned me—he simply turned the key in the lock after I shut myself in.

I could have left my apartment any time I wanted, and yet I chose not to. I’d even managed to find a work-from-home job so I’d never have to leave my little sanctuary except to get food—this place that I was so enamored with that I had a picture of the building on the wall, which was, appropriately, the last picture I’d ever taken. This material, meaningless vessel apparently meant more to me than people did.

I hadn’t been trapped for five days—I’d been trapped for two years. What made it even more insane was that I honestly thought I was happy like that … until I woke up one day and realized I couldn’t leave.

I didn’t appreciate what I had until it was gone. Maybe that was the purpose of this place—punishing me for taking my freedom for granted.

“Well, I get it now!” I said to the powers-that-be, whoever they were, “Can I go home now? Better yet, can I leave home now?”

No answer.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” I had a feeling it wasn’t that simple, anyway—whatever my reason for being here, it wouldn’t show itself that easily.

Besides, it wasn’t just me. Maybe Frank knew what he was talking about when he said there was something wrong with this whole apartment.

There had been nothing interesting in room 201, so I went back down the hall and across the way to the other side of the building—the last area I hadn’t yet explored.

In room 205, I noticed video game consoles everywhere, and I remembered that this was the guy who supposedly made a recording of whatever it was that happened to Mike. I searched a bit and on a coffee table, amongst several dumbbells, was a cassette tape with the words Skinned Mike on the label. I slipped it into my pocket—the radio in my living room had a tape player, so hopefully I’d be able to play it on that and find out what the deal was.

Room 206 had nothing of any real interest … so I hesitantly entered room 207.

The first thing I noticed was the chair that Richard was electrocuted in and the very sight of it made me shudder. With no one sitting in it, I could now see that it was a normal chair with a metal cuff at the end of each arm rest—nowhere for the electricity to come from. I hung my head again, as I did when I saw him die. No matter what kind of person he was, I still wished I could have saved him, but I was simply too late. Then I noticed that Richard’s revolver sat nestled in the chair. I thought about it for a moment, then I—somewhat reluctantly—took the revolver. It felt wrong in a way, but what it came down to was that I needed it more than he did.

As I turned toward the door again, I noticed a trail of blood leading from the doorway to a wastebasket—in the wastebasket was a pair of men’s underwear, also covered in blood. I shook my head and left.

Finished with the second floor, I decided to stick the red notes under my door and go back home so I could read them—hoping to find some information I could use. On the way, I stopped in room 304 and took a quick look around as I hadn’t been to the third floor since obtaining the keys—luckily I found some more ammo for my pistol.

As I passed Room 303, I heard some noises coming from inside, and I had a bad feeling that I should try to get in there as soon as possible.

Chapter 20: Losing Hope

Back in my apartment, I found several notes under the door:

It was four years ago that they discovered the body with “12/21” carved into it. Right away I had this terrible feeling and couldn’t stop shaking. The victim had been murdered six months earlier, but Walter had been dead for seven years, having committed suicide three years before the murder. The police think it’s a copycat crime and are calling it the Sullivan Case Round Two. But something about it bothered me. –May 14

I had a similar reaction reading this message. I shuddered, thinking that there could be only one reason why I was getting this information.

The next was a barely readable message from Mike addressed to the subject of his obsession. “Guh,” I muttered, tossing it aside. I quickly went to the next memo:

I lost the key to Eileen Galvin’s room. I’ve gotta find it and bring it back. Let me think … the last place I saw it was …

This was the point where the paper was torn in half. Fortunately, there was one more half-sheet still under the door. Maybe luck would be on my side for once and it’d be the rest of the memo:

Oh yeah, I had a really wicked headache that day and just collapsed on the bed. Maybe if I look near the bed in my room I’ll find it. I get headaches every day now. It’s terrible. What am I going to do?

The bit about the headaches worried me, but there was no time to think about that now. “Near the bed in my room”? I shook my head thinking that what I was considering wasn’t even possible in the least, but it was the only chance I had left.

I went into the bedroom—as always, there was a 2-foot gap between the edge of my bed and the wall with the windows that faced the street. I slowly peeked around the edge of the bed and saw something on the floor—it was small, but not hard to see. There was absolutely no way I could have missed it with all the times I’ve gotten out of bed on that side and how many times I’d stood in that area while looking out the window, especially recently. And yet, there it was: a small plastic doll—a key ring—with a key attached to it, and etched on the key was the number 303.

I picked it up and just shook my head at the impossibility of it before running out the bedroom door and into the bathroom. Even in my haste, I couldn’t help but think of the ridiculousness of the situation—so many hoops I had to jump through just to go next door.

I ran down the hall and as I reached room 303, I heard a muffled scream

No …

My hands were shaking, and I could barely get the key in the hole, but once I did, I threw the door open, ready to charge in … but, instead, I froze in the doorway.

Eileen lay face down in a pool of blood. Her body was covered in bruises and cuts. Her party dress—for the party she’d never get to go to—exposed her back, where the numbers 20/21 could be seen carved across it. Horrified, I realized that she’d been beaten to death.

The kid stood next to her head remorselessly, facing me.

No, she wasn’t dead, I realized, as she raised her head to look at the kid. “Hey, kid,” she said, weakly, “Thanks.”

He just stood there, saying nothing as always.

She reached out and touched his shoe. “Did you … find your … m-mommy? This place … dangerous … you need … hurry … get out of here …” She looked over her shoulder at me for barely a second before passing out.

I looked at the kid. I wanted to yell “Why?”, and I even tried to move forward, but before I was able to, any strength I had left me and I fell to my knees, then slumped forward until only my arms supported me.

Tears welled in my eyes. I couldn’t take it anymore. To have come this far and not saved a single victim was bad enough, but Eileen was … special, somehow—maybe because she was the first one to notice that I was missing and seemed genuinely concerned about it, or maybe I was just used to seeing her around. If I could have saved even just her, it would have been worth it.

But in the end, none of it mattered—all the effort, struggling, and pain had been futile.

No … I can’t take it anymore.

I give up.

Sirens blared, waking me up.

I sat, wearily, and made my way to the window. Despair had sapped my strength like a sponge.

I looked out the window in time to see an ambulance back up, and drive away.

I stared out the window until it was completely out of sight. Eileen … I’m so sorry …

I don’t know why I bothered—maybe it was to torture myself—but I went to the living room and looked through the hole to her apartment one last time.

I nearly fell backwards when I saw something so surreal, my brain nearly refused to process it. The pink plush rabbit that sat on Eileen’s bed—Robbie the Rabbit, it was called—was no longer slumped over, but sat completely upright, with blood around its mouth as if it’d bitten into someone. It stared directly at me, pointing. It was completely motionless as if someone had put it in that position and it somehow stayed that way—and yet it seemed eerily alive.

Did that mean that I was next?

“So, they took the victim to St. Jerome’s, huh?” I couldn’t see who was talking, but it was a gruff voice, an older man, I guessed. Apparently there were police officers somewhere in Eileen’s apartment.

“Yeah, she’s not gonna make it.” I recognized this voice as the one I’d heard on the radio earlier—he sounded like a younger guy. “She had numbers in her back too. Walter Sullivan copycat, ‘Round Three’, huh?”

“Well, they never got the scumbag behind Round Two a few years back”, the first man said, “maybe it’s the same guy.”

“Well, what if—one, two, and three—what if they’re all the same guy?” The younger man again.

“What the hell are you talking about? You know Sullivan killed himself!” the older guy responded, practically yelling. “But the weird thing is,” he continued, quieter, “there were no clues. Crime scenes were always spotless—no fingerprints … no fibers … nothing. Just the numbers ‘20121’. I been a cop for a long time, but I never seen a case like this one. It’s almost like,” he said this last part so quietly, it was practically a whisper, “like they were killed by a ghost or something.”

This was followed by only silence—they must have walked off afterwards—so I pulled away from the hole and thought about what they said.

Eileen’s alive? According to them, she wasn’t doing very well, but it still gave me something to hope for. Come to think of it, I hadn’t found a metal placard this time, like I had when the others died. I didn’t know for sure if it meant anything, but all I needed was a shred of hope and that’s what it gave me.

I dropped off some unneeded items in the chest in the living room, then ran to the bathroom, but all my determination left me when I opened the door. The hole had been sealed off, appearing to have been neatly filled with cement. The room was dead silent. Just because I didn’t know what else to do, I tried pushing on the wall of cement, but if it wasn’t miles thick, it may as well have been, as it didn’t budge.

I folded my arms and fell back against the door, leaning on it. I’d been in and out of the hole so much I hadn’t bothered to notice just how dilapidated the bathroom had become. Huge chunks of tile and plaster lay on the floor in front of it, and more were in the sink. There was only a small chunk of mirror left on the wall, and the shelf that was below it had fallen down, spilling various items on the counter. Of course, the plumbing no longer worked, and there was still a pool of blood in the bathtub, about an inch deep, which still smelled horrible. I remembered that there was a similar incident in the laundry room and I supposed that it would just be a matter of time until the rest of the apartment became similarly disfigured.

And with the hole gone, I can’t leave, I realized with horror. I nearly lost it again until I remembered that I hadn’t checked for any messages under the door since coming back from Eileen’s apartment. Maybe there was something helpful.

I went to the front door and found two sheets of paper, a red one and a white one. The white one caught my attention first so I picked it up. It turned out to be a card with what looked like a woodcut print of an intricately drawn demon.

I took the red paper and read it:

I don’t think I can protect myself. He’s truly insane. I can’t hold on any longer. His power can’t be measured. I was so scared today that I sealed off the back of the storage room.

I wonder if Eileen Galvin is okay. She has no idea what’s going on … but she’s in danger nevertheless. – July 13

“C’mon, Joseph, don’t tell me that,” I muttered. Reading about his fear was putting fear in me as well, as it gave me a vague idea what I might be in for. His talk of constant headaches earlier didn’t help either.

Wait, I thought, what was there to seal off in the laundry room?

I went in and looked closely at the walls and on the wall adjacent to the washer and dryer, I saw something that was definitely not there earlier—there was a faint impression, like an old stain, that formed an of the same demon that was on the card I still held in my hand. I held the card up to the wall and the wall seemed to absorb it right out of my hand—it disappeared, and so did the stain. I felt the room shake and when it stopped I saw red writing on the wall where the stain was:

After he did the Ritual of the Holy Assumption, other worlds began to force their way into his universe and it began to swell horribly. But his universe is different than ours—it has its limits. And in the limits of that universe, he rules as a king. And in the deepest part of his kingdom is his Mother.

I also saw that there were four very familiar rectangular impressions on the wall—one each for Temptation, Source, Watchfulness, and Chaos. I quickly went back into the living room and retrieved each of the metal placards I’d collected and put them in their rightful places on the wall.

There was a loud echoing noise that could only be vocalized as “whoosh” as everything went black for a second—I didn’t lose consciousness, I just couldn’t see anything—then it cleared, and suddenly there was another fully-formed hole in the wall, emitting voices, whispers, just as the old one had.

Without hesitation, I climbed through.

I just hoped Eileen would be alright until I found her.

Chapter 21: Infirmary

Once again, I woke up in a strange place.

This time I was in a massive room, and my eyes opened lazily to see an industrial-looking ceiling lined with pipes and lights that either didn’t work or were turned off. I blinked a few times and sat up. When my eyes focused, I saw that I was next to a wall, and in front of me was some kind of bed with wheels that had a sheet over it.

I realized this must be the hospital as I looked around and saw other hospital beds, each one containing a body covered with a sheet and where the body’s torso was, there was a large spot of blood staining the sheet. I felt terribly uneasy looking at these, but what made it worse was realizing that I wasn’t alone.

I heard sounds—heavy breathing, along with … wet sounds. I looked over my right shoulder and saw someone behind a screen—his silhouette was clearly defined, and he was bent over something and was doing something to it. Every once in awhile, he’d tip his head back and breathe heavily. The act, whatever it was, looked oddly sexual at first glance.

I stood slowly and as I did, the screen was no longer blocking my view. It was the man in the blue coat. He was leaning over a hospital bed where the chalk-white corpse of a woman lay. He had cut a slit in her abdomen, and was reaching into the wound with his hands and doing god-knows-what in there.

Before I realized I’d done it, I gasped in horror, then clamped my hand over my mouth as if I could somehow take it back that way.

The man turned toward me—almost casually, as if he’d expected to see me there—with a smile on his face. The side of his face and some of his long hair was splattered with blood, and the effect, as he looked at me with his vivid green eyes, was positively gruesome.

I froze, terrified, as he slowly moved toward me, practically lurching. But as scared as I was, I hadn’t lost my wits completely and I knew I had to move, so I quickly looked around and saw the door slightly to my left. I made a quick 180 and ran out, closing it behind me.

I found myself in a hallway, and I dashed around the first corner I saw. I pulled out my pistol and stood with my back to the wall, the gun ready.

But, to my surprise, the door didn’t open again—apparently he was satisfied with merely chasing me out of the room. I went to put my gun away, and only then had I realized that my hands were shaking, how hard my breathing was, and how fast my heart was pounding.

I folded my arms, as if that could protect me somehow, and had to take a few minutes to calm myself. Amazingly, I think I was more afraid of this man than of any of the monsters I’d encountered. It made sense in a way—the monsters, for the most part, weren’t very smart and seemed to go on instinct. They had frightening appearances, but they behaved like common animals—granted, they’re much more aggressive than any animal I’d ever seen, but they most likely were not targeting me specifically, they simply went after me because I happened to be prey to them. But a human can think, stalk, and kill for a kind of purpose, or enjoyment. A human is intelligent enough to go insane and become unpredictable. I shivered, haunted by these thoughts.

This isn’t helping any, I said to myself, Pull yourself together and find Eileen! As scared as I was, Eileen was probably much more so—realizing that gave me the motivation I needed to get off my butt and stop cowering in the corner.

I ventured into a large area. The place was dim and dirty, the only light coming from fluorescent strips in the walls at waist level. I looked around at the many doors. She could be anywhere.

I picked a door at random and entered it to find a very large, but long abandoned, office. On the table was a box cutter which I pocketed just in case I might need it later. There was nothing else of interest except for some medical things, but I wouldn’t know what to do with those, so I left them alone and went out a different door.

In the next room there was a lightbox on the wall that had x-rays of a skull and some limb or another and Polaroid photos of injuries all over it with various notes about how to treat said injuries. Eileen’s name was written in several places, so there was no mistaking that all of these injuries belonged to her. So many gashes, so much blood. Poor Eileen. I slumped forward with my hands on the plastic surface—looking at these pictures was painful, and yet I couldn’t stop.

One in particular caught my eye—it showed her unconscious head lolling back against a mattress with blood everywhere. I plucked the picture from where it was hanging and looked at it closely. I turned around and leaned with my back against the lightbox and let my head fall back as I wondered if she could even still be alive after all this had happened to her.

I sighed and walked away from it, trying to shake off what I had seen—I wasn’t going to stop looking for her unless I saw her dead body with my own eyes. Until then, there would always be a chance that she was still alive, no matter how slim.

There was little else of interest in the room—I saw several forms that hinted that I was in St. Jerome’s Hospital, which was actually pretty close to my apartment. I also found a note:

I lost Eileen Galvin’s hospital room key. She was a patient brought in with severe injuries. I wonder if I left it in one of the other hospital rooms. I really hope not.

I shook my head. Strange thing to leave a note out about, I thought. I left the room and ended up back in the hall.

The next room I tried was locked. The following one had nothing of interest, only a hospital bed with a broken light fixture on top of it.

The next room I tried appeared to be a wash room and had a hole on the wall. I didn’t need it at the time, but I made a mental note of where it was, as I’d mostly likely need it later. Hopefully I’d have Eileen with me when I returned.

The next room I tried looked like the doctors’ lounge, as it had a couch, and a small TV in the corner. Sitting on the desk was a baby’s medical chart, as if someone had left it there for me to find. On a table was a portable medical kit, which I took with me. I’d been doing pretty well against the monsters lately, which only meant that I was due for a mistake any time.

Almost as if someone had read my mind, I opened the door to the next room to find new horrors waiting for me. These monsters were humanoid and apparently female, going by their shape. They had chalk-white skin and were scantily-clad with long hair, but their faces were distorted, and they were huge, much bigger than me at any rate. There were two of them, and they were advancing rapidly.

Not only were they big and powerful-looking, but each one carried a weapon—I couldn’t quite make out what it was, except that it had a long handle with a small head of some kind at the end, almost like a hammer. Before they had a chance to use this weapon on me, I pulled out my pistol and, noticing the gaping hole in their midsections, I aimed for that area on the one in front. Both of them doubled over as apparently the bullet passed through both, and made a disgusting sound, not unlike a belch. As the one in front was doubled over, I fired again, aiming for the head this time. It reeled back a few steps but didn’t fall until I fired a third time, and even then, it was trying to get up, so I stomped on its back. It made a gagging sound as its spine snapped, and finally it was still.

Unfortunately, as I was busy dealing with the first one, the second one had gotten too close for comfort and swung its weapon at me. I was able to duck and dodge it, but I hadn’t counted on a second backhanded swing that connected with the right side of my head, and a quick third that hit the shoulder of my already-damaged left arm before I was even able to react to the first hit.

Still holding my gun, I managed to finish it the same way I had the other one. It wasn’t until then that the adrenaline rush wore off and I felt the pain from the attacks. I felt my head—it hurt like hell and was bleeding a little but not much, and I didn’t feel any dizziness, just a terrible ringing in my ears that would probably go away shortly, so it was probably okay. Luckily, it was positioned in such a way as the attack ended up being more of a graze then a direct hit. My left arm was also alright—no breaks, but it was pretty sore and I’d probably end up with yet another bruise, but at least I could move it. All things considered, it could have been worse.

Now, I was finally able to get a good look at the room I was in, and the first thing I noticed was a hospital bed to my left that had an old, dirty sheet over it which covered a body. I stared at it for a long time before grabbing the top of the sheet and pulling on it, revealing the body underneath. It was female and chalk-white, identical to the one I saw the man in the coat operating on, and to the monsters I’d just fought. But the important thing was that it wasn’t Eileen. I lifted the sheet back up over its head to re-cover it, leaving it the way I’d found it.

One thing that I couldn’t quite wrap my brain around was the fact that all of these women looked completely identical—the only difference being that the ones that were walking around and attacking me were bigger. Just another thing in this crazy world that didn’t make sense, I supposed.

There wasn’t anything else much of interest in the room. It was apparently a supply room because it was mostly made up of shelving that had sheets of clear plastic hanging in front of them, apparently to protect whatever was normally on the shelves. However all the shelves on the first wall were empty. On the second wall, I was horrified to find body parts—the hips and legs of a woman sat with the lower legs dangling over the edge, the way one would position a doll. On a second glance, I realized it was most likely a mannequin, but I backed away from it quickly anyway. On the last wall was nothing again, so I left the room.

I had made my way to the end of the hall and had found an elevator. The wall around it was torn up and what looked like diluted blood had seeped from under the doors and had since dried. Even so, I tried the button, but it wasn’t working—either the button or the doors didn’t work, possibly both. I opened the door next the elevator and found stairs. Since I was finished searching the first floor, and my pockets were getting pretty full, I went back to the washroom and through the hole so I could drop off the items I wouldn’t need until later.

In the apartment, there appeared to be nothing going on—no notes and no one knocking on my door—but I did notice something. I glanced at the window and noticed, for the first time since I first discovered the hole in the bathroom, that it was beginning to get darker outside.

With awe, I thought, With everything that happened since then … could all of that have happened only in one day? It didn’t seem possible. Granted, I was gone a lot, but it didn’t seem likely that I had missed entire nights and their following mornings during that time—I at least would have caught some change in the level of daylight during the times I was in my apartment.

But there was no real point in contemplating it; there were more important things to worry about.

I dropped off the items I’d collected that I wouldn’t need right away, and went back through the hole.

Chapter 22: New Horrors

After returning to the hospital and going up two flights of stairs, I entered a massive hallway that was populated with old-fashioned wheelchairs that appeared to roll around by themselves as if they were being used by people who were invisible. As they came a little closer, I started to feel a headache coming on, so I guessed they were ghosts (the traditional kind unlike the ones I’d been coming across). They were at the other end of the hall, but they were moving fast, so I went into the next room as soon as possible.

Only after I had gone through the door did I realize that the floor was covered in some kind of thick grey gooey substance. It was a small room, and there was a box of ammo at the other end of it, and I was already standing in the grey crud anyway, so there was no avoiding it, so I decided to go ahead and get the ammo. It was only about six steps away, but it took awhile to get to it because the stuff was like glue. With the first step I nearly fell forward because I hadn’t realized that my feet were suctioned to the floor until trying to take that first step, but fortunately, I kept my balance—I didn’t want to know how badly this stuff would stick to my skin if I fell into it hands-first. Eventually, I did get to the ammo. This room was more of an annoyance than anything, someone’s idea of a joke at my expense—I could only imagine what the others would be like.

In the next room, I was attacked by two more of those female-looking monsters … I guess “Patients” is an adequate name. In this closed-in space, they nearly overwhelmed me—once again, I was able to kill the first easily, but the second one came down on me before I was able to stop it. However, I at least managed to dodge the first two hits, but I caught the third, once again on my left shoulder, this time in the bony area, and even adrenaline didn’t dull that pain. I let out a shriek before firing, bringing it down, and using up the clip before quickly replacing it with another. I cussed, indignantly, as I stomped the life out of this last enemy. I pulled the collar of my shirts to the side to see how much damage had been done to my shoulder—the skin had been split and it was bleeding, but not profusely, so I let it go. It hurt like hell, but once again, I got off lucky, as it wasn’t broken.

With the creatures dead, I was able to see what was in the room, although this was hardly a good thing. Against the back wall was a chain link fence and hanging from the top of it by a hook was a sheet of skin, and it could only be human skin—it was an ivory color and was in the general shape of a torso, it had apparently been taken off of someone’s back. I backed away, with my hand clasped over my mouth in horror and because the smell was overwhelming. I didn’t hesitate to hurry out of this room.

In the next room was only another lightbox on the wall with many x-rays hanging on it—Eileen’s, I presumed. There were still more hung on the walls and several more scattered on the floor, as if someone had dropped them. Once again, I hoped she was okay, however unlikely it may have been.

On the way to the next room, I had to dodge a wheelchair. Once inside, I saw that the room had some kind of metal slab suspended from the ceiling with … things on it. I had no idea what they were, but they were fleshy and smelled horrible.

The next room actually looked like a hospital room. On the nightstand by the bed was a medallion of some kind—it was silver and oblong-shaped and it hung from a long chain. It seemed important, so I put it in my pocket. Then I looked up and noticed that there was a nice, soft afternoon light coming through the window—it was almost … heavenly, and it made the room feel oddly inviting, despite the stained bed that was stripped of sheets and the IV unit by the foot of it. I remembered that it was getting dark outside my apartment and I realized that time must flow differently in this world somehow. I allowed myself a moment to soak in the warm light before leaving the room.

The next room had blood stains on the floor and in the very center of the floor was what looked like a statue of a snake with a small shiny metal object in its mouth. It sat on a base that had cords that extended from the back of it and crawled up the walls. I looked closer at its mouth and realized that it was a key I was seeing. Figuring that it must be the key to Eileen’s room, I pulled it out, then I let out a scream when a cylindrical cage slammed to the floor from above, encircling me, the loud noise and suddenness of it scaring me half to death. There was a door, but it was locked. I nearly lost it, thinking that I’d escaped from one prison only to end up in another. But I kept it together and remembered that I had a key with me.

But, this key wouldn’t open that door, would it?

Just for the hell of it, I used the key I’d gotten and the door actually opened. Not much of a security device, I thought, as I left the room.

The next room was another one that actually looked like a hospital room, only everything was covered in grime and rust. Next to the bed was a sheet of clear plastic that acted as a wall, dividing it from another room that was next to it. I believed that one of these rooms was meant to be sterile, but neither one really looked the part.

As I left the room, a wheelchair whizzed past me, and I felt a faint vibration in my pocket. Once I was back out of the hall, the vibration had stopped. I reached into my pocket and remembered the medallion I had picked up several rooms ago. I took it out and looked at it—as I did, I recalled that when the wheelchair came close, I didn’t feel any pain. I put the medallion around my neck and slipped it under my blue shirt so it couldn’t be as easily pulled off.

The room I had entered had chainlink for a floor, supported by steel beams. Suspended from the beams by ropes was what looked like a bed that was broken in half in the middle so it appeared to be bent at an angle. Swarming and circling around it were several of the giant black moths I’d seen earlier. Looking through the floor at this scene below gave me an odd feeling of vertigo, despite how sturdy the floor seemed, so I quickly left.

No sooner had I entered the next room then the ceiling dropped. I was nearly impaled on the huge metal shards that were attached to it … or rather I thought that was the case until I looked again and realized that none of them were quite long enough to reach my head, and it was merely another scare tactic, like the cage that could be opened with the key I’d obtained in that very room. As the ceiling slowly rose back to its former position, and I took a moment to catch my breath and get my heart rate to slow back down, I realized that this hospital was more intimidating than dangerous, but someone was really going out of their way to scare the living shit out of me, presumably to keep me from finding Eileen. If not for her, I probably would have given up by now.

In the next room was another Patient, but since it was alone, I managed to dispatch it with my axe rather easily. The only thing to be seen in this room was that it was another “sterile” room, so I left.

The next room was one of those white padded rooms where they keep patients who are in danger of hurting themselves. There were sharp, rusty, hooks hanging from the walls, suspended by chains, pretty much defeating the purpose. Against the far wall was a white sheet, and there was something sandwiched between the sheet and the wall, the sheet pulled taut against it so I could make out some odd shapes. I couldn’t tell what it was and didn’t particularly want to find out, so I left the room.

Back out in the hall, I had now reached a dead end. There looked to be another hospital room with a broken bed, similar to the one I’d seen earlier through the floor, but it was barricaded with chain link. I was only halfway finished checking the rooms—I had only gone along one wall, and now I needed to check the doors along the other one.

In the next room, I saw more of the fungus creatures that were in the water prison—here they were growing out of a corpse that lay on the bed in an awkward position. I groaned in disgust and left quickly.

In the next room was only dried-up flowers and a large candle. I took the candle, thinking that it might come in handy if the power completely went out in my apartment (which wasn’t too far-fetched of an idea, all things considered).

I left the room to find a wheelchair directly in front of me, and too close for comfort. The medallion I was wearing hummed and vibrated madly. I backed away from it only to be struck in the back of the legs by something hard—it was another wheelchair, and as it hit me, the first one advanced, and I ended up being hit from both sides and knocked painfully to the floor.

Having done what they sent out to do, they both turned, lifting their front wheels off the floor in almost gleeful-looking wheelies, and went in opposite directions, away from me. I rose to my feet with some difficulty, and hurried to the next room, after having learned the hard way that the medallion protected me only from headaches.

There was nothing in here but more fungus creatures—they were growing out of an empty mattress this time. But there was something odd: The room was wet; there were puddles on the floor where drops could be seen hitting it causing rings to be formed, and the mattress appeared to be soaked. At first I thought it was a leak somewhere, but then I realized that the water was falling too evenly: it was raining in the room. I merely shook my head. As there looked to be no items, I left.

The next room looked to be another padded cell, but it had a window of some kind on either side and each was broken. Behind the window on the right, there seemed to be something behind it, but it smelled, so I stayed away, deciding that I didn’t want to know what it was. On the far wall was another chainlink fence. Beyond this one was a massive dark room—I thought I saw someone in there, but it wasn’t moving and turned out to be a dead body that was hanging from something—it was too dark to be able to make out any more detail than that, which was probably a good thing.

In the next room, I started a little when I saw a wheelchair sitting by the door, and I froze for a moment. It didn’t move, and the medallion wasn’t responding, so I kept going and searched the room. There was a partially-drawn curtain around a bed, and behind it was a box of ammo for the revolver (I’d all but forgotten that I had that thing), which I took. When I turned back around I noticed that there was a lantern next to the wheelchair that was casting an eerie shadow on the floor. I jumped when the shadow moved and I realized that the shadow showed someone sitting in the wheelchair who occasionally stood up, then sat back down again. I looked back at the wheelchair—it still looked empty. This was hardly the worst thing I’d seen so far, but it was still disturbing, so I made a beeline for the door.

The next room had nothing noteworthy in it, but it was completely trashed with a broken bed and a fallen IV unit.

The following room had a series of glass cases with a cord of some kind strewn all over the room, draped over all the cases. My first thought, for some reason, was umbilical cord, but this cord way too long, more the length of a rope. There was nothing else to see in this room, so I left.

In the next room was quite a disturbing sight. Behind a sheet of glass and above a slab was dangling a body that was under a sheet with only the feet sticking out from the bottom. I shivered and was glad that there were only a few doors left to search as I left the room.

In the room after that, I found a box of ammo for my pistol, so I pocketed it. When I stood after picking it up off the floor, I noticed something on the table in front of me that smelled horrible. It was a sheet of skin—in the middle there was still a chunk of tissue attached, and it was speared with several hypodermic needles in a circular pattern. I groaned in horror and disgust as I hurried out of the room and back into the hall.

In what almost looked like a group effort, the wheelchairs all seemed to face me at once and began to quickly roll in my direction, closing in rapidly. In a panic, I dashed into the next room. I stood, still facing the door for a moment, breathing heavily.

Then I realized that it wasn’t my heavy breathing that I was hearing. It came with barely audible moans that were distinctly female—the breathing was very loud, and it was coming from behind me.

I turned around, and a scream of horror escaped from me—if it were possible for someone my age to die from the shock of seeing something terrible, then I surely would have dropped dead.

Only a few feet away from me, and so big that it filled the entire space between the floor, ceiling, and side walls, was a head—Eileen’s head. Every little detail was magnified—the grooves in her lips, the individual hairs that made up her eyebrows, and even capillaries and pores were easily seen. It had strange and grotesque-looking scars running across its cheeks and the bridge of its nose. Its eyes—each probably as big as my head and covered in a thick layer of moisture—had green irises that had grooves radiating from the giant black pupils that stared at me and twitched and quivered unnaturally. It continued with its heavy breathing which I was now realizing was almost orgasmic sounding.

My legs nearly buckled under me and I had to stand with my back pushing against the door to stay upright, my mind and body refusing to deal with what I was seeing. I cowered in that position for several seconds, disgusted as I felt its warm breath on me—I couldn’t stand to look at this hideous thing (ironic, considering who it resembled) and yet I couldn’t look away either.

And that’s when I realized something—was this thing just here to taunt me? I supposed that whoever created this world found it amusing to put a funhouse mirror in front of my face regarding my “voyeuristic” tendencies. Especially since it made no attempt to hurt me—it merely stared and breathed its quivering breaths.

“This is madness,” I muttered, shaking my head as I somehow managed to gain control of my legs again and go back through the door.

Chapter 23: Eileen

There was only one door left to try, and for once I was glad to have found it locked. I fished the key out of my pocket, the key to the room Eileen was supposed to have been in, unlocked the door with it, and went in.

There was a single hospital bed, and laid out on it was none other than Eileen Galvin—the real one.

The first thing I did was lay my axe against the corner, as it wouldn’t be a good idea to have her wake up and see someone looming over her with an axe.

I went around the side of the bed and looked at her. Although her wounds were cleaned and dressed, and therefore didn’t look as bad as when I saw her in her apartment, seeing the extent of the damage he had done to her up close was heartbreaking. Her right eye was bandaged—black eye, I figured—and there was a bruise on the right side of her mouth. There was an especially nasty looking bruise under her other eye, one on the side of her neck and in countless other places. Her right forearm and lower left leg were bandaged, and her left arm was in a cast and sling. She seemed so small and fragile—how could someone do something like this?

I was beginning to worry that she was dead until I saw her eye twitch and her mouth move slightly as a small groan escaped from it. She opened her eye, looked up at me, and instantly started screaming hysterically as she lunged forward into a sitting position and grabbed a pole at the corner of the bed and tried to get away from me.

I quickly sat next to her on the bed and put my arm around her shoulders from behind and held her firmly—I didn’t expect her to be comforted by that after what she’d been through, I was mostly trying to keep her from getting away until she had calmed down.

She screamed louder and fought against me at first and tried to squirm out of my grasp.

“Eileen!” I yelled, raising my voice above her continued screaming so I could be heard. “Eileen! Relax!”

Her screams trailed off as she gave up and slumped forward, sobbing. She looked so helpless and pitiful like this with all her injuries, I nearly could have cried, myself.

I stood up and backed away a bit, figuring she would probably need some space.

She avoided eye contact for awhile, but once she had mostly composed herself, she turned and looked at me again. This time, her eye widened a little with recognition, but it didn’t stop her from shrinking away from me, apparently still not convinced that I wouldn’t hurt her. “Henry? From next door?” she said, her voice sounding a bit weak and broken, from the crying, “What are you doing here?”

If only she knew what a loaded question that was. “I don’t … I don’t know where to start …” I responded, anxiously. “There was this strange hole in my room … I saw people getting killed … all these weird other worlds …” I wasn’t even making any sense, but I guess I needed to tell someone about everything so badly, I ended up trying to blurt it all out at once. “And I saw you get attacked too …”

“What are you talking about?” She said weakly, almost defensively, then snapped, “I’m s’posed to believe that?”

I admit, that stung a little, but I couldn’t blame her—I probably sounded like an idiot. “But it’s true,” I continued, “And … there was a kid with you …”

She fell silent and looked away, thoughtfully. “I remember now,” she recalled, “I was getting ready to go to my friends party … the boy protected me from the man in the coat …” She looked at me again, apologetically. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you … I guess there’s something wrong with me …”

I shook my head and said quietly, “No, it’s okay …”

“I just feel so scared,” she continued, almost on the verge of tears again. “This place … what is it, anyway?”

Now it was my turn to sound apologetic. “Uh … I don’t know either. But I do know that if you get killed here … then you die in the real world too.”

She shifted nervously.

“Anyway,” I continued, not wanting to let her dwell on how much danger she was in, “the only way out of here is through that hole.”

“Okay,” she said, anxiously. “Okay, take me with you.” She held up her hand as a signal for me to take it and help her stand, which I did. She continued hanging onto it after that, which was fine with me.

On the way out, I picked up my axe which was covered with blood by this point. She gave me a worried look.

Back in the hall, we turned to the right, and suddenly she gasped and moved behind me. “What the hell is that?”

The wheelchairs were gone, but there were two Patients at the end of the hall coming in our direction.

Fortunately, they were far off, so I had a little time to prepare. I gently let go of Eileen’s hand. “Stay back,” I said quietly, “I’ll handle this.”

She looked like she was thinking of trying to stop me, but she said nothing, and stayed where she was. I was proud of her for how well she was taking it.

I decided to try to save ammo this time since I was in a more open area and they were less likely to be able to corner me. As I approached the monsters, I wound up and swung hard with the axe, hitting the first one in the stomach. I must have hit it harder than I thought because it practically flew backwards, taking the other one (that was behind) with it. The one in front stayed down, so I finished it off with a stomp. The second one managed to get back up, but I swung at it about four times before it had a chance to do anything (not unlike some of them had done to me earlier) and I finished it off, as well.

As I stopped to catch my breath, I heard Eileen slowly approaching. I turned to see the look on her face—I thought she looked terrified at first, but as she came closer, I realized that it was more a look of shock as she looked at the dead monsters, then at me. “How … how did you … they never even touched you.”

“Practice, I guess.” I responded, a little self-consciously. “And it … doesn’t always go this smoothly,” I admitted, sheepishly, as—without realizing it—I rubbed the right side of my head, where one of the patients had hit me earlier.

“What are those things?” she said so quietly it was almost a whisper.

“I don’t really know,” I admitted, feeling a bit defeated. That seemed to be my answer for everything.

I think she sensed my frustration because she picked that moment to slip her hand into mine again. She laced her fingers between mine, and despite the circumstances, it was kind of … nice. “We should probably keep going, right?” She said, changing the subject.

I nodded and recalled that I hadn’t tried the elevator next to the stairs on this floor, so I hit the button. It did call the elevator, but the buttons inside didn’t do anything, so we ended up taking the stairs. I was afraid that she would have trouble with her bandaged leg, but aside from a slight limp, she seemed to handle it alright—I helped her along, as best I could.

In the first floor hall, there were two more patients waiting, so I motioned for her to hang back as I dealt with them. Fortunately, they came at me one at a time so I wasn’t overwhelmed this time and I was able to finish them both off with the axe.

From this point, it was only a short way to the washroom that had a hole in the wall.

Once we were there, I took her hand again. She looked confused, so I reassured her that it would be okay.

Then I climbed into the hole myself, and then lead her in as well.

Chapter 24: “To the Deepest Part of Him”

When I woke up, the first thing I did was look around to find that Eileen was gone. I don’t know where I expected her to be, but on the bed next to me seemed the most logical place (however awkward that might have been) if only because I thought I was holding her hand the entire time.

I stood up and almost immediately I heard a crash coming from the living room, and as soon as I went out there, I noticed that the air felt … heavy. Oppressive. It was almost as if just staying here too long would give me a headache. I looked down to find that the ceiling fan had fallen and lay broken on the floor, against the newly mauled coffee table that it had apparently hit on the way down.

Then I looked up and found that a few more sheets of red paper were next to the bookcase in the living room. I stepped over the fan and picked up the first one:

The weather that day was very strange. Even though I avoided the earlier storm, there was a thick fog clinging to everything. Fortunately, that allowed me to avoid being seen and get right to work. The police are still stubbornly acting as if it’s just a copycat case. So I figured things probably hadn’t been touched here. But I was wrong. I should have come here sooner.

The cemetery was in such bad condition that it was almost sad. The storm must have raised the sea level. Anyway, that’s how it was when I found Walter Sullivan’s grave.

At this point, the page was too damaged to read, but there was more that I could make out below:

I’m still in shock. There was no body in the grave … and on top of that, written on the coffin were the numbers “11/21” …

June 14

I had seen that grave, it was in the forest, near Wish House. So that was Walter Sullivan’s grave … and it had numbers on the coffin, not unlike the numbers on his victims.

I had some strange ideas forming in my head as to what the significance of these particular numbers were (“That’s no kid, it’s the 11121 man”) but I wasn’t quite ready to seriously consider any of them, so I went to the second page:

How long has it been since I left this room? I can’t tell if it’s been days or hours. But during that time, they’ve found the body of “14/21”.

I’ve been having hallucinations lately. I think I’m losing my mind.

This one had no date written on it. I hated reading these notes, the ones where Joseph lamented about the horrors he went through—it scared the hell out of me. I sighed, and went on to the next note:

Walter Sullivan did kill himself. He died in his prison cell of blood loss after he stabbed himself in the neck with his spoon. His body was buried in a cemetery just outside his hometown of Silent Hill in an unmarked grave. After that, his name became famous all over the world and it looked like his string of mass murders was finished at 10 out of 21.

But 3 years later, they found a corpse that had “12/21” carved into it. The corpse was from 6 months earlier. In other words, the person was killed two and a half years after Sullivan committed suicide. The MO was exactly the same as Sullivan’s … except for one thing: all 10 of Sullivan’s victims were found with their hearts cut out and their chest wounds sewn together expertly with thread. On the other hand, the “21/21” victim still had their heart.

Naturally the police think it’s a copycat and are proceeding on that basis. But they haven’t made any progress and recently discovered victim number 13. This corpse also had their heart intact. The police still haven’t identified a suspect.

I’ve got a working hypothesis. Very few people knew the details of the original crimes and would be able to copy Sullivan’s MO so precisely. First, I’ll head to Silent Hill. To the graveyard near that beautiful little lake. Maybe I’ll find the answer there.

June 11

Although I had read the notes out of sequence, things were still starting to come together … somewhat. After all that I’d been through and seen lately, it was hard to discount the idea of Walter Sullivan coming back from the dead to continue his mission, as disturbing as it was.

And if that was true …

“… the boy protected me from the man in the coat …”

… then the man in the blue coat that I kept seeing would have to be …

“… Walter Sullivan,” I whispered in horror.

Somehow I think I’d always had a vague feeling that it was him, possibly even when I first saw him outside of Eileen’s room, but I didn’t have any information to back it up at the time—all I knew was that he was dangerous, somehow, and not to be trusted, which was later confirmed by the little episode in the hospital.

Having still not found any sign of Eileen, I turned around and saw something under the front door. I went to it quickly, hoping that Joseph might have some kind of answer for me. This time, it was a red envelope that had a small key and a note inside:

You’ve seen that world as well … that horrible nightmare. But if you get sucked into it, it’s not just a nightmare. Don’t get lost in there. If you get pulled in, you’ll be killed.

But there’s still hope. Maybe this small key will guide you. If you’ve seen the door with the placard set in it, look on the other side of the door. Then keep going down. To the deepest part of him. And look for the ultimate Truth.

July 20 –Joseph

“Thanks again, Joseph,” I muttered with a sigh of relief. I didn’t know what the key was for, exactly, but I figured that it must unlock some door in the hospital. Eileen was probably still there as well.

Without hesitating, I dropped off the items I didn’t need anymore, and went through the hole in the laundry room.

I awoke, back in the washroom of the hospital. I must have inadvertently made a noise as I was standing.

“Henry!” Eileen turned and greeted me with a relieved smile. Such a welcome sight.

I returned it—the first time I’d smiled since I could remember—as she ran up and threw her arm around my neck and hugged me tightly. I wished I could have appreciated it more, but not being used to human contact these days, I just tensed up and stammered, “Ha-“Have you been here the whole time?”

“Yeah, she said, as she pulled away, “and I didn’t see any hole, either. You just … disappeared, all of a sudden!” She was so frustrated, she was nearly in hysterics.

I sighed. It seemed that every time I thought I’d found a possible way out of a situation, a roadblock came up at the last possible second.

“I can’t stay here by myself,” she said, panicking, “I’ll be cursed … I know it! What am I gonna do?”

If I couldn’t stash her someplace safe, then I’d have to take her with me … not that I really knew where I was ultimately going. Then I remembered the key I had just gotten. “I might know a way to save you,” I said, folding my arms, thoughtfully. “Do you know about someone named Joseph?” I spoke slowly this time, careful not to blurt everything out as I had earlier.

“Yeah …” she said, walking carefully to the other side of the room and leaning with her side against the wall, “He was the guy who … lived in your apartment before you. I think he was a journalist or something.” She turned so her back was against the wall. “He disappeared about six months before you moved in. But toward the end … he started acting really weird …”

“Yeah,” I interrupted, “he was doing an investigation … about a religious cult and a man named Walter Sullivan.” I paused and tried to find the best way to word this. “I got this … letter from him. He told me to go down … ‘down to the deepest part of him’ … and find the ‘ultimate truth’.”

She had pushed away from the wall and was listening intently, shaking her head slowly. I can only imagine how strange it sounded—the fact that I was getting letters from Joseph, the guy who up and disappeared two and a half years ago—but she seemed to be taking everything in alright.

“Let’s do that,” I continued with determination, “There must be something down there.”

She paused for a moment—not quite sure what to make of all I had told her, I’m sure—then nodded. “Okay, I’ll do it. You’re the only chance I’ve got,” she said with a nervous smile, “I’ll stick with you.”

We left the room, and on impulse, I decided to try the elevator again, if only because I knew that the key I’d gotten from Joseph would be too small to fit in a normal door lock, so I had to think of an unusual place to try it.

Sure enough, since the elevator was on the second floor, it revealed a gate that had a latch with a very small keyhole in it. I took the key out of my pocket and it was a match.

Beyond the gate was a very long stairway, at the bottom of which I saw shapes moving. As we walked further, I realized that they were more Patients … three, this time.

“Oh, God …” I muttered, as I pulled out the pistol.

Shooting from a distance was much less effective than shooting up close—I could have guessed that before even trying it—but, knowing that I could be overwhelmed by two of these things, I wasn’t about to let three of them anywhere near me. Fortunately, thanks to my luck in finding a lot of ammo, and my attempt to conserve it as much as possible, I had a lot to spare. More bullets hit their targets than missed them, but not by much.

Whenever one of the creatures fell, they would tumble down the stairs and lay stunned at the bottom. I figured that whatever time I took to finish one off would just give the others more time to recover, so I opted to simply step over the bodies quickly, and helped Eileen do the same.

Although she was quiet about it, I could see on her face how disturbed she was by everything. I could only imagine what she was thinking about how nonchalant I probably seemed about all this. Hell, even I don’t know what to make of that—I guess you can’t know what level of calmness you’ll have in a situation until you’re forced into it. No, I was giving myself a little too much credit—I was calm because I’d become desensitized … and I wasn’t sure how I felt about the idea of that happening to Eileen.

At the bottom of the stairway was a grey door that I recognized, having seen others like it in the various worlds—it had the same design as the holes I’d been using to go back and forth between these worlds and my apartment. But unlike the other doors, this one was unlocked.

We went through the door and the outside area was so foggy that I could barely see five feet in front of me. I held out my hand, and Eileen took it—I didn’t expect to be separated from her here, but the thick fog made me not want to chance it.

We were on a winding, declining walkway that was made of concrete and brick, and lined with intermittent chainlink fences. And this place wasn’t merely uninviting, but frightening as well, I realized, as Eileen gasped at something to the left.

I turned to see a body hung high above the abyss that was within the spiral of the walkway—it was a woman whose arms were bound behind her back and she had many sharp objects inserted into her abdomen. I couldn’t help but remember that I’d seen Walter fiddling with a female corpse in the hospital and doing something to her abdomen, and I shuddered, wondering what this obsession was about. Surely he had some sort of issues with women, as the way he’d killed Cynthia and attempted to kill Eileen was generally more violent than the methods he’d used against his male victims. But I had no idea why, or even if I wanted to know. I shivered a little.

“This is a nightmare,” Eileen whimpered, “It can’t be happening.”

I blinked and had to swallow a lump in my throat when I heard this. I hadn’t really thought about Cynthia in awhile, but what Eileen said reminded me of her insistence that she was dreaming. I didn’t know what to say in response—reminding her that it wasn’t a dream would be cold, not to mention unnecessary, but nothing was to be gained by lying to her and saying that it was—in Cynthia’s case, it was comforting words as she was dying, but I wasn’t going to let Eileen suffer the same fate. I just looked at her and squeezed her hand tighter for a moment, hoping it’d give her at least some comfort to remind her that I was there for her.

She returned with a sad, but appreciative look.

Chapter 25: Old Horrors Revisited

At the end of the path was another door, which lead to a small, industrial-looking room with metal shelves and concrete walls.

“I wonder if Joseph is still alive,” Eileen muttered.

I paused. “I don’t really know,” I responded. “The letters I’ve been getting from him were intended for whoever ended up in the apartment after him—whatever happened, he seemed to know that it was coming.” It didn’t really answer her question, but it was all I could think of to say.

We went through the next door and I found myself in a familiar-looking hallway—grey concrete with sparse lighting, and everything was covered in a layer of dust. But more important was the ape creature hopping around in front of me.

“I hate these things,” I muttered in response to the sound of revulsion that Eileen made upon seeing them.

It was a fairly straight-forward battle—I wound up and swung the axe hard, knocking the creature down. Unfortunately, unlike the dogs, it didn’t stay down after only one swing—in fact, it jumped to its feet rather quickly. But, three quick swings of the axe later, it finally fell and stayed down.

Before I had a chance to appreciate the victory, a second one came loping around the corner, probably having heard the commotion. I was able to wind up before it approached me, but it managed to take a swipe at me before I was able to make my move—it struck me in my already sore left shoulder, but not hard enough to knock me over. I winced and cried out in pain, but I kept my stance and delivered the blow that knocked it over, then finished it off the same way I did the first one.

With the monsters defeated, I leaned with my back to the wall, and gritted my teeth as I rubbed my shoulder furiously. How many hits had I taken there by now? I could only imagine all the interesting colors the skin was turning under my shirt.

With the monsters dead, Eileen went to my side and asked if I was alright.

I told her I’d be okay, as I’d made it a point not to use my left arm much.

She nodded and gave me a look that I assumed was one of compassion.

We reached the end of the hall and I found that I was not only back in the subway station, but in almost the same spot where I met Cynthia. All I could think was, Why on Earth would I end up back here?

There was really only one path to take, and that was the one I had taken earlier, so we headed to the turnstile.

“Oh! Wait a second,” Eileen said. She had spotted something in one of the short halls that branched off from the main one we were in and went to check it out.

I was about to follow her, or at least wait for her to return, but I saw something strange on the floor of the main hall: a trail of long straight black hairs.

I’d killed all the monsters in the area, so I didn’t have to worry about Eileen for the time being, and I was too curious about this odd sight to let it go, so I followed the trail around a corner and realized that they led all the way to the turnstile of Lynch Street Line. On the other side, and slightly underneath the turnstile, was what looked like a woman’s dead body. By this point, I had seen plenty of dead bodies and while it continued to disturb me, it became more of the same after the hospital and it was beginning to lose some of its effect. But something was different this time, and I was overcome by a terrible feeling.

And then I realized why: her skin was white and covered with veins, not the healthy golden-brown color it once was; her hair was a dull black and incredibly long, falling everywhere, not shiny dark-brown and swept up in back like the last time I saw it. But I still recognized her.

But who could have moved her body back here? I had seen it being loaded into an ambulance and carted away. It shouldn’t have still been in the subway station.

And that’s when I heard the moaning and cries of torment—the signature sound of a tortured soul, a ghost.

I stood frozen, not wanting to accept what I already knew.

She crawled, like some kind of unearthly animal, through the bars of the turnstile as if they weren’t even there, then she rose to her feet, floating.

“Cyn-Cynth-ia …” I gasped, in practically a whisper, shaking my head.

She had become one of them.

She approached me, slowly—her body floated, slightly above the ground, but her hair was so long that it dragged along the floor.

I hadn’t even noticed that the medallion that hung from my neck was humming like mad … until I heard a shattering sound as it broke. Suddenly, I was nearly crippled by a screaming headache.

And that was when she made her move. Her hair spread out—apparently she could control it—and as it moved away from her face, I saw that she had no eyes and that her jaw could unhinge like a snake and open unnaturally wide.

I’m not even sure at what point I dropped my axe, but I backed away and reached for my gun, but by that time it was too late.

Her hair wrapped around me, like tentacles, and painfully tight—it was nearly cutting into me—and restrained my arms against my body as she grabbed at my chest, digging her nails into me, and sunk her teeth in, about at the area where my heart was, apparently intent on chewing her way to it.

I screamed and twitched helplessly, overwhelmed with agony as the headache pounded mercilessly in my skull and the aggressive teeth tore at my skin.

“Henry!”

I was on the verge of passing out when I heard Eileen’s voice and saw that the ghost was being flogged with a stick-like weapon of some kind.

Too distracted to deal with me now, I was released as the ghost turned toward Eileen, who was screaming at her, and fighting furiously.

Finally, my headache receded enough that I was able to focus, so I took out the gun, told Eileen to stand back, and emptied the clip into the ghost until it fell. Defeated, it dropped to the floor and slithered away in a snake-like fashion, leaving a trail of long hairs behind.

My legs felt weak, so I leaned with my back against the wall, with my hand pressed to my forehead. I thought I was going to pass out, but as the pain receded (presumably as Cynthia’s ghost went further away), I opened my eyes and looked down to see that Eileen was holding me and shaking me. My body must have gone numb because I wasn’t even aware of when she started doing that.

“… happened?” I only caught the tail-end of whatever she was saying, but I got the gist of it.

“Headache … worst one so far … I couldn’t …”

“Shh … Henry … you’re not making any sense,” she said softly as she put her hand on my forehead, then moved it to my cheek—she was merely checking to see if I was feverish, but it seemed like such a tender and loving gesture, that it relaxed me.

Of course what I said making sense—this was the first ghost she’d ever seen, and I was going on about headaches as if the connection was common knowledge. I took a deep breath and recomposed myself. “Sorry,” I said, more calmly, “I’ll explain in a minute.”

I straightened myself and pushed away from the wall. Suddenly, I felt a stinging pain that reminded me that I had wounds on my chest. I looked down and saw that several spots of blood had spread over the tears in my shirt.

“That looks bad,” Eileen said, more to herself than to me.

Chapter 26: Treating Wounds

I had a portable first-aid kit with me, so we went into one of the restrooms.

I felt a little weird about taking off my shirts in front of her, but it was the only way to get to the wounds, and I wasn’t about to make her wait in the hall, so I removed the long-sleeved blue one, and then the white t-shirt I wore under it, draping them both over a nearby sink.

That was when I realized that Eileen was staring at me.

By all means, go ahead and make this more awkward, I thought, until I looked down and realized what she was looking at—my blue shirt had concealed it, but my upper body was covered in cuts, abrasions, and bruises. It made sense—while I’d mostly managed to avoid serious injuries, I’d still been knocked around a lot. Naturally, my left arm had taken the worst of it and had black and blue marks on the upper arm that were worse at the shoulder area. Of course, I was still no worse off than her—the surprise must have come mainly from of how easily she saw me deal with the Patients and other monsters.

She gently touched my left forearm where I’d bandaged it after I nearly became dog food. “What happened?”

I looked at it. It had stopped hurting a long time ago (or maybe I was just too preoccupied to notice it), so I’d all but forgotten about it. “This was from the last time I got careless,” I said, flatly.

She looked me over again, shaking her head. I was uncomfortable with being on display, but I indulged her curiosity and kept my mouth shut. Besides, I had taken a long look at her injuries when she was asleep on the hospital bed, so I guess this would make us even.

“How long have you been here?” she asked, her voice full of concern. “Is this where you’ve been all this time … that you’ve been missing?”

“Not exactly,” I responded, “I … I got locked in my apartment for several days … then that hole showed up, and it lead me to this world.” I tried to put things together in my head in such a way as it’d make sense to her before actually saying them. It wasn’t easy—I’d been through so much, and this was the first time I’d really tried to explain it to anybody. “I don’t … I don’t know how long I’ve been here … less than a day in the ‘real world’, but … I dunno. It feels like days. I think time moves faster here.”

She just nodded, sympathetically. She looked like she wanted to say something, but she held it back, whatever it was. I was actually glad—I was already feeling more vulnerable than I was comfortable with, and her pity was more than I could deal with at the moment.

I opened up the first-aid kit and went to work, cleaning the wounds—they were pretty nasty, with deep teeth marks near the middle and gouges on either side, caused by finger nails. The blood had seeped through both shirts and ran down to where it stained the waistband of my jeans.

“So what was that you were saying earlier?” She said, trying to give both of us a distraction. She now had her back turned to me as she politely looked away.

“Oh, yeah,” I muttered, “Well … as you saw, there are ghosts here. I think they were Walter Sullivan’s victims.”

She shifted, uncomfortably, at this last part—probably thinking about how close she came to being one of them.

I continued quickly, so as not to let her dwell on it. “Whenever they’re close by … for some reason, it makes my head hurt.”

“Oh,” she responded, curious, yet disturbed.

I thought about her fighting off Cynthia’s ghost—I never would have guessed that she had that kind of aggressiveness in her. “I guess it doesn’t happen to you. The headaches, I mean.”

She shook her head.

“Hmm …” I trailed off. Great, I thought, another thing that’s “special” about me. Not that I would have wished these headaches on my worst enemy, let alone Eileen—I just didn’t get why some rules applied to me and not her, such as why I was able to see and go through the portals, while she wasn’t. “Anyway,” I continued, “going by how bad the headache was, that one must be stronger than the others.”

“And that’s how it got you,” she said, more as a reiteration of what she thought were the facts than a question.

“Partly. But, like I said, I got careless.” I left it at that, as I wasn’t up for talking about Cynthia.

“Well, don’t do it again,” she said, with a hint of facetiousness in her voice. “You scared me half to death.”

“I’m sorry.” I muttered, looking away. I knew she didn’t mean it that way, but I should have been more careful, if only for her sake. She was depending on me, and if something happened to me …

“Aww …” she said, in a soothing voice, turning to face me for a moment, “I didn’t mean it like that … I just … don’t want anything to happen to you is all …”

I smiled a little. It was strange being around someone who wanted to look out for me, but not unpleasantly so—definitely not.

At this point, I had finished cleaning the wounds and was ready to start applying bandages. After an awkward silence, I looked at the weapon she still held and realized that it was a riding crop. “Where did you get that?”

She looked at it. “It was down that one hall where I stopped to look. I wanted my own weapon, just in case.”

I remembered the look she’d given me earlier when my shoulder was hurting and now I was realizing what it meant—I had thought she felt bad simply because I was in pain, but it was more because I had to fight alone despite the pain. She wanted to help, but had no way to do so at the time. I was so quick to step up to protect her, it had never even occurred to me that she might want to do the same for me.

“It seems to do a lot of damage for something so light and easy to use,” she continued. She thought about it, and added, “It’s almost as if … someone left it there for me.”

“I know,” I responded, “I keep finding ammo for my gun everywhere … and other useful things.” I stopped and looked at her, wondering if she was thinking the same thing I was.

“You don’t think it’s Joseph …” she said, reading my mind. “Is it possible?”

“I don’t know,” I responded. “Since he’s been leaving me notes in my apartment, maybe he could be leaving me other things as well.” I thought about it some more, and shook my head. “But this is kind of a stretch.” Then I added, muttering, “Then again, nothing is too much of a stretch for this place, is it?”

Chapter 27: Separation Anxiety

After the wound was all dressed (and so was I), I decided that the best way to go would be to retrace my steps from the last time I was in the Subway Station and see what was left to discover.

It wasn’t until we returned to the turnstiles that I remembered that I’d need a subway token to get through, and that I had dropped those off at home. I wanted to avoid going back home because I knew Eileen wouldn’t want to be left alone—it was inevitable that I’d have to go back there eventually, but I had hoped to put it off as long as possible. I rummaged through my pockets to see if I missed one … as luck would have it, I had one stuck in the very bottom of the left front pocket of my jeans. “Wow,” I muttered, “how often does that happen?”

I dropped the token into the Lynch Street Line box, and we went through the turnstile—I was glad to see that there were no ghosts in the next area as there were earlier—then down the two flights of stairs to the subway platform.

The first thing I noticed upon stepping off of the stairs was a vending machine that looked like it was still working. It wasn’t plastered with logos like most are. There was merely a coin slot, an unlabeled button, and the compartment where the sodas (or whatever) came out, and it was lit up. The only mark decorating it was a number one with a symbol that looked somewhat like a number eight with a vertical line in it. It looked almost like someone intended to put “1$” and messed up (which would have been a mess-up anyway).

At the subway, I noticed that the door I had used to go through both trains was now closed, but two others were open. Both lead to dead ends, but each had something worth finding at the end.

At the end of the first path I saw a colorful toy box sitting on one of the seats—it was bright red and turquoise with plastic yellow chains wrapped around it and it looked so out-of-place that I figured it had to be there for a reason. I picked it up and heard rattling inside. On the box was the number fifty with the same symbol that was on the vending machine outside.

“You’re gonna need a key,” Eileen said, pointing over my shoulder at a lock that connected the two chains together.

“Maybe not,” I said as I tried pulling at the chains, but they turned out to be stronger than they looked, not unlike the ones on the door of my apartment. “Stand back,” I said to Eileen as I placed the box on the floor.

“Oh god …” Eileen backed away.

I raised my axe, and brought it down hard on the toy box. It took a few tries because I kept missing the chain itself and only making slits in the box—I had become good at killing things with the axe, only because there wasn’t this much precision involved, trying to hit something as small as a chain was something else entirely. Finally, I got the chain, but of course the axe didn’t stop there and hit the box just right so that it shattered on impact, causing plastic shrapnel to scatter all over the floor.

“Wow,” she said, dryly. “Hopefully you didn’t totally obliterate whatever was inside.”

I moved a few pieces aside and revealed what I was looking for. I held up a large plastic coin that had the “1” along with the eight-like character with the line through it—the same symbol that we saw on the vending machine on the way to the subway. “Bingo,” I said, smugly. There were more—forty-nine others, I presumed, but one was all I needed.

At the end of the second path, I saw something shiny on the floor. I was elated when I bent over and realized what it was.

“What’s that?” Eileen asked, upon seeing my face light up.

“This is what keeps the headaches away,” I said, holding up a brand new medallion, which I then put around my neck (I had taken off the old one and threw it across the bathroom in an uncharacteristic display of anger before taking off my shirts). It was good timing, too, because no sooner had I done that then I heard the familiar moans made by Cynthia’s ghost, but they quickly tapered off—apparently it was scared off by the medallion.

We went back to the vending machine and I put the coin in the slot and listened as it clattered into the machine. Then I pressed the only button and listened as another clattering noise was made as whatever was inside the machine dropped into the compartment below.

I reached in and pulled out a key, and felt a familiar sinking feeling as I read the tag that was attached to it: MURDER SCENE.

I sighed and stuck it in my pocket. “At least I know where to go next,” I muttered.

Eileen seemed to sense the mood change as I obtained the key. “Henry … ?”

I tried to think of where we could go that would lead to the King Street Line. I realized that there was a door that we hadn’t tried. “This way,” I said, ignoring her for the time being.

Sure enough, the door was unlocked, so we went in.

It wasn’t the same room where I’d gotten separated from Cynthia (for the second time), but it was identical to that room, and I realized that it must be connected to it somehow and therefore it must lead to the King Street Line. What I didn’t take into consideration was that the only way to get there was to go down a ladder.

I grabbed one of the rungs, absentmindedly.

Eileen scoffed. “I can’t climb a ladder with my arm like this,” she said, frustrated.

“Oh … you’re right,” I said. I took a deep breath and mapped out the subway station in my head. I needed a way to get through the King Street Line turnstile—only then would she be able to come with me, because that was the only way to get there without having to climb any ladders. “Okay,” I said, thoughtfully, “you wait here, and I’ll see if I can—”

“What?” she said, the fear in her voice unmistakable. “You’re leaving me here?”

I put my hands in the air and spoke quietly. “It’ll be okay. I won’t be gone long, I promise. I just need to find some things.”

She sighed and looked away. I think she wanted to believe me, but she was just too scared.

I moved to where she was looking, forcing her to look at me. “Listen … I’m going to get you out of here. But you have to trust that I know what I’m doing. I’ve been in this area before and I think I know where everything is. Either way, I will come back for you.”

“Okay, okay,” she said, embracing me. “I trust you.”

I tensed up again, still not used to this kind of physical contact, but when I realized she was on the verge of tears, the awkwardness I felt was superseded by a need to comfort her and I put my arms around her—avoiding touching the area of her back where the numbers had been carved, as I’m sure it would have hurt. “Sorry,” I said, “I wish there was another way.”

She let out a shuddering sigh that was muffled against my shoulder. “I know. I’ll be okay. Just … hurry back, okay? And stay safe!”

“I will,” I said, stroking her hair, “I promise.” Despite the circumstances, I couldn’t help but notice how good it felt just to hold her—I hadn’t realized just how much I’d missed simple human contact like this, the warm security and comfort of it—and I let out a sigh, myself.

She pulled away, slightly, and put her hand on my cheek, caressing it a little. It felt nice and was soothing, but the intense way she gazed up at me made me wonder if she was still afraid that this was the last time she’d ever see me. I bit my lip nervously, not knowing what else to say to her that would be of any comfort.

She forced a smile. “Now go, before I change my mind.”

I found myself being impressed with her bravery—after all, it’s not lack of fear that makes one brave, it’s doing what has to be done in spite of fear—and I knew she’d be okay, I just hoped she would realize it as well so she wouldn’t stress over it too much. “I’ll be back,” I said with a nod, before grabbing the rung of the ladder again and climbing down.

She looked away, not wanting to see me go.

I did the same.

At the bottom of the ladder, with my feet planted on the layer of chain link that was fixed above the floor, I let out a sigh—I’d put up a brave front for her sake, but leaving her behind, however temporary, was hard for me as well. I’d just have to press on and try to get through this next set of objectives as quickly as possible.

I looked around at my surroundings and remembered that when I was in this area earlier I thought that the walls and floor below looked like they were made of flesh because they were ivory-colored with rust-colored blotches scattered all over. Now, they were pulsating, expanding and contracting in a rhythm that mimicked breathing, and my stomach turned. Once again, I was glad that I didn’t have to stand directly on the floor, even more so than last time.

I went straight along the short path to another ladder leading upwards to the room where I was separated from Cynthia for the second time, and went through the hole in the wall to get some items I knew I’d be needing soon.

Chapter 28: Unpleasant Memories

Almost as soon as I woke up, I heard the sound of rapid banging. Not a knock at the door, this was a higher pitch and it was too fast to have been a single fist knocking, it sounded more like several objects being slammed around in my living room against the windows.

Somewhat reluctantly, I went out to the room to check it out, and I found that both windows in the living room were quickly being lifted open a couple of inches, only to be slammed closed, just as quickly in a random pattern. The sound was deafening, and I had to cover my ears. The motion, especially the repetitiveness of it, should have broken the windows by now, but—as I’d learned the hard way—these windows couldn’t be broken.

I turned toward the front door, and there were three notes waiting for me. I read one of the red ones first, hoping it would tell me what to do about the windows:

I’ve found two mysterious and powerful artifacts that seem to be very effective for evading the ghost-victims: the Holy Candle and the Saint Medallion. Not only are they effective against the ghost-victims in the Other World, they also seem to prevent them from invading my room. Just light the candle near where they’re coming in and its holy power is activated. The Saint Medallion seems to repel unholy energy when it’s worn.

I’m starting to gain some hope. - July 25

The bit about the Saint Medallion I’d already found out the hard way. But now I knew the purpose of the candle I’d found. I went into the laundry room and found a book of matches, and I took the candle from the chest.

I slowly approached the windows and as I did I noticed the Saint Medallion I still wore was humming and vibrating the way it did whenever ghosts were nearby, and I was glad to have it—if I wasn’t wearing it, I’d probably be getting a nasty headache. I also noticed that the movement was slowing down—another effect of the medallion. I supposed that if I simply stood near the haunting long enough, it’d eventually go away, but the medallion would also weaken if I did that, and I needed to save it for more important tasks.

I quickly set the candle on the floor below one of the windows, struck the match as quickly as I could, lit the candle, and backed away as I shook the match out. I stood far enough away that the medallion stopped reacting. The candle burned down quickly—it literally became half its original height in a matter of seconds—and as it did, the amount of time between the movement of the windows became longer and longer until they opened and closed only occasionally, and then merely quivered for awhile until they stopped completely.

I waited until the candle burned down completely and the flame snuffed out by itself, leaving a circular puddle of wax on the carpet (I had paid my deposit—may as well put it to good use). Only then did I approach the windows again, to find that they were motionless and silent, as was the medallion—the only sound I heard was the ringing of my own ears caused by the earlier racket.

I wish I could say I appreciated this minor victory, but all I could think was: As if I didn’t have reason enough to hate this place, now I have to worry about being invaded. I remembered the recurring nightmare I had for 5 days straight when I was locked in here, where the ghost came in and killed me, and I shivered—maybe it was a premonition, like I feared. But Joseph was right—having discovered the candles and medallions was definitely cause to be hopeful. And yet, at the same time, I noticed that my apartment had started to … change. It had become dimmer and the walls and windows were covered in a thin layer of grime—eventually, I wouldn’t even be able to see out the windows, if it kept getting worse (and I had no doubt that it would).

Now that it was quiet again, I went back to the door and read the other two notes. The first was in a dirty white envelope and came with a plastic key. I already knew what it was for, but I read the child’s writing anyway:

Mommy, I’ll giv you this so pleez wake up soon. It’s inside my toy train.

“Oops,” I muttered. “Eh, my way was quicker.”

The last one was another note from Joseph:

A few days after Walter killed himself in his cell, several residents witnessed a long-hair man with a coat here. Through his window, Richard Braintree in 207 saw the man moving something heavy and doing something in Room 302. Even Sunderland, the superintendent, saw the man with the coat hanging around Room 302, and confirmed there were signs of someone having been in there. -July 17

Again, I found myself being annoyed with Frank Sunderland. How could he have let anyone move into this room? Of course, I likely knew a lot more about the room than he did and maybe it was coloring my judgment. But if I ever made it out of this nightmare, I just might have to have a few words with him.

Regardless, I took the strange sword with the wooden handle out of the chest, and went back through the hole.

On the other side, I went back down the ladder, and turned right at the intersection, trying not to think about the “living” walls. I ran past the same two ghosts that were there earlier, and down the stairs and through the door to the King Street Line subway platform.

I ran along the path, trying not to think about the last time I was in this situation.

I couldn’t help but notice the cages with the mangled mannequins inside as I did last time. I remembered worrying what would happen if I ever became desensitized to things like this. Now I no longer worried because it had already happened—all I saw now were pieces of plastic and metal, barely aware that it was meant to resemble mangled human bodies. If this wasn’t proof enough of how a prolonged traumatic experience could change a person, I didn’t know what was.

I tried not to remember hearing the voice on the loudspeaker as I continued to the escalator.

Before going up the escalator, I noticed a subway train that I had ignored earlier and wondered if it was the way out. But first, I needed to use the key I’d obtained, as much as I hated the idea. There had to be something in there that I’d need.

I stepped onto the escalator. There isn’t a lot to say about it since I’d experienced it before. There were fewer monsters this time, for which I was thankful. I was able to dodge most of them, but one caught me on the upper-back with its large hand and slammed me into the escalator steps. I had my hands in front of me, so I didn’t hit it face-first, fortunately.

It probably would have been safer to just fight them, but it would have taken longer and I didn’t like the idea of Eileen being alone, and so I wanted to get back to her as soon as possible.

I went up the stairs to where the office was. Outside the office, Cynthia’s things—those various items women keep in their purses for some unfathomable reason—were still scattered everywhere. I had noticed them the first time, but since then they had been outlined in chalk and labeled with numbers, with the exception of one: her commuter ticket, which I picked up, figuring I could use it to get to the King Street Line turnstile (not to mention the Lynch Street Line turnstile—I didn’t think to grab the rest of the tokens when I was at home).

Having done everything there was to do outside of the office, I took the key out of my pocket and used it to open the door.

When I entered the room, I saw the blood stain that covered a large area of the floor and the memory of what happened came flooding back almost as if I was experiencing it all over again. I shut my eyes as if it would somehow block the memory, but if anything, it made it more vivid.

She had passed away quietly, unlike the other victims, but in some ways it was the most traumatic for me to witness. Maybe simply because it was the first, but it was also the most intimate—I’d never seen anyone die before, and to be up close and personal while it was happening … but I did it anyway. I couldn’t let her die alone.

She had put her hand on my cheek, looked into my eyes, and said, “I never got to do that ‘special favor’ for you,” her voice filled with regret.

I hadn’t thought much of it at the time—she was dying in my arms, after all, and I was too shocked and grief-stricken to really be able to analyze anything she was saying—but what an odd thing for someone to say while on their death bed. It seemed like the strangest possible time to be thinking about sex.

Then I remembered when she originally offered me that “favor”—she was using it to entice me into helping her find a way out of the subway station. The sad part is that she didn’t need to—it’s not as if I was going to leave her there alone, but I guess she figured I would if she didn’t give me a reason not to. And if we had found the exit together, I would have turned down that favor (or at least I’m almost certain I would have—two years of isolation does things to a person, but my morals hadn’t changed).

She must have been one of those people who only knows how to connect with others through sex. I was never so naïve as to think that she considered me to be anything more than a potential fuck buddy.

And yet, to say what she said with her dying breath … I wondered if it was intended to mean more than what it seemed. I wondered if it was her unique way of saying that she genuinely liked me. Then again, maybe in her mind there was no difference.

Of course, I’d never really get a chance to find out, and ultimately it didn’t matter … but it made me feel even more sad for her. I can’t imagine being as cynical as she must have been.

Then again, maybe I was being presumptuous—it wasn’t like I really got to know her—but I had a feeling I was at least close to the mark.

Despite the distraction that the memory caused, my eyes wandered across the floor and on the other side of the room, I saw a handle of some kind on the floor. I stepped over the blood and picked up the handle—it was large and metal and looked like it’d control the train outside.

I now had everything I’d need to leave this place (presumably), and it was almost time to get Eileen.

But there was one more thing I needed to take care of, first.

I exited the office and readied my axe as I heard familiar moans, and the Saint Medallion around my neck began to hum and vibrate.

Chapter 29: Facing Demons

I had already experienced the initial shock of seeing her, so the element of surprise was no longer on her side. I also was wearing a brand new Saint Medallion, so she wouldn’t be able to attack me as viciously as she did before. But it was still an unusually strong ghost, so I’d have to fight dirty. And I had to be quick because I couldn’t risk having the medallion break on me—without Eileen watching my back, I’d be as good as dead if it broke. This thing would probably hold me down and slowly chew my heart out—not a pleasant thought.

But, damn me if I didn’t still see some of Cynthia in the creature floating there before me—it was completely superficial, but it was there. The ghost didn’t even attack, because of the medallion—it just floated there, staring at me, which made what I had to do even harder.

I tried to think of it as just another monster as I pulled back the axe and hacked at it mercilessly.

It fell, and slithered away, but apparently it couldn’t see where it was going, because it ended up hanging itself up in the corner where the turnstile was.

I was about to bring the sword down on it, but it stood up before I was able to.

I had it cornered so I began hacking with the axe again. This felt so wrong—I knew this wasn’t the same as beating up a woman, but it still felt like I was going against years of upbringing, and it was all I could do to suppress that feeling. If only the thing could fight back, it wouldn’t be so bad. It tried to attack me with its hair, but to no avail—as long as I wore the medallion, it couldn’t touch me.

It fell, but once again, it got up.

“Stay down, dammit!” I begged the thing, as I continued my attack.

Again, its hair spread out and tried to surround me—the act was eerily Medusa-like—and again to no avail. It fell again, but it was different this time. It seemed to fall more from exhaustion than from my hits, dropping to its knees, then onto its hands, then face-down on the floor, finally laying still.

I dropped the axe, raised the sword, and brought it down, driving it through her torso in the back.

She started writhing and making that disturbingly steady gasping-for-air sound. She was stuck for good, as long as she was impaled on the sword.

I kneeled for a few minutes and had to catch my breath, physically and emotionally exhausted, as I looked down at the now-helpless ghost of Cynthia. It had to be done, there was no denying that … but somehow, I still felt like a complete scumbag for doing it.

I remembered that my final thought (or what I expected to be my final thought) on Cynthia’s death was “Rest in peace”. And now I sighed, only now grasping the true tragedy of the situation. She would never rest in peace because she was condemned to eternal torment.

“Maybe there’s a way to end all of this … so you don’t have to stay this way,” I said to the creature, not that it was listening, “I couldn’t save your life … but maybe there’s a way to at least save your soul.”

With that, I stood up and used the commuter ticket to unlock the King Street Line turnstile, then the Lynch Street one, then I made my way down the stairs to the subway platform.

In the supply room, Eileen, who was sitting on the floor with her back against the wall, smiled with relief.

“Told you I’d be back,” I said, extending a hand.

She took it and rose to her feet with my help. “I never doubted you,” she said, giving me a brief, but comforting, hug—I had needed that.

She was a bad liar, but it was okay—she had plenty of reason to be scared, after all. “We’re basically done here,” I explained, “there’s just some walking to do, and we’ll be out of here.”

She was visibly relieved.

We went along the platform and up the stairs to the turnstiles. As we went through the Lynch Street Line one, I looked at Cynthia’s ghost and noticed that it was quiet for the time being, but it was still moving slightly as if breathing—it somehow looked even more pathetic this way.

Eileen looked at the ghost, then at me and somehow she seemed to get it. “You knew her, didn’t you?” she said, taking my arm to get my attention.

I wasn’t comfortable talking about how I felt about it, but I supposed I could give her the bare bones version of what happened. “Yeah …” I said, quietly, not making eye contact, “well, I didn’t know her well, or anything, but I was with her when … she died. It’s all kind of … surreal.” There was a lot I didn’t say, but that was the gist of it.

She didn’t say anything, she just rubbed my arm. It was a nice gesture and I gave her an appreciative glance before we moved on.

Through the second turnstile and down the stairs, we reached the escalator … and with everything else, I hadn’t really thought about how I’d get Eileen through the gauntlet. But, fortunately, it wasn’t rocket science—since she was now with me, we could take our time, so fighting the monsters would make more sense than trying to dodge them in this case.

At the top of the escalator, before stepping down, I turned to Eileen. “Okay … stay behind me, but not too close. I’ll need room to swing this,” I said, holding up the axe.

Eileen didn’t understand exactly, but she nodded as a signal that she got the gist of it and trusted me.

As we got on, I readied the axe, pulling it as far back as I could, and waited for the first monster to extend from the wall. Once it did, and blindly swiped at the air, (it startled Eileen, and she let out a scream—fortunately, it didn’t distract me) I waited until the last possible second before delivering a powerful swing with the axe. When struck, the monster recoiled, then hung limp from the wall—the strategy worked, now I’d just have to keep it up.

It worked with the next three, but the last one showed up too soon, and I didn’t have time to wind up properly so it took a few whacks to get it to stay down—aside from that little detail, it worked.

I breathed a sigh of relief when we reached the end.

“That was amazing,” Eileen said, grabbing my arm again, “How do you stay so calm?”

Good question. “Necessity, I guess,” I said with a shrug. “Besides, this is the third time I’ve been on that escalator—it’d be pretty bad if I hadn’t figured out how to deal with it by now.”

Back on the subway platform, it was only a short walk to the train. We entered the open door and made our way to the other end where there was another open door on the other side, but there was a wall in the way—I figured that if I could get the train to move a little, it’d reach a point where it’d lead out of the train and hopefully out of the subway station.

I went to the front where there was a slot where the handle I had found fit into. When I put the handle in place, the train moved by itself, about one car-length forward.

“That’s gotta be the exit!” Eileen said, as she’d been watching out the doorway.

I looked, and sure enough, the doorway now lead to a flight of stairs with a door at the end. Next to the door was another sword, which I picked up—if the subway station was any indication of what I was in for in the next area, I’d definitely be needing it.

The door lead to a lighted hallway where the walls were made of rusted steel. But as we were about halfway down the hall, I heard a sound I didn’t expect: the sound of the door behind us opening and closing.

I whirled around and standing just inside the hall was the man in the blue coat, Walter Sullivan. He had a pipe in his left hand—I also saw that he had a gun in his right, as he raised it to aim.

I nearly froze. Before Eileen even had the chance to turn around and see what was going on, I grabbed her by the arm and pulled.

“Hen-ryyy!” she gasped.

“Sorry.” I responded, as I ran through the door with her as fast as I could. I’m sure it wasn’t good for her bad leg, but her life was more important.

On the other side of the door was the spiral stairway. It was darker, and the fog seemed even thicker than it was earlier, if possible, and there was a long trail of blood along the path, as if someone had gone this way earlier while bleeding profusely. At one point along the path was a room—I couldn’t make out what was inside, except that it looked vaguely human. It was behind what looked like a pane of glass, so I couldn’t have gotten to it if I wanted to. Somewhere in the abyss, I could barely make out tube-like structures made of some kind of piping where cylindrical shapes moved downward through them like elevators.

“Are you okay?” I asked Eileen.

“Yeah,” she sighed. “My leg hurts a little, but it’ll be okay. What happened?”

“It was him,” I said, “He’s following us now.”

“Oh god …” She looked up at me, her face full of terror, as she clung to me.

“It’s okay,” I said, softly, holding her.” It’s gonna be okay.”

I was completely full of it. Sullivan scared the hell out of me too. I’d fight him if it meant protecting her, but I had no how idea how.

Chapter 30: Hunted

Once I got Eileen to calm down, we went through the door, and found ourselves in a graveyard. I smelled smoke in the air and recognized the place as the forest area surrounding Wish House … or whatever would be left of Wish House.

To the right was the dug-up coffin I’d seen earlier, but I hadn’t realized the significance until it was pointed out to me.

I approached the grave, and Eileen followed curiously. “According to Joseph,” I explained, “this is Walter Sullivan’s grave.”

“What?” she said, stopping suddenly.

“Apparently, he committed suicide in his jail cell,” I continued, mechanically, “and they buried his body in an unmarked grave, just outside of Silent Hill.” God help me, seeing the actual grave, now that I knew what it was, was morbidly fascinating.

“Why are you going over there?” she said, uncomfortably.

“I have a hunch about something.” I looked at the coffin again, and sure enough, the numbers on it were 11/21. “He killed ten people, then himself—he was the eleventh victim. That’s why the numbers on those other victims started with ‘twelve of twenty-one’.”

Eileen raised an eyebrow at me—apparently I was confusing her again.

Before I had the chance to explain further, I heard a buzzing sound, and saw large black things crawling inside the grave. Before I had time to react, I was suddenly hit with a face full of giant moths. One actually latched onto my face and bit me on the cheekbone under my right eye. I panicked and screamed, disoriented by the buzzing and black blurs that seemed to come from everywhere at once, but I managed to bat it away as I stumbled back and away from the grave.

I regained my wits and started swatting the giant bugs out of the air with my axe and realized that Eileen was already doing the same with her weapon, a look of disgust and apprehension on her face as she did so. It didn’t take long to finish them all off, and I crushed each one under my boot—once again noticing with distaste the disturbing little puddles of blood that formed from this—just to make sure they wouldn’t be giving us any more trouble.

Now that it was over, my cheek was stinging. I winced and pressed my forearm against it to blot any blood with my sleeve. “Curiosity killed the cat,” I muttered.

Eileen approached. “Let me look at that,” she said, moving her face close to mine so she could examine the wound.

I didn’t resist, but I flinched a little when she touched my cheek, as careful and delicate as she was about it—it wasn’t just the wound, it was having her be so close and touching my skin. She had done something similar in the Subway Station, but I was pretty disoriented at the time and didn’t have the chance to feel any awkwardness. Now, as I was fully aware of what she was doing, it suddenly felt strange and foreign. I tensed up and subtly bit my lower lip to keep it from quivering.

Our gazes met and our eyes locked for a moment. She must have felt the awkwardness too, because she averted her gaze and pulled away.

“Uh, it doesn’t look too bad,” she said, quickly, breaking the awkward silence. “I just hope those things aren’t poisonous.”

I hadn’t even considered that, and I worried for a second until I remembered that one had bitten me on the ear earlier and I had felt no ill effects, neither at the time, nor since, and I told her as much.

Amongst the various headstones and monuments were stone structures, some of which had the strange red writing on them that I’d seen earlier, but couldn’t decipher.

Eileen, noticing one that was close by, inspected it. “I can read this writing,” she said, sounding a bit surprised. “It looks like some kind of diary.”

I turned toward her. “What kind of writing is it, anyway?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know … I can just understand it somehow. Anyway, here goes:

”’October 2nd – I played with Bob. It was fun, but I went too far away and HE got angry.’”

After a little more exploration, we found a second one:

”’October 3rd – I played with Bob again. I went even further this time …’

“Eh, the writing fades out after that.”

“I wonder who wrote these,” I muttered. It definitely sounded like something written by a kid, which made me wonder. And how was Eileen able to read them?

I turned around, and suddenly found myself looking down the barrel of a pistol. I looked past the gun and saw an all-too-familiar pair of green eyes that stared at me intensely—they belonged to none other than Walter Sullivan who was currently aiming a gun directly at my head from only a few feet away. He chuckled at the shocked expression on my face—a sound that made by blood freeze nearly solid.

Eileen screamed, which was actually a good thing because it snapped me out of the trance I was in and spurred me into action.

Remembering that I had a weapon in my hand with a reasonably long handle, I suddenly swung the axe upward in a diagonal motion—he shouted in pain as the back of the axe struck his hand. The gun went off but not before it was pointing too high to hit me, and was knocked from his hand.

Without missing a beat, he swung the rusty pipe he held in his other hand, but I managed to block it before it had a chance to cause any more damage to my left arm.

He suddenly ran at me and, holding the pipe horizontally with both hands, pushed me back hard, slamming my back against one of the stone structures. I screamed as he pushed the pipe painfully against my collar bone, pinning me to the wall, until he moved it up a little so it was putting pressure on my windpipe, choking me.

Panic set in, and I didn’t know how to fight back other than to drop my weapons, and grab the pipe and try to push it away from my neck—which, of course, was pointless because he only pushed harder, and he had more leverage.

Suddenly, with a ferocity I never knew she was capable of, Eileen was behind him and beating on him furiously with the riding crop.

He turned and backhanded her, sending her straight to the ground—in her injured state, she was no match for him.

But she did buy me the time I needed to push Sullivan away from me and pull out my gun. He barely had time to react before I pumped several bullets into him—head, chest, whatever worked.

He just stood there for a second, then stumbled, fell to his knees, and finally he lay face-down on the ground, attempting to get up, but failing.

I stared down at him for a second, then I looked over at Eileen. She was okay, all things considered, but it was he who put her in the state she was in—it was he who gave her that broken arm, black eye, and countless other injuries, not to mention whatever emotional scarring that might result from his attack. I remembered seeing him backhand her, and it opened the way for countless images to flash in my mind of what he had done to her earlier—actions I hadn’t seen, but could suddenly imagine with almost perfect clarity.

Since all this chaos started, I had felt plenty of negative emotions: fear, sadness, despair … but being the sort that I was there was one emotion I hadn’t felt in quite awhile that I was suddenly feeling now: I was furious.

I turned back toward Walter Sullivan and barely hesitated before gritting my teeth and bringing my foot down on his back as hard as I could, snapping his spine—he let out a cry and convulsed for a second before lying still. I had very little remorse … in fact, if anything … I enjoyed it.

But it was fleeting—almost instantly, my mind began to reel. Did I really just kill another human being and enjoy it?

No, he may have looked human, but he’s just another monster—the worst monster of all: a sadist.

And yet, if you enjoy inflicting pain on a sadist, doesn’t that make you one as well?

I sighed, or rather I tried to, when I was suddenly reminded of the burning in my throat and I ended up coughing brutally, instead, to the point where I fell to one knee. Fortunately, it died down shortly.

I looked over at Eileen, who wasn’t the emotional wreck I was expecting her to be—as far as I could tell, at least. She was in a sitting position and staring at Sullivan’s corpse.

“Are you okay?” I said, as I made my way over to her and looked at the side of her head where she’d been hit—fortunately, there were no further injuries.

“Yeah,” she sighed, “are you?”

I nodded, rubbing my neck a little. I stood and helped her up as well.

She embraced me, and I felt a little better knowing that she didn’t seem to think any less of me because of my uncharacteristic display of brutality just a moment before. As always, it felt good to be in her arms (well, arm), no matter the circumstance. I swallowed hard, realizing that she had saved me for a second time. “You … you were brave,” I managed to say, “that’s the second time you’ve done that.”

Her brow furrowed, as if she couldn’t grasp my surprise. “Well, I wasn’t gonna let him get you,” she said as if it were an obvious truth.

It was amazing how quickly she got over her fears whenever I needed help. It wasn’t her saving my life that I appreciated, so much as the fact that it reminded me that there was someone I could count on. After two years of isolation, it meant more to me than I could ever describe. I tried to think of something to say to that effect—”thank you” just wouldn’t cut it—but nothing would come to mind, so I hugged her tighter, hoping she’d get the message.

She nuzzled my shoulder, then after a few moments of silence: “He’s not really dead, is he?”

“You’re learning,” I said, flatly.

Chapter 31: Wish House in Ruin

Before leaving the last area, I’d found a torch and a lit candle on a tall stand which was apparently meant to be used to light the torch. Figuring these things were there for a reason, I picked up the torch and lit it on the candle before moving on.

In the next area was one of the wells I remembered seeing earlier. I was about to inspect it when I heard the gate behind us open and close.

“Dammit!” I swore, as I grabbed Eileen by the arm and we ran through the next gate.

Sullivan didn’t show up again on this path and the rest of the trip was relatively uneventful—I had to fight a few dogs, but they had become so easy to dispatch at this point that they’re barely worth mentioning.

As we reached the courtyard around Wish House, the smoke had become increasingly thicker, but not so thick as to cause us to choke—however, the smell of burned wood was quite strong. Wish House, itself, was now nothing more than charred rubble, the entire building having collapsed in on itself. All that remained was what was once the floor, and was now nothing more than a raised platform, that was surrounded by stray pieces of wood.

But on this platform was something odd and interesting: an old-fashioned and rusted wheelchair sat on the surface, and on the wheelchair sat the torso of a life-sized wooden doll, which was also burned, but not beyond recognition. I went up a plank that had been placed as a ramp and examined it more closely. Carved onto the wood was a message, which I read out loud:

”’Though my body be destroyed, I will not let you pass here. To prepare for the Receiver of Wisdom … I cut my body into five pieces and hid them in the darkness. When my body is once again whole, the path to below will be opened. If you are the Receiver of Wisdom, you will understand my words. The ritual has begun … ‘

“Receiver of Wisdom …” I repeated out loud. Was it referring to me? It made sense—I’d certainly received a lot of information during this ordeal, much more than I wanted. But something about the phrase bothered me, and I couldn’t put my finger on why.

On the floor was a note on a sheet of paper that was somehow only lightly burned:

Something’s here but nothing’s here. I feel something from the well. Something’s missing. It has begun! -Jasper

Jasper—I supposed he was probably haunting this world, as Cynthia was in the Subway world. Pointless as it was, I felt a bit guilty about the hostile thoughts I had about him when he was alive—the guy was always either creeping me out or being annoying, and it probably wasn’t his fault, as he definitely wasn’t right in the head. And maybe I should have kept a closer eye on him, after what happened to Cynthia. Maybe I should have known that he’d be the next victim. If I had, then maybe …

And yet, I seemed to have little to no control over anything that happened in these worlds—no matter how hard I tried, it seemed that some force of nature would try that much harder to hold me back from whatever I was trying to do, especially when it came to saving the victims. For every two steps forward I took, I’d be pushed one step back. Maybe that was what being the “Receiver of Wisdom” entailed—I was meant to see everything that was happening, but not be able to affect it. It seemed like the punch line to a cruel joke.

So, why the hell am I here, then?

“Earth to Henry!”

Startled out of my thoughts, I looked toward the ground and saw that Eileen was staring at me, mildly annoyed. Damn, how many times had she tried to get my attention that I didn’t hear?

“Sorry …” I said, shaking off the distraction, “What?”

“I said, ‘what do you think it means?’”

Oh … right … the message on the mannequin. The first and last part—I cut my body into five pieces and hid them … When my body is once again whole, the path to below will be opened—was obvious. But what was “in the darkness” referring to? Then I remembered Jasper’s note: I feel something from the well. Something’s missing.

“The wells,” I said, out loud, but really more to myself. “The pieces are hidden in the wells, where it’s dark, then once the doll is put back together, it’ll reveal the exit.”

I noticed a Holy Candle on the ground and thought about picking it up when I realized that I was carrying too much stuff already—I had the sword in one hand and was awkwardly carrying the axe and torch in the other. Then I remembered that there was a hole nearby—how could I forget, since it was in the fence, of all places, and the design around it appeared to be done in chalk.

I sighed and turned to Eileen, and said, apologetically, “I’m gonna have to go back to my apartment and drop some stuff off—will you be okay here for a little while?”

“I guess,” she said, clearly not liking the idea, but understanding that it had to be done.

“What the hell?”

Upon awaking, back in the apartment, the first thing I noticed was some strange radiating cracks in the wall across the room, above my dresser, covering an area that appeared to be several feet in diameter. I approached, slowly, and noticed that the centers, where the cracks sprouted from, looked reddish and bumpy, almost like scabs. There were six or seven sets of these cracks, of varying sizes, and they were close enough together that the cracks crisscrossed each other. Once I got too close, however, the medallion that still hung from my neck began humming and vibrating and the cracks began to waver, eerily.

No doubt about it, it was definitely another haunting. I had brought the Holy Candle with me (I’d left the torch with Eileen so I could carry one more item), but the matches were still in the living room. When I entered the living room, I found another group of cracks, above the hole that Joseph had made, and next to the lamp, and suddenly I recognized them. These were the same sort of cracks I saw in my nightmares—they formed in the walls, growing until the walls practically fell apart. I shuddered, thinking about that terrible nightmare—and since it repeated itself for five nights in a row, I had memorized every detail. And now I was almost convinced that it was a premonition, but hopefully that didn’t mean that I couldn’t stop it from happening.

After dropping the two weapons off in the chest—much as I hated to do it, I was going to have to do without my axe for awhile, at least until I didn’t have to carry a torch and mannequin parts around—I took the book of matches and placed the candle on the floor directly below the strange cracks, and lit it with one of the matches and stood back.

It was interesting watching the cracks disappear—they literally became shorter and smaller before my eyes, while the center area also shrank. This kept up until only smaller versions of the centers remained, then they, too, shrank into nothingness as the candle burned out.

“I guess I can keep this up,” I muttered, trying to stay positive. “Just hope I find enough candles to keep it going.”

I turned toward the door to find a note waiting for me:

My theory is that Walter never died at the prison. It may have been someone else who committed suicide. Either that, or the person the police arrested was not the real Walter Sullivan. I’m in no position to investigate what really happened in the prison, but in any case, Walter didn’t die at the prison. The man with the coat that showed up here was the real Walter. 7 years ago he did something in that apartment. I’m certain there’s a link between that and the bizarre things that have been happening here. Just a little bit more and I’ll have this whole thing figured out. I may even find that the real Walter is somewhere nearby. -July 18

I shook my head. “I think both accounts are right—he died in the prison cell and he’s here. I just don’t know how.”

But one thing he said stood out in my mind—seven years ago, Sullivan had done something in the apartment. But what had he done? And did it mean that he was the cause of everything?

Chapter 32: Up Close and Personal

Back by Wish House, Eileen was relieved to see me as always, but less so when I tried to talk her into staying put while I went back alone to search the well that I didn’t get the chance to last time, especially since Walter had shown up there earlier. I managed to convince her that I’d be quick and as silent as possible, and if he did attack me, I still had my gun to protect me, which would probably be more reliable than the axe, anyway.

The truth is that I knew I’d be able to move faster without her and I wanted to try to be quick, as to avoid running into Sullivan again. But, of course, I didn’t mention that to her.

She let me go, but not without reluctance.

I retraced my steps and, once again, the two areas before the well were uneventful.

Once I got to the third area, I moved slowly and quietly. I heard nothing, but I knew that he had at least as much of a chance of being able to sneak around as I did.

The forest seemed darker and more ominous than it had the last time I’d been here—but I couldn’t decide if that was really the case or if I was simply more paranoid because I knew that a killer was lurking about. Despite having proved to myself time and again that I was a survivor, I was suddenly regretting that I had come back down the path alone.

I reached the well, and leaned over its edge, shining the torch’s light into it, illuminating the inside. I jumped and made a small noise when I saw a human head staring back at me from its shallow bottom.

It’s just a mannequin part, idiot.

I took a second to wait for my heart rate to slow down—I was definitely paranoid—then I reached into the well and took out the wooden head, which was roughly the size of my own. Upon closer inspection, I wasn’t sure how I could have mistook it for a real head, as its features were vague, not unlike those Styrofoam heads that are used to display wigs.

I turned and was about to make my way back to Wish House, when suddenly I felt something slam painfully into the back of my head and I fell forward—partly from the momentum caused by the blow, and partly because I was beginning to black out.

But before I was able to completely lose consciousness, I felt a knee slam into my back—Walter Sullivan had hit me with the pipe and was now pinning me to the ground with his knee. And now I was fully awake as I felt that knee digging into my back with all his weight (likely payback for when I broke his spine earlier), my screams muffled against the grass. I was trapped like an animal, and likely about to be slaughtered like one—I can’t begin to describe the primal terror I felt.

“Henry Townshend!” he said in a familiar tone—it was the way one might greet an old friend they hadn’t seen in awhile. I gasped, audibly, from hearing my name from his mouth. Had he only said Henry then I could rationalize that he’d overheard Eileen saying it at some point, but for him to know my full name (which I’m not even sure if Eileen did) meant that he also knew something about me. This realization caused all kinds of terrible fears to form in my head. But how did he know me? Of course, he had to have been in my apartment to have chained my door closed, and he could have found something—mail, perhaps—with my name on it. But I had a feeling it was something more than that. I was important, for some reason.

I was suddenly pulled from my thoughts as he grabbed a handful of my hair and yanked, snapping my head upward and away from the ground. I started to scream again, but I cut it short, gritting my teeth, when I realized that it was what he wanted.

He chuckled at this, realizing what I was doing. He leaned forward, driving his knee in harder as he did so—until his face was right next to my ear. “It’s okay,” he said in a voice that was disturbingly calm and pleasant, “You’re not going to die—I’m not prepared for you, yet.”

I wasn’t sure exactly what he meant by that, but it was of little comfort, regardless, considering the position (not to mention the pain) I was in. He continued to push his knee into my back while simultaneously pulling on my hair, and I continued to hold in the screams of agony until tears streamed down my face and dripped into the dirt below. I was more frightened than I had ever been in my life, but I stood my ground (as it were).

Finally, he released my hair, and moved his knee off of my back, but he was straddling me now, so I was still pinned. I was in no position to fight back, so I didn’t even try—I couldn’t hit because he was behind me and I couldn’t move my spine, I couldn’t reach my gun because he was practically sitting on it (not that I’d be able to aim it anyway), and kicking was pointless because my feet would be unable to reach him. I was completely helpless, my very life in his hands. He was a wolf, and I was the scared rabbit he’d caught. Overwhelmed with fear and despair, I hid my face in the grass. Whether he planned on killing me or not, he obviously intended to inflict some kind of torture, and god only knew what it would be or for how long.

“I have to admit, you’ve gotten tough, Henry. I’m impressed.” I’ve mentioned before that he had an oddly calm-sounding voice, but it was also void of any emotion, almost to the point of seeming robotic.

I continued to refuse to acknowledge him.

I flinched as he began stroking my hair. “But, when meat gets too tough … it needs to be tenderized.” On this last word, his voice deepened and he was suddenly yanking on my hair again, once again pulling my head off the ground.

“God! What do you WANT from me?” I finally screamed, in pain and frustration.

“Now, now,” he said, back to his softer, almost crooning, voice. “No need to worry about that, things will come together on their own.” I felt his weight shift to one side a little as he rummaged in his pocket with one hand, while still pulling on my hair with the other.

“What the hell does that m—” I cried desperately, but cut myself off with a gasp once I felt the sharp edge of a blade push against my neck.

“That’s enough out of you,” he commanded in the deeper voice. He nearly seemed like a different person when he spoke in that tone, aggressive and cruel—frankly, I didn’t know which one was more disturbing to listen to. “You’re a smart boy, you’ll figure everything out soon enough.”

I complied and shut it. Before, I was holding in the screams out of stubbornness—but now I was afraid that literally the tiniest little vocal sound would set him off.

“You still have a ways to go,” he said, having gone back to his sweeter voice, as he turned the blade so that the flat side was against my neck. “I wonder … how many little pieces of skin can I peel off while still leaving enough on you that you won’t bleed to death?” I could tell by the tone of his voice that he was smiling as he said this last bit: “What do you think, Henry?”

I gasped through gritted teeth and shivered as I felt the cold piece of metal slide up the side of my neck and along my cheek. I’d probably been shaking the entire time, but feeling the flat side of the knife moving shakily across my skin was what drew my attention to it. He’s testing you, I said to myself, He’s just blowing smoke, he’s trying to break you—don’t let him!

“No …” he continued, tapping the side of the blade, almost thoughtfully, against my cheekbone. I winced a little with every tap—not only was the blade dangerously close to my eye, it was now hitting against the spot where the black moth had bitten me earlier. “For now, I just wanted to remind you of who’s in control.” He took the knife away and I could hear him put it back in his pocket as he finally released my hair. “In the mean time,” he said, as he mussed my hair and stood up, “I’ll enjoy wearing you down, gradually.”

No longer restrained, I quickly (or as quickly as I could, despite the pain in my back) rolled over and sat up and looked around to find that he was gone. His weapons were gone, and I heard no footsteps and saw no footprints. The only proof of the confrontation was the wooden head and the torch, both of which had flown from my hands and now sat several feet away from me, the torch having landed in a large patch of bare dirt, so it hadn’t set any grass on fire.

Then I was reminded of something that I’d overheard one of the cops in Eileen’s apartment saying: It’s almost like … like they were killed by a ghost or something. Exactly. I’d been referring to Sullivan as another monster, but he was more like the ghosts, which explained why he only appeared in certain areas and why he seemed to be able to appear and disappear. In a sense, he was one of the victims, the eleventh one—he probably killed himself because he knew the power he’d have if he was a ghost, despite the few limitations.

I wrapped my arms around myself and shivered. What is it about being in these woods that makes me overestimate myself and get into trouble?

At least he was finished tormenting me for awhile—but it was of little consolation, since I knew he’d be back eventually.

I tried to recompose myself as best I could before going back to Wish House, but I didn’t want to waste too much time either—Sullivan had made his point, and I doubted that he’d be coming after me again so soon, but it wasn’t good to chance it.

As I opened the gate, Eileen was standing right there.

“There you are!” she said, sounding relieved. “You took so long, I was starting to worry. I was on my way to go and look for you.” She embraced me, warmly, but pulled away. “Henry, you’re shaking—what’s wrong?”

“I-I’m okay …” I had intended to not even tell her about my encounter with Walter, but I ended up blurting it out anyway: “He took me by surprise. It’s like he just appeared there …”

I didn’t have to specify which he I was talking about—she obviously knew, because she instantly became more concerned, as I could see from the look on her face. She didn’t seem to know what to say, but as much as I’d tried to put up a brave front, she could not only see my fear, but she understood the reason for it all too well. She lightly touched my cheek with her fingertips.

I jerked my head away, instinctively, her touch reminding me a little too much of Walter’s blade.

Again, she didn’t say anything at first, but her expression spoke volumes. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she said, finally.

I nodded. “He just … wanted to put the fear back in me is all. I’m not really hurt.”

Yeah, I thought, not hurt, just scared shitless.

Chapter 33: The Chase

I finished the objective and placed the wooden head on the body, if only because it helped distract me from the stress of nearly having my throat slit only minutes before. The only position where it would fit was with the head down, as if the figure was slumped forward. It looked unbalanced, and I half-expected the whole thing to fall forward, but somehow it didn’t.

Eileen helped to distract me further by finding some more entries and reading them aloud to me—despite the subject matter, the sound of her voice relaxed me a little. She put feeling into it, and it took me back to school days and nice teachers who liked to read to the students.

”’October 15th – Bob is gone. Nobody will tell me what happened. I bet …’

Ah … I can’t read any more than that.”

I can guess what happened, I thought.

”’October 18th – I have to stay in the round cell even if I read well tomorrow. If I do it, God will be happy. So I will do it. He comes into the round cell a lot to visit, but it’s okay I guess.’”

“Round cell,” I muttered, shaking my head a little. I didn’t appreciate being reminded of that place, but I supposed it’d be the next stop after this one, regardless. But I wondered who the “he” was that these entries were referring to.

”’March 17th – I went to Ashfield again. It was my fourth time. Just like last time, my mother …’

“… something …

”’The city is scary and the apartment where my mother is has …’

“Umm, I can’t read any more than that.” She paused. “Looks like some of these are out of order, too.”

“I guess he just wrote wherever he happened to be at the time.”

We explored the area a little more. Along one of the fences was a small slide and draped over its ladder was a chain.

“Mine,” Eileen said, leaving her riding crop on the ground and taking the chain. It would definitely make a better weapon.

We went out the gate directly across from the one we came in through. The first area was relatively uneventful—a few moths had shown up, but I didn’t want to waste the ammo on them, so Eileen knocked them out of the air and I stomped on them.

In the next area, I spotted Sullivan … but he was far away and hadn’t yet seen me. Seeing him again so soon after he pinned me to the ground and terrorized me caused a fear to rise into my chest that was so great it was almost surreal. I couldn’t even imagine how Eileen must have felt, having to face him all these times after he nearly beat her to death. But I kept my wits together, if only for her sake—maybe she had a similar way of dealing with it.

I held my finger in front of my lips as a signal for Eileen to be silent, and she responded with a nod. Then I quickly extinguished the torch by sticking its end in the dirt, smothering the flame, before I took her by the hand and quickly stepped into a crop of trees. It was dark enough, off the path and away from the lights, for us to be adequately obscured.

He was wandering around, aimlessly, almost like a caged animal—he seemed anxious, as if he knew we were close by, but fortunately he didn’t appear to know where.

We gradually made our way to the other end of the crop of trees, as he was walking toward the gate where we came in. Then we took a collective deep breath as we crept out of the crop of trees, never taking our eyes off of Walter.

He suddenly turned around and spotted us. He shook his head, laughing at our audacity, as he aimed his gun.

It was only about twenty feet to the gate, so I took off running, pulling Eileen along with me.

Gunshots rang out, and I screamed as I felt a horrible burning pain on … where else but by left arm.

Once we were through the gate, Eileen asked if I was alright.

My initial reaction was one of panic at the thought that I’d been shot, and I was almost afraid to check the wound, but I knew I had to anyway. There was a horizontal tear in the fabric just below my elbow that was scorched along the edges, and the spot on the skin underneath looked burned as well. It stung like a bitch, but it was far from fatal. “It’s okay,” I said, “it only grazed me.”

I sounded a lot more calm than I really was—if I’d actually taken the bullet, I’d be in serious trouble, and it was hard not to think about how close I came to that.

Eileen was relieved, and she rubbed my other arm, presumably to comfort me. It helped a little.

In this area, there was a message carved in a tree:

”’October 13th – I finally got outside. John is still stuck in that round cell. I hope I read well tomorrow.’” Eileen looked at me sadly. “Sounds like not reading well means spending time in a prison cell of some kind,” she said.

She didn’t know the half of it. I honestly wished I could unlearn some of what I’d learned about that place.

There was nothing else of interest in the area, so we moved on.

Through the gate was the end of the path. In the middle of this section was another candle, which I re-lit the torch on, and on the ground, just in front of the stone wall to the left were two stones. Each stone had a flat side on it on which another entry was written:

”’October 14th – I did a good job reading today. I was so happy. But the 21 Sacraments for the Decent of the Holy Mother was hard.’”

“Twenty-one Sacraments …” I muttered. Walter planned on killing twenty-one people. It couldn’t be coincidence.

Eileen read the next entry:

”’October 16th – Some important people came today. One of them, Dah …’

“It’s cut off, I can’t read anymore.”

Up a set of steps was a hole in the wall, which I didn’t currently need. However, next to it was a tree that had a large patch on the side where the bark was stripped away where more writing could be found:

”’October 17th – The important lady told me my mother was asleep in Ashfield. I have a mother, too. I’m so happy. I want to see my mother. Where is Ashfield, anyway?’”

I shook my head in bewilderment. Why on Earth would someone tell the kid that?

Back down the steps, I noticed a well next to the raised platform, so I used the torch to look inside, where there was a leg, more specifically the doll’s left leg.

Fortunately the trip back to Wish House was uneventful, so I was able to attach the leg to the doll without too much trouble, aside from carrying the damn thing. Two appendages down, three to go.

The next gate we went through was the one on the other side of Wish House.

No sooner had we gone through the gate then I realized we had company—it stood motionless, and stared at me. “Receiver!” whispered the shadowy figure in a deep voice while pointing a ghostly white finger at me.

Eileen gasped in horror and stayed behind me—I didn’t blame her one damn bit, considering how I practically froze solid the first time I faced one of these creatures in the Water Prison.

“Stay still,” I whispered, “It won’t make a move until I do.” Even now, as I reached for my gun, I felt a shiver running through me—although the monsters, in general, didn’t faze me as much anymore, these things were the exception.

The thing screamed its battle cry—a horrible sound that came from twin infant faces—as it charged at me, its hands thumping the hard dirt of the path.

Eileen screamed as well.

I blasted away, but it continued to advance until I’d gotten four shots in, then it slowed. One more shot, and it dropped, only a couple feet away.

I let out a relieved sigh and wiped the sweat from my forehead with my right forearm.

Eileen looked down at the monster’s corpse. “That was horrible,” she said.

I nodded. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to those,” I muttered.

“Receiver!”

“Shit!” I hissed, spotting a new one further down the path. I dealt with it similarly as the other one—fortunately these things were slow, as long as you didn’t give them a chance to leap.

At the end of this path was the mountain with the metal gate at the side of it. We entered the tomb-like room—I still didn’t know what all the strange-looking machinery was for.

I spotted something interesting on the ground that either hadn’t been there before, or I had missed it somehow the first time around: a very large pickaxe. It looked like it’d make an awesome weapon, so I bent over and picked it up, but as soon as I did, I was hit hard with a terrible feeling that was hard to describe, especially because there was no real reason for it—sadness, hopelessness, desperation. I dropped the pickaxe, and as it hit the ground with a heavy thud, the feeling stopped, as quickly as it began—I looked down at it and saw that something was inscribed on the handle: DESPAIR.

I sighed—it figured that once I found a really strong weapon that I wouldn’t be able to use it, at least not without a lot of difficulty. In the end, I rationalized that I’d probably need both hands to wield it, and that wouldn’t work too well with my left arm in its current state, so it was useless—I was better off with the axe, anyway.

“What was that all about?” Eileen asked.

“I guess it’s cursed,” I said with a shrug.

Chapter 34: “Mom’s Waiting”

Once outside, we had returned to the outdoor area that overlooked Toluca Lake. On the left was a statue that I didn’t recall seeing before—on a large pedestal was a statue of a goddess of some kind, but the upper half was broken off.

Standing next to the statue was a very familiar-looking little boy. I remembered what Richard had said (“That’s no kid, it’s the 11121 man!”) and, while I wasn’t entirely sure I believed it, based simply on the fact that the man who had been stalking me was much more likely to be Walter Sullivan, I also remembered what happened to Richard. Of course, I didn’t actually see the kid do anything, but he was the only one there. Either way, I thought it was worth investigating.

I motioned to Eileen for her to stay put—the kid might have somehow saved her from the man in the coat earlier, but it didn’t pay to risk it—and I slowly approached the kid and tried to lower myself to his level so I’d appear as non-threatening as possible. “Are you … Walter Sullivan?” I said, quietly.

The kid moved behind the statue, but didn’t run away. “That’s what everybody calls me,” he said, timidly, poking his head out from behind it, “but … I don’t … really have a name.” He then added, “or a home either.”

“Well, what about a mom or dad?” I said.

“Yeah,” he said, sadly, “but I never met ‘em. They left South Ashfield Heights right after I was born.”

… they just suddenly disappeared. Ran off just like thieves in the night … I felt a wave of sympathy, thinking about that bit in Frank Sunderland’s journal and realizing that, somehow, this had to be the same kid. I was talking to that abandoned baby, as he appeared six or seven years after the fact.

Jesus, I thought, every parent who abandons their kid should be forced to see them years later, either to see the damage they did, or all the happy moments they missed out on, depending on how the kid turned out. I could have cried, looking at this cute little kid and thinking about all that must have happened to him to make him turn out as screwed up as he had … assuming that he was really Walter Sullivan.

“But soon I’ll get to see my mom!” He said as he suddenly hopped out from behind the statue, grinning.

“Oh? Do you know where she is now?”

“Yeah, of course,” he said, brightly, “right where I was born.

“Lots of people tried to stop me,” he continued, fidgeting a little, “but it’s fine now. It says in the Scriptures that I’ll be with her.”

He thinks his mother is in my apartment? Then I remembered the words of Andrew DeSalvo: “He was really into that mumbo jumbo … especially that ‘Descent of the Holy Mother’ business …” Trying to put two and two together, I wondered if this meant that he knew of a way to make his mother appear in my apartment.

“I gotta hurry,” the kid said, “Mom’s waiting.” And with that, he ran off, leaving me with more questions then answers.

“They can’t both be Walter Sullivan,” I muttered to myself, once he was out of earshot “Can they …?”

Once he was gone, Eileen approached, having heard the conversation. “What do you think he’s up to?”

I just shrugged and shook my head.

There were more journal entries here, both written on stone structures:

”’February 10th – I went to visit Ashfield again. Again, I …’

“… something … something …

”’… mommy …’

“Some of it’s blurred and I can’t read past there.”

There was one other:

”’October 28th – I have to take a train or something to get to Ashfield. Everyone says Ashfield is a scary place, but I really want to see my mommy.’”

At least now I knew how he got to the apartments.

After finding a Holy Candle and some revolver bullets lying around, I looked at the statue again and realized that it was holding a spear in one hand and a shield in the other, but the shield had the same symbol that was on the doors leading to and from these worlds. On a whim, I poked at it and noticed that it was loose, and I was able to remove it from the statue. Once I did, I realized that it was some kind of crested medallion—it looked important, but it was also about the size of a dinner plate, so if I was going to keep it, I’d need to put it away for now.

There was a hole in the wall, so I asked Eileen to stay put while I went home to drop some things off.

After putting away the large medallion, among other items I wouldn’t need right away, I turned back toward the door and immediately noticed bloody footprints leading from the front door into the kitchen. I jumped, thinking that Walter Sullivan had somehow come into the apartment.

Then I realized that the prints ended behind the counter and that there was no one there that I could see. I moved closer, and realized that the pair of shoes that I normally kept by the front door were in the kitchen where the footprints ended. I looked at the door and realized for the first time that they weren’t in their normal spot.

I came closer, and felt the Saint Medallion around my neck begin to vibrate, revealing that this was another haunting.

Somewhat relieved (since upon first seeing the footprints, I immediately feared Sullivan), I took the candle I’d just put in away, and lit it next to the shoes. First, the footprints leading up to the shoes disappeared, one by one, then the shoes themselves disappeared, and when I looked at the area by the door, I saw that they had returned to their normal spot.

I sighed and shook my head. Most of these hauntings were minor (so far, at least), but there were so many that I began to fear that I wouldn’t be able to keep up.

When I returned, Eileen was standing by the fence and looking out over Toluca Lake. I joined her and stood next to her. I don’t know exactly what came over me, but as much as the lake usually fascinated me, it wasn’t the lake I was gazing at this time.

She stood leaning forward a bit with her right arm propped on the top of the fence as she looked wistfully at the lake in the darkness, and at that moment, she was beautiful. I suppose I should have been put off by the cuts and bruises that practically covered her, but for some reason, they just didn’t bother me. Maybe I was desensitized to that sort of thing by now, or maybe I was able to look beyond them and remember how she normally looked.

She turned and looked at me. If I had to complain about something, it was that I could only see one of her eyes, as the other had a bandage over it. The one I could see was a striking green, and as she looked at me now, I nearly felt like I’d been put under some kind of spell—I could only imagine the effect that the matched set would have. She was gazing back at me—I couldn’t tell if she was looking at me the same way I was looking at her, but I had to swallow the lump that formed in my throat, regardless.

“Have you ever been there?” she said, nodding toward the lake. “Before … this, I mean.”

I looked toward the lake—even in the darkness, it was beautiful, if foreboding, despite the thick layer of fog that clung to it and drifted in our direction. I nodded. “My parents used to take me to Silent Hill a lot when I was a kid.”

“Heh. Me too,” she said, gazing out over the lake again.

I continued looking at the lake, and it got me thinking about that past. One thing I hadn’t really considered before now was what might happen if we survived this ordeal. All the people that I should have been keeping in touch with over the last two years, I wondered how many of them would want nothing to do with me now. It’s not as if I could tell them that it was because of the apartment itself. But I never would have shut myself off from the world, on my own accord. That wasn’t me … but then again, maybe it’s who I had become. People change, after all.

What I felt worst about was my parents. I had issues with them like everyone does, but for the most part, they were pretty good to me-hell, I was practically spoiled-and then, for all they knew, at least, their only son just up and disappeared one day and didn’t grant them so much as a phone call for two years. I didn’t know if I should have been blaming myself, but I still felt lousy about it. I knew they wouldn’t completely disown me, because they weren’t the sort who would do that, but they’d probably never trust me again, and at the very least, they wouldn’t be getting over the hurt any time soon.

I sighed and hung my head, wondering for the millionth time how the hell I ever got dragged into this mess, and why.

Suddenly, I felt something touching my side, and I was pulled from my thoughts as I realized that it was Eileen very carefully and cautiously slipping her arm around my waist—she probably remembered how badly I flinched the last time she tried to hug me—before she drew herself closer, and rested her head on my shoulder.

“W-What—?” was all I could blurt out, wondering what brought on the sudden show of affection.

“You just … looked like you needed a hug,” she said, simply.

I embraced her, gently at first, then I tightened the grip a little when I realized that it felt too good not to. I didn’t know if it was the hug itself, the view, or her, or maybe all of the above, but for whatever reason, I felt more relaxed and content than I had in a long time.

“I guess I did,” I muttered.

Chapter 35: Overwhelmed

The torch was dying out, so I had to re-light it on the candle on the way back into the mountain, remembering that we hadn’t yet found the next piece of the mannequin.

Inside the mountain, we were swarmed by three ghosts. It was too many to fight, even with the Saint Medallion, so I grabbed Eileen by the hand and ran.

In the next area, we discovered the well we had missed the first time around, and it contained the doll’s right leg, which I took with me.

Back at Wish House, I attached the leg to the mannequin. Only the arms were left.

On the way out the final door, I noticed something I had missed before, most likely because this was the door where I’d first entered the courtyard surrounding Wish House and there was no need to go through it again. To the left of the double-doors was a sign:

The Outside is filled with dangerous things. If someone goes Outside without an adult’s permission, the Master is sad.

“Brainwashing at its best,” I muttered, as I opened the door.

The next area was where I’d gotten ambushed by three dog monsters when I was there the first time—my first nearly-fatal mistake, but certainly not my last. However, I didn’t have time to dwell on that, as a double-head was already charging at me.

It’s bad when they get the chance to attack first. It takes them awhile to do it, but once they start going, they can move pretty fast. Unfortunately, I didn’t spot this one until it was already on the move.

I shrieked at the sight of the two screaming infant faces coming at me, as I pulled out my gun and fired. Unfortunately, I’d only gotten two shots in before it caught up to me and took a swipe at me.

I moved out of the way, and yelled at Eileen to do the same, and we ended up moving in opposite directions. It missed me by a hair. Meanwhile, I’d gotten behind it, but Eileen wasn’t as fast—it spotted her first, and turned in her direction, about to attack.

She screamed and backed away, too terrified to be able to face it.

“No!” I shouted—more out of reflex than thinking it would actually listen—as I aimed my gun and fired a few more shots until it fell down dead.

I went to Eileen and asked if she was okay. She was shaking and trying to hold back tears, but she was unharmed. Still, I held her and did my best to reassure her that it’d be okay and that I wouldn’t let anything hurt her.

It took a minute, but she was able to recompose herself and we continued to the next area where there was a well, which held the left arm.

I decided to go ahead and take the arm back and attach it so as to make things easier later on. Once I did, I noticed that the figure was to be slumped forward with its head down and arms dangling. Only one more piece to go.

Once I backtracked, and went through another gate, it lead to the area with the “Mother Stone”—the area where I met Jasper.

I saw that something was on fire in the distance—something floating high, near one of the giant stones. Then I realized that it was a thin figure that was engulfed in flames. The figure descended, almost to the ground, and began moving in my direction, and that’s when I realized I was meeting Jasper for a second time … sort of. This ghost made a strange wheezing sound, like struggled breathing (from the smoke from the fire that burned him, I guessed), its skin was burned to the point where it glowed red, as if made of still-burning embers. For someone who was a weak-looking waif of a guy in life, his ghost certainly looked threatening.

“Henry!” Eileen urged, tugging on my arm, unsure of what I planned to do.

“Let’s go,” I said, shaking myself out of the trance I was in. While I had expected to see Jasper’s ghost, I wasn’t prepared for it, as I didn’t have a sword with me, so I chose fleeing over fighting for the time being. I’d come back later and deal with it after I’d gotten the sword and my quest to find doll parts was finished.

The next area had only a couple of moths to worry about, which Eileen swatted out of the air, and I stepped on.

Through the gate, we were now coming upon the strange industrial building—ghosts were everywhere and so we rushed through this area, through the next door.

In the next area, we went along a walkway and up a few ramps.

Eileen gasped. “What is that?”

I could see right away what she was looking at—it was the giant worm-thing I’d seen in the subway station. It was just as big as when I’d seen it before, and it was still flesh-colored with brown splotches all over. “It’s okay,” I said, “it’s harmless. As for what it is …” I shook my head, “I have no idea.” I looked at it for a moment, “but it suddenly reminds me of an umbilical cord,” I added, noticing the way it seemed to be connected to the ground and the wall at either end.

“Huh?” she muttered, “Umbilical cord?”

Guess it’s just me, then.

A couple gates later, we had come to the last area on this path where we were met by an ape, which I easily dispatched with my gun.

There was also a Holy Candle and a couple more journal entries, again written on stone structures of some kind that were right next to each other:

”’October 4th – My cheek hurts. I hate him.’

”’October 5th – I got hit again. I didn’t do anything wrong. I wish he was dead.’”

She shook her head sadly.

As much as I liked the sound of Eileen’s voice, I was glad that we wouldn’t have to read any more of these entries. I’m sure Eileen was as well.

Finally, I’d found the last well. I illuminated it with the torch and found the right arm. After retrieving it, I threw the torch down. “Won’t be needing this anymore,” I said, as I stamped out the already dwindling flame. I guess I did it more out of force of habit than anything—all that was here were ghosts and monsters, aside from Eileen and I who would be out of here soon. It’s not as if a forest fire would really hurt anything in this case.

We backtracked, but in the very next area, four ape men—who were not there only a moment before—wandered around, chattering anxiously.

I took a deep breath and brought out my gun. “Stay behind me,” I said to Eileen, “And close.”

“Okay,” she said. I heard her getting into position as she did.

We approached the area where the apes were running around. They had all spotted us, and they hopped up and down, beating on their chests, anxiously, as if they just couldn’t wait to get their hands on us. As expected, only one charged in our direction.

Using the strategy I came up with in Building world, I waited until it got close enough that I had a good shot, and blasted it in the head. It flew back, tumbled, and lay still.

That worked well, but when I looked around, I noticed that the rest were gone, but I could hear them their noises coming from all directions.

One thing I had forgotten to take into account is that while these creatures will only attack one at a time, one won’t hesitate to get behind me while I’m fighting another one so that if I kill the first one, it can catch me off guard.

“Henry!” Eileen screamed. I turned and saw that she was pointing to the right in the direction of another ape. I didn’t wait for this one to come closer, I just started shooting. It took several shots, but it did go down.

Their irritating and repetitive chatter still seemed to be coming from everywhere, keeping me on edge. I couldn’t relax until every single one was dead.

I figured that the most logical place for the next one to show up was directly behind me—I did a 180 and, sure enough, that’s where it was. This one was a lot closer than the last one, really only a few feet away. I gasped and barely had time to aim—in fact, it was nearly upon me when I fired, but I somehow managed to aim well, and put a bullet through its head.

This was a clever strategy they were using—they were all closing in at once, but they were far enough away from each other that I could only deal with one at a time.

Before I had time to think about where the fourth one was, I heard the sound of Eileen’s screams alternating with a few snaps of her chain. When I turned around, the ape creature had gotten hold of her chain and had yanked it away from her.

It actually swung the chain at her—I was surprised that it knew how to use it, I assume it figured it out by watching her—but not before I grabbed Eileen and pulled her close to me, partly to keep her away from the monster, and partly so there was no danger of her getting in the way, as I held the gun out and shot the thing.

I let out a sigh of relief and was about to stomp on the likely-dead creature for good measure, but Eileen turned around and practically fell into my arms, crying, before I had the chance to.

I remembered hearing the chain being flung around and her screaming, and I nearly panicked. “A-Are you okay?” I stammered, “Are you hurt?” as I simultaneously tried to see if there were any bruises on her that weren’t there before.

She shook her head. “It never … laid a hand on me … thanks to you,” she said, between sobs, her words muffled against my shoulder—apparently it didn’t take the chain from her until after she’d gotten her hits in, and the screaming I’d heard was out of fear and not pain. “I just … wish I wasn’t so … so useless.”

Hearing her say that was heart breaking—she may not have been able to do much fighting, but she was the sole reason I was able to make it this far, and by this point was the only thing keeping me sane. If it was just me, I would have given up by now, or lost my mind in any case. If only she knew. If only I knew how to tell her.

“Don’t say that,” I said softly, but firmly, holding her tighter, “You’re …” I struggled to find the words, but all that would come out was: “… much more of a help than you realize.”

I practically winced at my own inability to express myself. What I said sounded completely lame to me, but she seemed to accept it, somewhat, and she eventually calmed down. Once she did, I retrieved her chain from the dead monster’s hand for her, and we continued down the path.

At the wall was a hole. I told Eileen that I’d be wanting to get the crested medallion—I had a feeling that we’d need it to get out of this world—and my axe, which she understood, so in I went.

Upon awakening in my room, the first sound I heard was a shatter as the Saint Medallion on my neck broke, followed my own screams of agony as I was suddenly gripped with a vice-like headache that blinded me. There was a haunting somewhere in the bedroom, very close.

I moved to the right, as I normally did when I wanted to get out of bed, but the headache came on stronger, so I rolled to the left, and in my disorientation, I overcompensated and rolled right off the bed, hitting the floor painfully. Fortunately, the headache went away then. I lifted my head and looked over the bed to see something in my open closet.

The shadow of a boy stood there, occasionally looking around and trying to touch things. It was distorted, elongated—the shadow of something that wasn’t there, not unlike the shadow I saw in the hospital of the body in the wheelchair. It cried like an infant, but in two voices.

Without hesitating, I got the matches from the living room, but I did hesitate when it came to setting up the candle. I was just so damn tired of the headaches by this point, and they seemed to be getting worse—I wondered if leaving this one ghost alone would make that much of a difference.

No, I thought, I can’t afford to be passive about this, especially with the thing being in my damn bedroom. It’s either have one headache now, or deal with one every time I come back here.

So I took a deep breath, and approached the closet. As the sound of the apparition’s cries became louder, my headache became stronger, until I could barely see what I was doing. I quickly set the candle on the floor in front of it, but then I had to back away until my head cleared again.

“Okay, two headaches,” I muttered in frustration as I lit the match. Standing as far away as I could, I reached toward the candle and lit it—I could see the wick just well enough to get the job done. Once I could see the flame grow, I pulled away quickly, shook out the match and stood on the other side of the bed as I waited for the candle to burn all the way down. As it did, that damn shadow disappeared.

“Oh god,” I groaned, “so many …” I shook my head wearily, no longer feeling any sense of accomplishment from ridding my apartment of the hauntings—I was barely able to keep up.

I was beginning to despair, just as Joseph had.

I tried to keep my mind off of it by staying focused on the current task—I retrieved my axe, and the big medallion from the box in the living room, then went back through the hole in the laundry room.

Chapter 36: Cradle of Forest

Back in the forest, we went through the door to the building. As we went down the incline and along the path, past the giant umbilical-cord-thing, a ghost showed up. It got in the way rather quickly, so I decided to stay and fight instead of running, despite the fact that I wasn’t wearing a medallion. Without really planning it, we ended up using a strategy where I stood in front of the ghost and Eileen behind it and we simultaneously beat on it. It was working pretty well until another ghost showed up, causing the headache I already had to double in strength.

“Screw it, just run!” I said, grabbing Eileen by the hand.

The rest of the trip was fairly uneventful until we got to the area with the twin giant stones. A ghost that was blazing with fire phased through the fence on the opposite side of the area, and while he started far away, he was coming at me fast.

I had no Saint Medallion, but I knew what I had to do regardless, so I dropped the items on the ground, leaving me with only my weapons to hold. I looked at Eileen. “What we did last time,” I said, referring to the strategy we’d tried on the ghost where we’d trapped it between us, “Are you up for doing that again?”

She looked toward the quickly approaching ghost of Jasper, which had now covered half the distance, and hesitated a moment before looking back at me and giving me an affirmative nod—obviously terrified, but determined to do what was necessary, in spite of it.

I nodded back. As I did, I noticed a glimmer on the ground next to the Mother Stone. I ran to it and, as luck would have it, it was a Saint Medallion. Shaking my head in disbelief that luck was on my side for once, I quickly picked it up and put it around my neck, slipping it under my shirt, as usual. Now I was ready.

The fire wasn’t just for show—I could feel the heat as it approached. I pulled back my axe and readied myself. I began to wonder if the gun would have been a better choice, but I needed to be close to use the sword since the window of time where I was able to impale the ghosts was very small. I’d just have to be very, very careful around this one.

As much as I was disturbed by the lack of eyes on Cynthia’s ghost, I was further disturbed by the fact that this one did have eyes, and they were glaring at me with a hatred almost as intense as the heat that emitted from this specter.

This one didn’t just float there and take the abuse the way Cynthia’s ghost had. It at least tried to fight back, but while it was able to travel quickly, its moves were slow. I hacked at it with the axe, as Eileen got behind it and wailed on it with her chain. The chain made a surprisingly good weapon—it wasn’t terribly fast, but by the way her opponents reacted, I could tell the hits were devastating.

Just as Cynthia’s ghost, it fell and got up several times. After a certain point, it pushed past me and tried to retreat, but it had weakened significantly by then and was slow moving, and I easily cut it off at the pass.

I continued to use my axe on it, but it surprised me with a startlingly fast move, as it grabbed my right forearm.

I screamed, more out of panic than pain, and tried to pull away as the fire spread from the ghost’s hand to my sleeve.

Fortunately, Eileen was on the ball, and she began striking it with the chain until it let go.

By now, the fire had spread more than halfway up my sleeve. I dropped my weapons, and frantically pulled my blue shirt over my head and threw it on the ground.

Meanwhile, Eileen continued to beat on the ghost, and as she did, I noticed that the flames that emitted from it were gradually diminishing—not only was the fire a weapon, but an indicator of its level of strength.

I picked up my weapons and continued hacking away at it with the axe until it lay still and the fire was gone. I didn’t hesitate before bringing the sword down and impaling the ghost, pinning it to the ground.

Exhausted, I slumped to my knees and struggled to catch my breath. It was then—once the adrenaline had worn off—that I felt the horrible stinging pain in my right forearm. I yelled in pain and held it against myself protectively. I hadn’t suffered a burn in a long time and it was amazing how much more painful they were than cuts—cuts you could barely feel at first, but burns are agonizing from the start.

I looked over at Jasper’s ghost. It still stared at me, making gasping sounds. Although the fire was gone, its skin still glowed red. I remembered his screams of agony and I remembered thinking what a horrible sight it was. Now that I’d gotten a small taste of the kind of pain that fire caused, I couldn’t stop thinking about what a terrible way to die it must have been.

“Henry … you gonna be okay?” Eileen sat beside me and put her arm around my shoulders, gently pulling me back into the present.

I finally looked at my arm—yes, my right arm this time, my luck was bound to run out sooner or later—and it wasn’t pretty. Almost my entire forearm, from just above the wrist up to about two thirds up to my elbow was red and glossy, patches of the uppermost layers of skin were missing, and it had already started to blister. It stung like hell and felt like it was still burning. “Dammit,” I muttered, upon seeing what had happened to my weapon-wielding arm, and I hung my head in despair.

I took a deep breath, and forced myself to keep it together, if only for her sake. “I’ll survive,” I said, realizing that I could still use the arm, just not without some pain. But it would make the rest of the journey that much more daunting, which I didn’t need.

“Maybe you should go back to your apartment and run some cold water on it,” she said, rubbing my shoulder in an attempt to comfort me.

I shook my head. “That place is falling apart—there’s no running water anymore,” I said, regretfully.

Eileen sighed. “Then I guess we’ll just have to settle for bandaging it, so it won’t get infected, and leave it at that.”

That was a nice way of saying that I’d just have to deal with the pain, at least for now. I nodded. We would probably be going to the Water Prison next, but I wouldn’t be holding onto any hope of actually finding clean water there. At least I probably wouldn’t have to do any fighting until then.

I pulled out the portable first-aid kit I had in my pocket, and she helped me bandage the wound since doing it one-handed was a little awkward. She really seemed to know what she was doing—she even pointed out that the ointments and such that came with the first-aid kit wouldn’t be good to use because they tend to hold in the heat and make it worse.

I realized how little I knew about her when a question popped into my head. “Are you a nurse? Or … studying to be?”

She looked a little surprised, but also a little flattered, at the question. “Heh. No, I’ve just taken some first-aid classes.”

I was honestly a little surprised, and not just because of the medical stuff—she had a rare kind of compassion where it would seem that helping people would come natural to her. “Maybe you should be,” I said, smiling a little.

She smiled back, a little awkwardly, and shrugged.

Once the wound was covered, I went and picked up my blue shirt. Fortunately, it landed in such a way that the fire was snuffed out under the rest of the shirt so it wasn’t too badly burned—only at the lower part of the sleeve. It had certainly seen better days, but it was still wearable, so I dusted it off and put it back on.

I stood, and helped her up as well, before picking up my weapon and items—fortunately the trip back to Wish House was relatively uneventful.

Back at Wish House, we went up the ramp to the mannequin on the wheelchair, and I snapped the right arm into its socket.

Suddenly, the doll’s head began to twitch and shudder as it came to life. I backed away, disturbed, and Eileen grabbed onto my arm.

Its hands grabbed the rims, and it leaned its body back, pulling the rims and moving the chair back. As it did, its head fell back and it opened its mouth in what looked like a silent scream. The mouth shouldn’t have been able to move the way it did, as there were no joints in those spots—it was as if the head was made of flesh, even though it still had the color and texture of burned wood—and it made the display even more disturbing. It shakily leaned forward again, took the rims again, and repeated the motion, backing onto a incline, at which point it rolled off and violently fell to the floor as the chair collided with some of the debris, sending the doll to land on the ground, in an awkward position, as the chair lay on its side, one of its wheels still spinning.

It revealed a large hole in the floor where below was a stairway.

I shook my head at the odd display. “Well, I guess that’s the exit.”

In the room at the bottom of the steps was an altar where the symbol I’d been seeing everywhere had been painted on the wall, and there was a table in front of it that contained several candles, bottles, and a book. I picked up the book—it was heavy and leather-bound and looked like some kind of bible. I read aloud the part it was open to:

”’The Descent of the Holy Mother - The 21 Sacraments

”’The First Sign: And God said, At the time of fullness, cleanse the world with my rage. Gather forth the White Oil, the Black Cup and the Blood of the Ten Sinners. Prepare for the Ritual of the Holy Assumption.’

“So, that’s why he commits the murders?” I said, shaking my head. “He thinks he’s ridding the world of sinners? Or maybe that’s why he chooses those particular people, at least.

”’The Second Sign: And God said, Offer the Blood of the Ten Sinners and the White Oil. Be then released from the bonds of the flesh, and gain the Power of Heaven. From the Darkness and Void, bring forth Gloom, and gird thyself with Despair for the Giver of Wisdom.’

“So, I guess that’s the ritual that allowed him to come back from the dead.

”’The Third Sign: And God said, Return to the Source through sin’s Temptation. Under the Watchful eye of the demon, wander alone in the formless Chaos. Only then will the Four Atonements be in alignment.’”

Temptation, Source, Watchfulness, and Chaos, I thought.

”’The Last Sign: And God said, separate from the flesh too, she who is … the Mother Reborn…’”

I paused and looked at Eileen for a second. Was it referring to her? The disturbed look she returned implied that she thought so too.

I tried to continue, but faltered:

”’… and he who … is …’”

After a moment of silence, Eileen stepped in. “Henry? What’s wrong? What does it say?” she said with concern as she tried to look over my shoulder at the book.

”’… and he who is the Receiver of Wisdom.’

“Receiver of Wisdom,” I repeated, mostly for her benefit, “I think that means me,” I added, gravely.

There was one last line, which I read:

”’If this be done, by the Mystery of the 21 Sacraments, the Mother shall be reborn and the Nation of Sin shall be redeemed.’”

I shook my head in bewilderment.

… the Mother shall be reborn.

I gotta hurry, Mom’s waiting.

What exactly was he trying to accomplish?

We went to the only door. It was locked, but there was a ten-inch round depression in it. The “key” to this door was fairly obvious—I inserted the big medallion I’d found earlier into the depression, and as I did, I heard a faint click. I tried the knob again, and it opened.

Outside, back on the spiral stairway, it had gotten darker, colder and there was even more fog. Not to mention that the structure looked rusty and even more deteriorated than the last part we’d seen, and we would have to tread carefully, as much of the railing was gone.

There was a room behind a pane of glass where I could see a sheep with a huge cross behind it. The animal looked real enough, but it never moved—perhaps it was stuffed. I couldn’t help but feel that this was meant to be symbolic, but if it was, the symbolism was lost on me, other than something I vaguely remembered from the Bible (the Christian one), some mention of sheep with the lord being the shepherd.

A little more along the path, we came upon another room, and I jumped as I thought I saw something coming at me. Eileen screamed.

I looked at it and realized that it was a body that was bound in white cloth, held tightly on with leather straps. It had apparently been hanged because it was suspended from a long rope of some kind and it swung back and forth, as if being pushed by an unseen force. I wouldn’t know how to explain what was on the head, but it looked like some kind of metal helmet that came to a long point in the front.

“What is this place?” she said, clinging to me.

I knew it was a rhetorical question, but I still wished I had an answer for her. Other than the obvious: Hell. It didn’t fit any version of Hell I’d ever heard of, but I couldn’t imagine Hell being much worse.

Chapter 37: Ambushed

Instead of leading straight to the next area, the door at the end of the spiraling path lead to a ring-shaped room where there was an open doorway to a cylindrical room that was made completely of white bricks and was void of anything that might hint at what it was for.

We went in, and a pair of doors made of bars automatically slid closed, startling us. “Hang on,” I told Eileen, having a vague notion of what was coming.

Despite my warning, she gasped and jumped as a motor suddenly started up somewhere and the room jerked. She grabbed onto my arm as we felt the familiar sensation of descending and we could see only a white abyss outside the door. We were in one of the cylindrical elevators that I’d noticed in the distance when we were on the spiral path that connected the subway station to the forest.

The trip was long, and uneasy at best—the motor was so loud and the movement was so shaky, that it was hard to not imagine it suddenly breaking down, causing us to either be trapped in there permanently, or plummet to our deaths (or even both)—so we held onto each other for comfort during most of it.

Thankfully, it eventually slowed as it reached the end of the trip, then it came to a full stop, jerking once more, as the motor shut down and the doors slid open, revealing that we were in a room identical to the one we were in before.

I began to open the door, but I barely had time to make out the blinding fog that was characteristic of the Water Prison before the door was quickly pulled open from the outside, and a hand grabbed me by the shirt collar and violently pulled me through the doorway. I was then pushed against the door, slamming it shut, with Eileen locked inside.

She screamed and banged on the door. I hated for her to be stuck alone in that small room, but at least she was safe.

I looked ahead and saw that I was face-to-face with none other than Walter Sullivan. I quickly started to raise my axe, but his left hand shot out and grabbed my injured forearm roughly.

I screamed and the flaring pain caused me to involuntarily drop the axe, which clattered noisily to the floor. He managed to get me right on the spot where I’d been burned earlier, where there was only a layer of fabric and a layer of bandages between his powerful grip and the exposed tissue. The pain was so great, it may as well have been on fire again.

Walter released the grip, but before I had time to do anything else, he pushed the barrel of his gun against my forehead, just above my eyes, pushing my head against the door. I stood perfectly still, frozen with fear.

Once again, he had me right where he wanted me. But this wasn’t quite the forest incident all over again—that time, he had me pinned so I couldn’t move. Now I was only afraid to move because I had a gun pointed at my head and it was too easy to imagine it going off, even by accident.

I had to do something. I couldn’t suffer that humiliation again—there had to be a way to defend myself and somehow win this stand-off.

He said nothing at first, and merely stared into my eyes—into my very soul. I guess he just wanted to see what I’d do, if anything. I couldn’t stand to look back into those emotionless eyes, but I couldn’t look away, either.

I waited for an opening.

“This is the part where you beg for your life,” he said in that soft, monotone—and, in this case, condescending—voice of his.

Both of us stood perfectly still in this stand-off. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of a response, until he cocked his gun. I was snapped out of my trance, and I shut my eyes and drew in a shuddering gasp.

He chuckled, coldly. Apparently my cowering in fear was endlessly amusing. But, barely missing a beat, the humor suddenly disappeared from his voice. “Then maybe I’ll just blow your brains out.” he said, his voice turning deeper.

“You won’t do it,” I said, through gritted teeth, hoping I that the terror in my voice came across as angry intensity, “You need me alive for some reason.”

“Wrong answer.” Suddenly, I felt the back of his gun slam into the side of my head behind the temple. I wasn’t knocked out—only in a lot of pain with my ears ringing and briefly disoriented.

I’d been waiting for an opening and—with the gun momentarily pointing away from my head—this was it. And yet, I wasn’t even thinking about that—or pretty much anything, really—as I acted out of sheer rage and found myself taking a blind swing at him with my fist.

Somehow, it landed on target and connected with his jaw, causing his head to snap back. It didn’t faze him much, but it did cause a momentary distraction.

I realized we were standing on a raised platform and that there was a stairway behind him. Taking advantage of this, I gave him a hard shove, causing him to tumble down the steps. He may have been supernaturally strong and resilient, but he wasn’t immune to gravity.

This bought me the time I needed to pull out my gun, and I started firing the second he hit bottom.

He stood and looked up at me—I expected him to look pissed off, or at least surprised. Instead, he only stared calmly back at me as I fired. It was chilling. I think it was his way of conceding that I’d won that battle. But, of course, he couldn’t be killed, so why should he worry?

After several shots, he collapsed.

I did as well, once the adrenaline wore off, and I was overcome with dizziness from the blow to the head I’d received. I grabbed the railing as my legs buckled under me and managed to fall only to my knees instead of ending up sprawled on the ground.

I wasn’t aware that Eileen had come out of the room she was locked in, until I heard her call my name and felt her hand settle on my shoulder.

“I’ll be okay,” I said, the dizziness already subsiding.

I tried to stand, but she discouraged it by pushing down on my shoulder. “No, not yet. You’re bleeding pretty bad.”

Apparently he’d hit harder then I thought—I touched the spot, and when I looked at my hand, it was covered in blood. How I’d managed to stay conscious was nothing short of a miracle.

“I’ll take care of it,” she said, kneeling beside me and taking the small first-aid kit from my pocket.

“Okay … just be quick about it,” I said, looking at Walter’s corpse that I knew wouldn’t remain a corpse for very long.

After the wound on my head was cleaned and it was decided that I would be able to go on, we went through the double doors, which lead to the spiraling path that wrapped around the building.

Eileen looked out over the edge and gasped and almost immediately began to waver.

“Look out!” I said as I grabbed onto her and pulled her close. She hadn’t gotten that close to the edge yet, but if she had passed out, she probably would have pitched over the edge.

“Oh god!” she exclaimed, as she clung to me and shivered. “Where are we?”

“We’re outside the prison,” I said, simply.

“Is this … the place where they kept all those kids locked up?”

I sighed and nodded. “Let’s keep moving,” I said, changing the subject, “Will you be okay?”

“I … I think so,” she said, wrapping her arm around mine.

“It’ll be okay,” I said, trying to sound as reassuring as possible, “just stay close to the wall and stay focused on where you’re going, and try not to think about … the height.”

With Eileen with me, there would be no ladder climbing, so we had some walking to do. It was quite a ways to even the top floor, so I decided to give her a break and we went through the very next set of double doors we came upon, which lead to the third story of the prison.

Chapter 38: Unexpected Distraction

We made our way through the hall. Unlike the forest area, the Water Prison seemed exactly the same as I’d left it. Dimly lit, plain brick walls, dampness and chill, along with the unmistakable smell of mold, still looking for all the world like a medieval dungeon to the point where you’d almost expect to see wailing emaciated prisoners in ragged clothing chained to the walls. On some level, my mind still refused to grasp the idea that children were kept in that building, and I tried not to think about it and stay focused on getting us out of there. Not that either was an easy task.

“It’s so damp and gross here,” she muttered, almost as if reading my mind. There was also sadness in her voice, presumably because she knew that this was the same prison referenced in the journal entries we kept finding in the forest area surrounding Wish House.

It was at that moment that I realized I would have to leave her somewhere for awhile, and soon. Not only would I have to jump through a lot of holes—even though I always seemed to come through unharmed, the same rules didn’t always apply to her, and it wouldn’t pay to risk it with her injuries, assuming that those holes even existed for her—but I wanted to shield her from as much of this area as possible. She may have known what this building was used for, but she didn’t need to know all the gory details. She wouldn’t be able to handle it. Hell, I didn’t even know if I could.

I didn’t remember which rooms were empty and which ones contained … evidence, so I went along, opening doors one at a time and peeking in until I came to one that was “safe”, it was even one of the well-lit ones, and I lead Eileen inside.

I turned to her, and paused. She looked back at me with a wilting expression, knowing what I was about to say.

“I’ll … have a lot of ladder climbing to do,” I said, awkwardly, “So I’ll have to leave you here for awhile.”

“Wonderful,” she muttered, looking around at the dismal surroundings.

Even though I felt terrible about having to leave her in a prison cell, I shrugged. “It’s either this or the hallway—at least here it’s safer and you have a place to sit.”

She nodded, reluctantly. “Do what you have to do,” she said, weakly. She shivered, and suddenly I noticed that she was holding her free arm against her body with her hand balled into a fist.

“Are you cold?” Me and my stupid questions. I wasn’t that cold, but of course I was wearing two layers and she was barely wearing one, not to mention that I was able to keep a quick pace when I was there previously. With all the chaos with the elevator and Sullivan, I just didn’t have time to consider the fact that she’d be uncomfortable.

She didn’t answer my question, but she didn’t need to.

I hesitated only for a very brief moment. “Here,” I said, unbuttoning my long-sleeved, light-blue shirt.

She looked a little surprised. “Are you sure? Don’t you need it?”

I shrugged. “You need it more,” I responded, holding it out for her.

She hesitated for only a second before slipping her right arm into the right sleeve. I helped her into it, as if it were a jacket, pulling the left side over her left shoulder. “I … ah … thanks, Henry.” She smiled sheepishly, and I could tell that she was deeply touched.

I nodded, awkwardly, in response.

She fumbled with the top button, trying to button it with one hand. “Umm … would you …”

“Need some help?”

“Please,” she answered, a bit frustrated.

I gently pulled the collar around her neck—I couldn’t help but notice how much looser it was on her slender neck than mine. She lifted her chin up so I would have easier access to the top button, and I swallowed hard when I realized that she was looking at my face—maybe she thought I didn’t notice, but it made me uncomfortable, so I kept my eyes awkwardly fixed on the buttons.

She stopped after a few seconds, but by then, I was at the next few buttons—the ones on her chest, and I couldn’t help but notice how it rose and fell as she breathed … and she was breathing pretty heavily by the looks of things. Of course, I was having a hard time doing it with the distractions, but I pressed on.

The shirt was quite loose on her, and normally it would be hiding her shape, but as I pulled the fabric away from her to do the buttons, I couldn’t help but notice how the rest of it was pulled taut around her, and the curves it revealed—strangely, she looked even sexier in my old blood-stained shirt than in the skimpy velvet dress she wore under it. I swallowed hard, feeling a bit guilty for noticing these things, not that I could really help it. I couldn’t tell if she was aware of where my mind was, but if she was, she thankfully gave no indication.

As I got to the bottom of the shirt, I noticed that the right sleeve—which was only a little long on me—went clear over her hand, and then some, which would make holding a weapon difficult. So I took her right arm, unbuttoned the blackened sleeve, and rolled it up to just above her wrist.

Just as I was finishing (and beginning to think that the awkwardness was over), she looked up at me again, directly in the eyes this time, and tilted her head, before placing her hand on my cheek.

I bit my lip, unsure of how to react. What was this about? Why did she keep staring at me?

Before I knew what was happening, she moved her hand from my cheek to the back of my head, and pulled me a little closer so that her smooth cheek was brushing up against mine. “You’re so sweet,” she said, softly, right before she kissed my cheek, just next to the corner of my mouth.

I felt my face flush, and my mouth hung open. I was caught completely off-guard.

Meanwhile, she resumed gazing at me, as if considering something for a moment. She took a deep breath. “What the hell …” she muttered, as she quickly—presumably before she had time to change her mind—pressed her lips against mine.

My entire body tensed up, and the feeling was not unlike panic. The two years of isolation had really messed with my head, and it was almost as if I had no idea what she was doing, or how I should react. In fact, my first instinct was to push her away. I almost felt like I should—we barely knew each other, and she had obviously done this on impulse, what if she ended up regretting it later? Should I be letting her do this knowing what the outcome could be?—but I just couldn’t bring myself to end it.

I half-expected her to stop when I didn’t return the affection right away, but she didn’t. If anything, she kept her hand on the back of my head to discourage me from pulling away. She waited patiently for me to loosen up, she even gently stroked my hair in attempt to calm me.

It took several seconds, but before I knew it, the seemingly impossible happened. It stopped feeling awkward, and I just … let go, and relaxed into it. I took her into my arms, closed my eyes, and returned the kiss, enjoying the pleasant shiver that ran down my spine. It never stopped feeling at least a little strange and surreal, but this was as close as I had come to being lost in a moment like this in as long as I could remember.

The kiss was soft and pretty chaste, but sensual, and it lasted awhile—I wasn’t going to be the one to end it, and she didn’t seem anxious to end it for me.

After awhile, she pulled away a little and looked at me again, as if expecting something.

I tried to say something—I didn’t know what, but anything would do—but no worlds would come forth. What could I say, after all? I hadn’t had time to really stop and think about how I felt about her. In one day, she went from cute next-door neighbor who I’d barely exchanged words with to someone I wanted to protect and who cared about me to … what now? A friend?

Friends don’t kiss like that. It wasn’t exactly a make-out session, but it wasn’t sisterly, either.

The expression on her face was difficult to read, except that it was full of emotion and that the smile she was giving me looked a bit forced. “You deserved it,” she said, responding to my confused expression. “I just … didn’t want you to leave without …” she trailed off with a sigh, not knowing how to end the thought with words, so she punctuated it by embracing me again. “Oh, just be safe, okay?”

I’d all but forgotten that I was about to leave her there when we became sidetracked over the shirt. I had to swallow a lump in my throat. “I … I will,” I managed to get out, “and you, too.”

As I left the room, I remembered the first time I had to leave her somewhere—in the Subway Station—and as hard as it was to do then, it was so much harder this time.

I took a deep breath and pressed on, pretending that I didn’t notice the absence of her touch.

Chapter 39: Recurrent Confrontations

I left my axe in the room with Eileen, since climbing with it would have been awkward, and I gave the rest of the third floor a once-over with only my gun with me. There was nothing to find except for a box of ammo and a Holy Candle. Once I got to one of the rooms that had a hole in the floor, I jumped in.

I woke up in one of the cells on the second floor to find a double-head already about to take a swipe at me. There was no time to grab my gun just yet, so I rolled out of the way in a random direction, and it missed me by a hair.

Unfortunately, I had moved away from the door, which it was now blocking, so I had no choice but to fight.

I rose to my feet quickly, pulled out my gun, and managed to get a few shots in before it charged at me. I moved out of the way at the last second. It slowed, and narrowly avoided running smack into the back wall (which was too bad—with how much trouble these things had given me, I probably would have found that hilarious).

It was slow to turn around and barely had time to see where I was and begin moving in my direction before I had taken a few steps away and fired a couple more times until it fell down dead.

I took a moment to catch my breath, and I couldn’t help but feel somewhat … triumphant for having defeated one of those big creatures in such a small room, especially without taking any hits myself. But no sooner had I left the room then I heard the stomping of another one coming up behind me in the hall.

Unfortunately, by the time I knew what was happening, it was too late to react. I turned around just as it was taking a swipe at me. Unlike the last, this particular attack hit its target and I was flung several feet into the air to a very painful landing on the concrete floor. I was extremely lucky to not have hit my head hard enough to be knocked out, and I forced myself to my feet, and dealt with this one similarly as the last.

Once I composed myself, I searched a few more rooms, then, a few more doors down the hall …

“Receiver!”

There were two of them, this time, which made things … “interesting”. As I’d shoot at one, the other would start moving toward me, and I’d have to switch my attention to that one, at which point the other one would start moving toward me again.

I dealt with it by alternating between shooting and running away, so they wouldn’t get too close. I managed to get out of it relatively unscathed, but I was exhausted.

“Too many,” I muttered, shaking my head in disbelief as I breathed heavily and wiped the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. At this rate, I’d be too tired to make it to the basement, if I ever made it off the second floor.

I continued along the hall. After several locked doors, I managed to open one only to find yet another double-head. There was nothing else of interest in the room, so I quickly closed the door before it had a chance to attack.

I continued down the hall only to find yet another double-head wandering around just inside the area where I could see.

“Oh, hell no!” I muttered before I turned and ran back the way I came. I had finished exploring that floor anyway. Fortunately, the double-head didn’t pursue me, otherwise I’m not sure I would have been able to outrun it.

I went out the set of double-doors, and as I did, I winced and shivered as I was hit with a blast of freezing air. I didn’t have far to go, and I knew it’d be best to keep moving so as to avoid the cold, so I went down the two sets of ladders as quickly as I could manage, and through the door to the first floor.

There wasn’t much on the first floor, except another Holy Candle, and another box of ammo.

Unsure of where else to look, I decided that the basement was probably the best place to go. Unfortunately, that meant going all the way back up to the third floor, then down the corpse chutes again.

As I went through the door, I felt that gust of cold air again, and I had to stop for a second as I wrapped my arms around myself and shivered. Had it really been this cold when I was there earlier?

Of course, as I’d learned before, the best way to avoid being cold was to keep moving. I went up the first ladder, but before I had the chance to move toward the second one, I was startled by a sound from above as if something was hitting the metal grating of the path that was only a few feet above my head.

I looked over my left shoulder and was disheartened—but not surprised—to see Walter Sullivan walking around.

I knew that if I timed it just right, I could probably go up the next two ladders without him seeing me. But I’d have to be patient. For the time being, I silently backed up so that I was directly under the floor he was standing on so he’d be less likely to spot me.

At that moment, he stopped almost directly above me, so I stood with my back pressed against the cold cement wall, waiting for him to turn and walk back the way he came. The thin t-shirt I wore offered little protection from the biting cold, and I had to make a conscious effort to keep my teeth from clicking together for fear that they might give me away.

I hadn’t realized what a sacrifice it was to give up my blue shirt to Eileen, not that it would have stopped me. I rationalized that she probably still needed it more than me, and at least it was keeping one of us warm.

I kept my eyes fixed on the figure above me as I stood perfectly still—holding myself tightly as I breathed heavily but silently, my breath showing up as white clouds that immediately dissipated, only to return again. I envied that coat of his. Maybe I should steal it, next time I kill him, I joked inwardly.

Just when I was beginning to contemplate taking my chances with Walter, he finally turned and walked back the way he came.

I slowly moved to my right, grabbed the rungs of the ladder—they felt like ice, but my hands were nearly numb, so I barely noticed and, as much as I wanted to hurry and get it over with, I forced myself to climb slowly. He wasn’t that far away, and it wouldn’t be good to risk making noise or, worse, having my foot slip.

He was nearly out of sight when I reached the top of the ladder and climbed onto the surface, but suddenly, he stopped.

I had to fight the urge to make a break for the next ladder—I had to avoid fighting him at all costs, and any noise I’d make scurrying up the ladder while he stood only fifteen feet away would surely give me away. And yet, if he turned around, then a confrontation would be inevitable … but at least I’d be ready for it.

I reached behind my back and took hold of my gun, watching his every move. I contemplated simply shooting him in the back and getting it over with, but decided against it—if I missed, then all I’d end up doing was alerting him to my presence. But if he even began to turn around, I wouldn’t hesitate to use it.

After several long seconds, he continued walking. I did as well, timing my footsteps with his so he’d be less likely to hear them, until I reached the next ladder, which I climbed as silently as I could.

Once I reached the top and was out of earshot, I went up the remaining ladders quickly.

Now that I was definitely in the clear, I closed the door to the third story behind me, and leaned against it, taking a moment to catch my breath. Now that I remembered that I was cold, I took a minute to blow on my hands, rub them together, and rub away the goose bumps on my arms.

I realized that I was now on the same floor as Eileen, and I was tempted to check up on her, but I decided against it, figuring that seeing me show up would get her hopes up that we were getting out of here already.

Her door was two to the left—I sighed and went to the right, several doors down to the room with the corpse chute, where I jumped down.

Naturally, in the one place where I expected to see double-heads, there were none. In the basement, there were only the stalk-like (and phallic-looking) fungus creatures. I didn’t have my axe with me, and no way was I about to waste ammo on them, but fortunately, I was going in the opposite direction, so I just left them alone for the time being and entered the door with the key pad on the right side—the room where Andrew DeSalvo had been drowned.

DeSalvo’s death hadn’t disturbed me as much as the others had, but the room itself was generally unpleasant to be in. It was exactly as I’d left it—that unmistakable stench of mold and death, rotary blades on the wall, and a metal bridge connecting the cement outcropping to a circular cement platform.

But on the platform was something different. I walked over to it and saw that it was a white shirt.

DeSalvo’s?

No, it was much too small—it had to have been a … prisoner’s shirt.

I picked it up and noticed that parts of it were raised and stiff. Upon closer inspection, I could see that there was something written on it in white wax. I could almost make out a few words, but in this dim lighting, it was impossible to read. The only other time I recalled seeing anything written in white wax on a white background was at Easter—once you soaked the egg in the dye, the wax would repel the color, leaving whatever area it had coated white.

“Too bad I don’t have any egg dye,” I muttered in a semi-joking manner.

But then I remembered that I did have colored liquid of a different kind in my apartment. I was revolted by the idea, but it was the only option I could think of.

I went into the hall, down a ladder to the area below with the water wheel. I went down the spiral stairway and to the floor, and noticed that there was something different here as well. Something massive was dangling from the ceiling, above the water and at about at the height of my head. As I began to approach it, it twitched, nearly causing me to jump out of my skin.

I stood perfectly still until I was sure it wasn’t going to attack me, then I gradually relaxed. The things that I had thought were giant umbilical cords were actually giant worms—or at least in this area they were. This one I was looking at was so close, I could reach out and touch it (if I’d wanted to) and I could easily make out what looked like eyes and a mouth on its phallic-looking steel-grey head. It suspended from the ceiling, just … hanging there. I looked up, but—as in the subway—I couldn’t see where its back end was. Perhaps it was attached to the ceiling the way some of the others I’d seen were attached to walls.

I saw something at the corner of my eye, and I turned to my left to see another one, rising above the floor level from the water area below, where it twisted around then dropped back down, almost as if it were putting on a show for me.

I just shook my head. What in the world are these things? If they’re not here to attack me, what are they doing here? Do they mean something?

Realizing that I may never find out, and trying to figure it out would probably do no more than give me a migraine, I decided to let it go, and do what I came to this area to do in the first place: I went through the hole in the wall.

Chapter 40: Basement

Back at the apartment, I made a beeline for the bathroom, much as I didn’t want to.

I looked at the inside of the tub. Most of the blood on the walls had clotted and dried, having turned a dark rust color, but the puddle of blood in the middle of the tub that was a couple inches deep was still mostly red and appeared to still be liquid.

I sighed and draped the shirt over the puddle, but the fabric refused to absorb the blood at first.

“Gimme a break,” I muttered, as I physically pushed it into the puddle, forcing the blood to work its way into the fibers. I groaned in disgust as it got all over my hands, and as close as I was, the smell was nauseatingly overpowering, and I could feel bile rise up in my throat. It wasn’t that I hadn’t seen plenty of blood already—it was mostly the smell that was bothering me.

I stood up and had to compose myself for a moment, as I grabbed a towel and wiped my hands off on it as best I could. When I looked back down at the shirt, the message was visible, written in white sloppy letters:

My room is on the 2nd floor and I had to drink something with black things in it. I hid the sword with the triangle handle under my bed. That guy, the fat one, took the basement key. Next time I’ll stick this triangle sword into that pig and take the key.

That had to have been the way out.

The fat one …

They could have only been referring to DeSalvo—apparently pinning his ghost was the way out.

Damn, if only I’d thought to look UNDER the beds earlier.

Leaving the shirt where it was, I went back to the door to see if there was a message from Joseph waiting for me. There was, indeed, but suddenly a noise startled me.

“… mrowwr …”

Not the most disturbing of sounds, but not something I expected to hear in my apartment since I didn’t have any pets. I stopped and listened for it again, and sure enough—it was the mournful sound a cat makes when lonely or abandoned. Remembering the last time I’d seen a cat, I approached the refrigerator and immediately the Saint Medallion around my neck began to hum and vibrate.

I opened the door and I was disturbed—yet somehow not too surprised—to see something moving inside the refrigerator. I supposed it was meant to be a cat, but it barely resembled one—it looked more like a mass of bloody flesh with a tail. It sat in a pool of blood on the same shelf as the bottle of wine, twitching and occasionally raising what I could only guess was its head as it meowed at me. A strangely unsettling sight, considering that it was harmless (as hauntings go).

Disgusted, I quickly set up a candle on the floor in front of the refrigerator and watched as the apparition shrank, and the blood vanished, as if it had never been there.

“Don’t think I’ll be drinking that wine, after all,” I muttered, as I went to the door and read the memo that was stuck under it:

I’m going to summarize everything that I’ve learned about Walter Sullivan so far.

He was born right here in Room 302 of “South Ashfield Heights.” His parents abandoned him soon afterwards and disappeared somewhere, leaving the baby alone. He was discovered and sent to St. Jerome’s Hospital.

“St. Jerome’s,” I muttered, remembering that it was that very same hospital full of horrors where I found Eileen. I also remembered finding a baby’s medical chart, almost as if someone was trying to leave me a clue of the significance of the place.

He was “adopted” by “Wish House,” an orphanage in the forest near Silent Hill that’s run by the secret Silent Hill religious cult. When he was six years old, someone from the cult showed him where he was born. Since then, he started to believe that Room 302 itself - in other words, this room - was his mother. Every week, he traveled from the orphanage to South Ashfield Heights, a pretty long trip for a kid his age. Sometimes he took the subway, and sometimes the bus.

I’m tired. My headache is already killing me. I’ll write more tomorrow. -July 28

“Six years old? Jesus.” He’d have to have been a pretty tenacious little six-year-old to be taking the bus or subway every week. Hell, I was nervous taking the subway sometimes as an adult.

And he thought my apartment was his mother. Strange … but it explained why he was always looking for her no matter who was living there.

I went back up the stairs and was about to make my way back up to the second floor, when in the basement hall, my Saint Medallion began to quiver, but this time, it’s hum was accompanied by a voice in the distance. It was … unnatural, somehow. At first, I couldn’t make out what it was saying, but it was in a sustained sing-song voice.

But after some hard listening, I was able to make out some of it: “Prepaaare for the Rituaaal of the Holy Assumption …”

I looked around, frantically, trying to find the source, but it seemed to be echoing off of every wall.

“Offer the blooood of the Ten Sinnerrrrs …” It was louder now. In fact, it was coming from—

Suddenly, I saw a flash of white in the corner of my eye, as something floated past me. I turned and nearly jumped out of my skin when I saw what it was: a chalk-white face with black eyes and a black mouth was staring, and smiling, at me as it floated by.

I anxiously backed away and in doing so, I got a better look. It was another ghost—the ghost of Andrew DeSalvo. His shirt was missing, and his body looked hideously bloated, making him even more obese-looking than he was in life, his distended stomach still displaying the numbers 18/21 across it. In life, he seemed distressed and terrified—probably guilt from having abused all those children—but as a ghost, he seemed disturbingly euphoric as he sang the various scriptures from the cult’s bible. He even seemed to dance a bit as he floated around.

Remembering that I hadn’t yet gotten the sword, I turned and ran. At one point, I felt a wind as it zipped past me—apparently I narrowly dodged an attack of some kind, but other than that, I didn’t have much trouble getting away.

I made my way up several ladders until I made it to the second floor. There were only about three rooms that were unlocked—I looked under the bed of each room, and sure enough, hidden under the last one—the one with the ritualistic jars filled with black powder and such—was the sword.

Now, with the weapon I needed to finish the job, I went back down the ladders to the basement floor hall where I’d encountered the ghost earlier.

I didn’t have to walk along the hall for very long before the medallion began to pulsate once again.

“From the Daaarkness and Void …”

It was in front of me, but high, its head was just under the ceiling—despite its size, it was just as weightless as the other ghosts—probably trying to avoid getting too close to the Saint Medallion.

“… bring forth Gloooo—”

I pulled out my gun and began firing repeatedly. As I walked forward, it backed away, but it flinched and made a noise that I could only guess was a scream of pain with each bullet.

I chased it until I ran out of bullets and had to stop to reload. As I did, I was only vaguely aware that the ghost was sinking toward the ground. By the time the gun was reloaded, I looked up to see that it had pulled its arms and legs in against its body and curled into a ball, almost a fetal position.

It was such an unexpected sight that I paused for only a second, but apparently that was all the time it needed. It began spinning in mid air—fast, like a pinwheel—before it suddenly shot forward, like a cannonball.

It was moving too fast at this point for me to react, except to scream as it slammed into me, knocking me to the steel floor. I managed to hang onto my weapons this time, but the wind was knocked out of me, and I nearly lost consciousness—something that would have been disastrous without Eileen around.

“Seeeparate from the flesh toooo …” It had backed up again, probably preparing for another attack.

Difficult and painful as it was, I forced myself into a kneeling position, and started shooting again.

“… she who is the Mother Rebooorn …”

I stood, and walked towards it, as I had before, and it resumed backing away.

“… and he who is the Receeeiiiverr of—”

I fired again, and it dropped almost to the ground and curled up into a ball again.

I fired once more, before it had the chance to attack again, and this time it opened back up and flew backwards, falling to the floor on its back, dramatically. It was finally down for the count.

I didn’t hesitate to approach it and plunge the sword into its belly. For a very brief moment, I worried that the sword wasn’t long enough, but soon I realized that it didn’t matter—the ghost started gasping and flailing, but it was trapped.

I backed away from it for a few steps before dropping into a keeling, then sitting position. I had to catch my breath, and my stomach was sore from where I’d been hit, and my back hurt from where it hit the floor (not to mention that it aggravated the area where Sullivan had pushed his knee into my back in the forest area). I had to get back to Eileen, but I wanted to compose myself first, especially since I’d have a lot of ladder climbing to do just to get to her.

Oh yeah, the key.

Once I felt a little more rested, I inched closer to DeSalvo’s ghost, and pried its chubby hand open—noticing with disgust that pushing on its skin caused dirty water to seep out through the pores—and took the key, putting it into my pocket.

I didn’t spend a lot of time fretting over DeSalvo, even if I couldn’t help pitying him. Some would probably argue that he deserved his fate, but I wasn’t so sure that I would agree with that. However, he was part of what made Walter Sullivan what he was, and therefore helped to cause all this mess.

But in the end, it didn’t matter what I thought—I wasn’t the one he would ultimately have to answer to.

Chapter 41: Commiseration

“There you are!” Eileen said, with a tired but relieved smile, as I entered the room where I’d left her (I had been gone for quite awhile, so I didn’t blame her for worrying). She was sitting on the edge of the stone slab that served as a bed.

I nodded, almost too out-of-breath to speak. “We’ll be … out of here soon. I just need to rest … a minute,” I said, closing the door behind me and leaning against it.

“Have a seat, then,” she said, patting the spot on the bed beside her.

Despite how tired and sore I was, I had to smile. I had missed her while I was gone, but I hadn’t realized how much until then. I sat next to her and sighed with relief at simply not having to run around for awhile, but also because it took some of the strain off my back. There wasn’t a single part of me that didn’t ache or sting to some degree, and now that I had time to focus on it, it made everything seem that much more daunting. I found myself beginning to despair, and I sat rigidly with my hands on my knees and I stared at the floor.

Eileen, apparently noticing either my body language or the fact that I was even quieter than usual, gently put her hand around my left arm. “Henry?” she said softly, “Are you okay?”

Both her hand and her voice were warm, and it relaxed me, causing a rare moment of frankness. “I just … need to get out of here is all,” I said, still staring at the floor. Obviously, I wasn’t referring to the Water Prison specifically, but the entire nightmare in general.

Still holding my arm, her hand was positioned in such a way that it was touching the inside of my upper arm where the skin was sensitive. She stroked it slightly—such a simple thing, but it felt pretty nice. “Henry, can I … ask you something?”

I nodded. As long as she kept doing that, she could ask pretty much whatever she wanted.

“How long ago … did all this start? For you, I mean.”

She had asked me a similar question earlier, in the Subway Station, and I tried to keep the answer as vague as possible—I think I didn’t want to admit to her how bad things were, how messed up I was, so I could continue to be that pillar of strength she was counting on me to be. But now, I was just too tired to keep that going … and maybe I needed to spill my guts a little. I sighed and tried to think of the best way to start. “About six days ago,” I said, then added, “Or maybe two years … depending on how you look at it.”

She blinked and shook her head, confused. “Wait, two … years?”

I took a deep breath. “There’s something about that room—I think … there was something keeping me in there. Like I was … possessed or something.”

At first she gave me an odd look, and immediately I regretted using the word “possessed”. I was about to protest that I wasn’t crazy, when her expression softened. “Well … I guess that explains why I hardly ever saw you in the halls,” she said, thoughtfully. “I just figured you kept odd hours or something.”

“I wasn’t always like this,” I muttered, really more to myself than to her. “I had interests … passions … I cared about things. But that room, just … sucked it all right out of me. Like a parasite.” I paused and thought about it. “Or maybe it’s not the room—maybe it’s all me. I don’t know.”

She rubbed my arm. “Well … for whatever it’s worth, you don’t seem anti-social to me,” she said, softly, “Just shy.”

I flinched a little, realizing that I’d been rambling, and suddenly I was self-conscious again. “Anyway,” I continued. I proceeded to tell her about the nightmares that started six days ago, and finding the door chained shut with the message on it. I told her about how the TV, radio, and phone all stopped working, so I was completely cut off from the outside world. I told this part of the story in as few words and as little emotion as possible.

The time I’d spent locked in the room before the hole appeared seemed so far away by this point, like it was just a nightmare that I had years ago that I remembered only because of how traumatic it was. But when I told Eileen about it, I found myself reliving it and I ended up saying more than I’d originally intended to, gravitating toward talkative again as I described how maddening it was. “The loneliness I was used to,” I continued, “it was the … total silence during the day and that same terrible nightmare repeated every single night that … really got to me.” It really was solitary confinement in every sense of the term. I had gone into autopilot at this point and the awkwardness that usually accompanied my speech had disappeared, allowing me to finally express myself. Only Eileen could have brought that out of me—I was becoming quite comfortable around her, almost without being aware of it.

She listened with a sympathetic ear until I got to the part where I found the hole, which was the point where I trailed off.

“God, I’m so sorry I didn’t notice that you were missing before today,” she said, sounding ashamed. “I was bringing groceries home and I accidentally dropped some of it right in front of your door, and I realized that I hadn’t seen you in the halls in a long time. Later, I came back and tried to check on you, but there was no answer when I knocked, so—”

“I know,” I said, cutting her off. “Don’t feel bad, there’s nothing you could have done for me anyway.” I paused, then added: “I appreciate that you tried, though.”

She paused, looking shocked. “You were there … on the other side of the door?”

I nodded. I declined from mentioning my own frantic yelling and banging on the door, and merely left it at: “You couldn’t hear me.”

“Oh,” she responded, quietly.

Shortly, she put her arm around my shoulder and stroked my hair. I closed my eyes, blissfully remembering the last time she had done that when it was accompanying a soft kiss. It had the same effect as it did then and made me feel relaxed. I turned and looked at her, to see if she was up for repeating the experience, and noticed something I hadn’t before—something so worrying that completely killed the mood.

Have I just not been paying attention … or have her injuries gotten … worse since I last saw her? Even though she’s been in here?

It wasn’t possible, and yet … the bruises looked darker and … bigger, as if they were spreading, somehow, like a cancer.

I can’t stay here by myself, she had said, earlier, I’ll be cursed … I know it! It didn’t occur to me that she had meant that literally—I just thought it was a dramatic way of saying that she was afraid to be left alone. But now I was starting to wonder.

“So, how have you been holding up?” I asked, sounding casual as I tried to hide any alarm in my voice.

She scoffed a little. “Well, I’ve been better, obviously. But … it’s … not as bad as it probably looks.”

She was still a bad liar. She seemed … tired. I could hear it in her voice. No, “tired” didn’t quite cover it—she sounded … far away. This whole ordeal had been so hard on her, mentally and physically, and now it was really starting to show. There really was something wrong with her, and it could only get worse. Why hadn’t she said something about it?

Probably because she knew you had no choice but to leave her alone and she didn’t want you to worry.

Meanwhile, I felt like a complete ass for being so caught up in my own misery that I all but forgot about hers. Whatever pain I was in, it must have been so much worse for her. And yet here she was feeling bad for me just because I was locked up for a few days. Compassionate to a fault, she was.

I put my arm around her and held her close. She stirred a little, probably not expecting the sudden show of affection—this was the first time I’d initiated a hug just for the sake of it—but she settled quickly and with a contended sigh as she rested her head on my shoulder and snuggled against me, and I realized again how good it felt to hold her. It helped to clear my head, somehow, and always gave me a moment of peace, no matter the situation.

My feelings for her were beginning to swell—I couldn’t bring myself name it, but I recognized it for what it was, whether or not it was real, or even healthy to feel that way. But not giving it a name didn’t make it any less scary because it made me worry that much more that something might happen to her, and if it did, I’d be left alone again.

I did feel somewhat better for having gotten some of the grief off my chest, even though there was a lot more I could have told her. The days of confinement barely scratched the surface—it was finally finding people only to witness their murders shortly afterward, over and over again with no way to stop it and no end in sight, that was really causing my sanity to unravel. But it was best not to talk to her about that, especially since she wasn’t out of the woods yet—I didn’t want her worrying about becoming one of them, even though it probably crossed her mind more than once.

She was counting on me, and I couldn’t afford to have any more moments of weakness, no more pouring my heart out to her, however much she may have wanted me to open up. I had to continue being that pillar of strength.

I’d do it for her. I just hoped it’d be enough.

Chapter 42: Another Encounter

It was a terribly long walk down the spiral walkway outside the Water Prison, and I didn’t envy Eileen. She even winced when she stood from the bed, and her limp was becoming more pronounced. I told her that we could go as slowly as she needed. She put up a brave front, but I could tell that the despair caused by the constant pain was getting to her.

As if I didn’t have reason enough to hate Sullivan, Eileen’s presence—as much as I appreciated it in most respects—was a constant reminder. The sadder I felt for her, the angrier I became at Sullivan, which was slowly dissolving into an intense hatred. You’d think that would go without saying, with all he’d put me through, but for the most part, I was too busy being terrified of him. Now that I was gradually learning how to deal with that, I was realizing just how much reason I had to hate him. I wanted to kill him, and not just to defend myself. It’s a surreal feeling, wanting to literally kill someone, but when it’s there, it’s easy to recognize.

Coincidentally, just as I was thinking this, and we were nearly to the first-floor level, I heard a third set of footsteps and I froze instantly. Eileen was with me, and what I was most worried about was one of us falling off the walkway during the chaos if a battle ensued.

“Henry … what do we do?” she whispered as she huddled against my back.

I looked over my shoulder at her. “Go back a ways and go into the first door you find,” I told her, “Let me deal with this … and don’t let him see or hear you.”

She looked like she was about to argue, but she knew that a fight on such a narrow walkway was going to be difficult and dangerous, and it’d simplify things if it was one-on-one. She hesitated a moment, bit her lip, and placed her hand on my cheek, giving me a look that seemed to say “Good luck”. Then she sighed before turning and going back the way we’d come.

I watched her until she was gone—the good part about being on a walkway that wrapped around a cylindrical building was that she only needed to be about twenty feet away to be out of sight, so she had an easy get-away—then I turned my attention back to the direction I was going, where Sullivan was getting closer. I didn’t have much of a strategy in mind, except to take out my gun and start shooting the second I saw him. It was pretty much my only choice—it’s not as if I could run or hide from him again.

Hearing his approaching footsteps, I loaded my gun and held it out, aiming, preparing to start shooting the second I saw enough of him to be able to hit him.

But as soon as he stepped into view, I knew I was screwed—he carried two guns, one in each hand. But, still, I remembered that he didn’t plan to kill me yet, where I had no qualms about killing him (temporarily or otherwise), so I likely had a chance.

I started pumping the trigger as fast as I could, hoping I could get him to drop before he even reached me.

Sullivan didn’t shoot right away, but continued advancing, closing the space between us, dodging some bullets, but taking a few as well.

Once he had covered half of the distance, he surprised me by putting one of the guns away. He calmly aimed the remaining one and fired.

Pain flared in my right hand, causing it to spasm as the bulled grazed it, and I dropped my gun.

It was too late to attempt picking up the gun—Sullivan was advancing and was too close for me to risk taking my attention away from him. But I still had my axe in the other hand. I wound up, and moved forward, bringing it down on him.

He reached up with a lightning-quick reflex and grabbed my wrist. As I tried to wrench it free, he put his other gun away, and used both hands to twist my arm behind me. I fought it as long as I could, but once again, he had better leverage, and I ended up being slammed against the concrete wall, at which point the axe fell out of my hand, and he kicked it away—I watched helplessly as it skidded across the metal grating and stopped, teetering on the edge.

“You’re not getting cocky on me now, are you, Henry?” he said, as he spun me around so I was facing him, then pushed me against the wall again, so that the back of my head struck the wall, and I instantly became dizzy and fell to my knees—it all happened so fast, I barely had time to realize what was going on.

His hands closed around my neck—not hard enough to actually choke me, but it caused a primal kind of panic to set in. I frantically tried to pry his hands off of my neck, and when that didn’t work, I tried to hit him, or fight back or get away somehow, but to no avail. He kept me at arms length, so I could barely reach him.

I continued to struggle in vain as he pushed me back so I was nearly laying down, except that my legs were pinned under me—I couldn’t kick him this way, not to mention that I’m not that flexible and he really had to force me into that position, causing a lot of pain. His precision in doing this maneuver was frightening—he had obviously done this many times before and had it down to an exact science. Moving was agonizing, but I instinctively tried to twitch and writhe out of his grasp—I would have been screaming if I could get any sound to come out.

“Just remember,” Walter said, sounding perfectly calm as usual, as he tightened his grasp around my neck, stealing some air, but not cutting it off completely, “I may not be ready to kill you yet, but I can make you wish you were dead.” On this last bit, he tightened his grip further, cutting off my air supply completely for several long seconds. My body started to twitch, and my lungs tried to force in air, despite the fact that it was impossible, causing my chest to hurt. Then, just when I thought I couldn’t take it anymore … he let up a little.

It was torture—he seemed to know just how much air to allow me so that I wouldn’t pass out, and he continued to hold me down in that uncomfortable position. He smirked, evidently enjoying this position of power he was in. My life was almost literally in his hands.

“You’d be amazed at how much punishment I can inflict on you without it being fatal,” he continued, quietly, “If I wanted to … I could really make you suffer.” He closed off my windpipe again, and once again, I twitched and the pain in my chest was becoming excruciating. My ears were ringing, and I could hear the deafening pounding of my own racing pulse. My eyes teared up from the pain, frustration, and panic. I was completely at his mercy once again.

Finally, I started to black out—all I could do was hope that if I passed out, he’d leave it at that and be gone by the time I came to. Black spots started to form in front of my eyes, and the feeling left my body, as did any strength I had left, and my arms fell.

My hand landed on something cylindrical-shaped and metallic.

The gun! He’d kicked away the axe, but he had apparently forgotten about the gun.

It took an amazing amount of effort, but I slowly picked up the gun and brought it up under his chin—he was too busy choking me to notice—and pulled the trigger.

A look of shock was his only reaction as blood and gore sprayed from the top of his head. He attempted to straighten himself only to end up on his back.

I heard a scream and saw that Eileen was only a few feet away—she’d been sneaking up behind him and would have done something if I hadn’t.

I pointed the gun in my shaking hand at Sullivan for awhile until I realized that he wouldn’t be getting up any time soon, then I let myself fall back. I tried inhaling deeply, but at first my throat was irritated and it triggered a coughing fit. But once it passed, I was able to concentrate on breathing in as much air as my lungs could hold. Feeling the air enter and exit my lungs normally again brought on a feeling of euphoria (although it was probably caused more by the adrenaline rush).

I heard Eileen’s irregular-sounding gait as she approached, and I realized I should probably try to stand. But as I rolled over onto my stomach and propped myself onto my elbows, I felt a wave of dizziness. I had all but forgotten about the nasty bump I took on the head when he slammed me against the wall.

I slowly made my way up to my hands and knees and I managed to sit up, despite my head spinning. I touched the back of my head, winced at the sting, and looked at my hand to see that it was bloody, but there was less blood than I had expected. Come to think of it, Sullivan likely didn’t push me against the wall as hard as he could have because he didn’t want me unconscious, just too disoriented to stand. I also noticed the long burn mark on the back of my hand where the bullet had grazed me. I shivered both at the thought of how deadly precise his actions were, and from the cold that was beginning to bite into me again.

I felt Eileen’s hand on my shoulder. “I’ll be okay in a second,” I said, my voice a bit hoarse. The dizziness had passed, and I was finally ready to try standing.

She didn’t acknowledge what I said, so I looked over my shoulder at her to see if anything was wrong. She appeared okay, physically (or no worse off than the last time I’d looked at her, anyway), but she kept silent with a very troubled expression on her face.

Using the wall to brace myself, I managed to pull myself to my feet—shakily at first, but that soon passed. I was about to ask Eileen if anything was wrong, but she didn’t give me the chance.

“Henry … oh, god …” she sobbed, as she suddenly embraced me. The reason for her being upset was obvious, even though I was too out-of-it to realize it until that moment. She was almost right behind Walter when I shot him—probably just about to start using her chain on him—so she had to have seen that I was being strangled and would naturally have assumed that he was killing me. Witnessing a murder is a pretty traumatic experience—to that, I could personally attest—not to mention that she probably associated it somewhat with his brutal attack on her in her apartment. She was really the only living person who could understand what I’d been through.

“Oh … it’s okay,” I said, softly, as I held her. “I’m okay.” Seeing her in such a state was heart breaking, but at the same time, I couldn’t help but be deeply moved by her concern for me.

Her face was buried in my chest, next to my shoulder, and I could feel the hot dampness of her tears as they soaked through my shirt. “You … you went limp …” she said between sobs, her voice so muffled that I could barely understand her. “For a second … I thought you … you were …”

I didn’t know what to tell her (It’s okay, I was only passing out. The serial killer said he wasn’t gonna kill me yet, so it’s all good) so I continued to hold her close and comfort her, and reassure her that I was indeed okay, until she settled down.

Once she had recomposed herself, she looked up at me affectionately, closed her eyes and craned her head forward, but I responded by regretfully pulling mine back and avoiding the contact. “Let’s … get going,” I said, cocking my head in the direction we’d been walking in before Sullivan showed up. I sensed that moment coming on, and as nice as it would have been, I didn’t want to risk wasting more time around a corpse that was going to resurrect itself any minute.

She glanced at the body. “Uhh, right,” she said, sheepishly.

And with that, I retrieved my axe (thankfully, it hadn’t gone over the edge—it had only come very close) and we moved on.

Chapter 43: Into the Depths

More walking.

Eventually, we made it back inside, but there were still three more levels of basement to go. We continued downward, passing the immobilized ghost of Andrew DeSalvo, who gasped and groaned, twitching. At one point, he suddenly flailed, which caused Eileen to jump and huddle against me. Just outside of the door to the room with the water wheel, I found a new Saint Medallion, which I pocketed as I didn’t need it at the moment, but knew that I would at some point

I rushed Eileen past the area with the water wheel, because I figured that she didn’t need to see the giant worm creatures. Seeing one with each end connected to something, so it looked like a giant umbilical cord, was one thing, but I feared that seeing that they were massive living creatures, with eyes and such, might be too much for her sanity to bear witness to. Once we got to the door, I pulled out the key and used it.

The next room was a generator room and as we entered it, I looked around and realized that I hadn’t bothered going into this room the last time I had visited the Water Prison. In the middle of the room and taking up most of the space between the walls was a giant humming motor that apparently controlled the water wheel because it was mostly cylindrical-shaped and I could see that the inner parts were spinning. The walls, ceiling, and floor were all made of severely rusted steel, and everything was splattered with blood.

Once we had made our way around and past the generator, I stopped so suddenly that Eileen ran into me from behind. The room was a long hall, about the length of a football field, at the end of which I saw a door, likely the door that lead out of the Water Prison. But it was what was blocking the door that stopped me in my tracks. I blinked a few times, hoping that I wasn’t really seeing what I thought I was seeing.

I approached slowly—since the door was still so far away, and the room was dimly lit, I held out hope that I was seeing things, until the objects in question came into view and I could see them a little more clearly, and now there was no mistaking it.

No less than six double-heads stood in front of the door in two rows of three, as if in some kind of military formation. As I apparently came into their view, every single one raised up on one hand and pointed at me with the other in that strange birdlike stance.

Until this point, I hadn’t had to fight more than two at a time, and even that was risky. I scoffed and shook my head fervently as if denying their existence would somehow make them go away.

Eileen grabbed my arm tightly and I could tell she was waiting for directions of some kind from me once again. I never would have considered strategizing to be my strong point (one of the main reasons I never got into video games—or games in general, really), but you never know what you’re capable of until you’re forced into a situation where something needs to be done. Once again, I was glad that these things—for whatever reason—always waited for me to make the first move, as I needed the time to think. Fortunately, it wasn’t long before a reasonable plan formulated in my head—not an ingenious one, but it’d do in a pinch.

“I’ll go toward the right,” I told her, quietly, “You go toward the left. I’m gonna get them to come after me while you make a beeline for the door. Once you make it, I’ll run from whichever ones I haven’t killed by then, and we’ll be out of here.” If only she wasn’t so badly injured, I’d simply grab her by the hand and both of us would run to the door together, but I didn’t want to risk injuring her further. This was the best way I could think of to make sure she got to the door safely.

She scowled. “I don’t know if you should be putting yourself in danger like that!” After what had happened just awhile before with Walter Sullivan, I didn’t blame her for being apprehensive—it was another time where I had her go to a safe area while I took on the danger alone, and I had nearly gotten myself killed.

“We can’t take all of them on!” I insisted, “Not even together, there’s too many! Please, I know it sounds risky, but it’s the best we can do.”

She sighed and hung her head. “I guess you’re right,” she said. She pulled me close, and planted a kiss on my cheek before gingerly inching toward the left side of the room.

I reloaded my gun. “Don’t start moving until I’ve got all of their attention.”

She took a deep breath and nodded.

I stepped forward slowly. The double-heads on either side of the first row suddenly took off running in my direction.

I decided to try to take out these two in an attempt to thin the herd a little before they all swarmed me. Not about to let them anywhere near me, I began firing almost instantly, alternating between aiming at the one on the right, then the one on the left.

This isn’t going to work—you’ll use up at least half a box of ammo just killing these two—just stick to the original plan.

I didn’t need to rethink my strategy because once I started firing, it alerted the rest and the group of remaining double-heads suddenly charged at me. I felt my blood run cold as I remembered the first time one of these horrors dashed at me—I was so terrified that I practically froze solid, and it was only because I was already aiming the gun that I had the presence of mind to defend myself. Since then, I was gradually building up a tolerance to seeing these things and I had become less disturbed by them. However, seeing six running directly at me brought those fears back—I may as well have been back in the hallway of the Water Prison for the first time.

Realizing this made me wonder what Eileen’s situation must be like. I looked over at her to see her staring at the monsters, gripped by terror, like a deer caught in headlights.

“Go, Eileen! Go!” I shouted, having to raise my voice above the thunderous stomping of the creatures as they advanced.

She flinched and, having been spurred into action, started moving toward the door, staying close to the left wall.

Occasionally, a double-head would spot her and start to veer off in her direction. Whenever this happened, I would shoot at it, reminding them who the main target was supposed to be, and it would stop and wince before moving back in my direction again.

I shifted my focus constantly between Eileen and the monsters. Soon enough, they passed each other, and as long as I kept their attention on me, she was in the clear. However, she hadn’t reached the door just yet—she still had a ways to go.

By now, the monsters had gotten uncomfortably close to me. I backed away, and began using a strategy similar to the one I’d used on the ape creatures where I’d let one get close, and I’d shoot it right between the eyes. Unfortunately, it didn’t work quite as well with the double-heads. For one thing, I had to shoot them twice—yes, even when one head was “dead”, the second one could, apparently, still have control over the body. And, secondly, the double-heads weren’t honorable fighters like the ape creatures were and wouldn’t hesitate to swarm me, as they were currently doing. I managed to take out a couple, but that still left four, two of which had now gotten behind me.

They closed in to the point where using my gun was pointless, so I put it away and tried to rely on my axe for awhile. I hacked at the one that was the closest, but no sooner had I made the attack then another one struck me from behind with one of its long arms. I turned to attack that one, and another one attacked me from the side. I was overwhelmed, and continuing to try to fight them all would be suicidal.

I looked over at Eileen—she still wasn’t close enough to the door, but I couldn’t wait any longer, I had to get away. I shielded my face, and plowed between the two that were in front of me, actually knocking one over. I didn’t look back, but I heard the stomping of several hands, along with “Receiver!” Apparently one had stopped to point at me (likely the one I had knocked over—by the time it had gotten back up, I was probably far enough away that running after me would be too much trouble), but the other three pursued me.

I ran full-speed at the door until I caught up with Eileen. I wasn’t about to run past her, and leave her at the mercy of the monsters, but she was moving too slowly, and I couldn’t risk letting them catch up with both of us either. There was only one thing left to do that didn’t involve trying to fight them off.

Eileen screamed, startled, as I grabbed her by the hand and pulled her arm over my shoulders. Before she had a chance to argue about it, I swept her off her feet with my other arm and ran, carrying her toward the door.

I’d never tried carrying someone like that, although I’d seen it done plenty of times in the movies so it seemed simple enough in theory. In practice, however, it wasn’t quite as simple as I’d expected it to be. I had to stop for a couple of seconds to do it, and once I had her, it slowed me down somewhat. I could hear the stomping behind me getting louder.

Suddenly, something struck me square on the back as one of the double-heads caught up to me and took a swipe at me, and I pitched forward, falling face-down. I managed to stretch my arms out so that Eileen landed ahead of me so I wouldn’t land on her.

I looked up and saw that we’d landed only about ten feet from the door. Without my having to say anything, Eileen scrambled to her feet and made her way to the door, as I pulled out my gun and held off the monsters with the remaining bullets.

“Henry!”

The door was open with Eileen on the other side of it, finally. I jumped to my feet and bolted through as well, slamming it behind me. I leaned with my back against the door and closed my eyes as I tried to catch my breath. I heard the double-heads bumping against the door for a bit before hearing them walk away—the chaos was over. My legs gave out, and I slid down until I was in a sitting position. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, I was suddenly feeling the pain from the beating I’d taken from the monsters, and I was still breathing hard.

I heard a shuffling beside me, and I opened my eyes to see Eileen sitting next to, and facing me, leaning in fairly close. She put her hand on my shoulder, then made a fist, pulling the stretchy fabric of my shirt into it—she was close enough now that I could feel her warmth, and I shivered as I realized how cold it was I this area.

I looked around and realized that we were back on the spiral walkway that connected the worlds to each other, it had gotten very dark and even more foggy—together they made everything look grey and lifeless—but in this area, there were light bulbs suspended from metal poles that lined the path, looking like streetlamps, illuminating the walkway. It was nearly as cold as the area outside the Water Prison. I noticed all this, dimly, but at the moment all I was really noticing was her. She looked into my eyes intensely, breathing quite heavily, herself.

I swallowed hard and looked away, uncomfortably. While I normally wasn’t one for idle conversation, I suddenly felt compelled to fill the awkward silence, so I blurted out what was primarily on my mind (besides her). “I guess … that was pretty stupid … what I did …”

She put her hand on my cheek, turned my head, forcing me to face her, and suddenly she was kissing me again. It was soft at first, not unlike the first time, but then it became a little more firm and passionate. I didn’t tense up like I had then—I relaxed almost instantly and I embraced her, enjoying the warmth of her body and the softness of her lips, as I returned the kiss with equal passion.

I don’t know why I warmed up to her so easily this time—maybe I was just too tired and worn out to even think to resist it, or maybe I just needed it after all I’d been through, or maybe it was remaining adrenaline. In any case, it was brief, but blissful. I really wasn’t thinking about anything, except how good it felt to be so close to somebody, even for just a moment.

She gently pulled away when it was over, and I let out a shuddering sigh, feeling strangely relaxed. She took a brief moment to stroke my hair a little before she scooted away to give me room to stand. Once I did, I helped her up as well.

I looked around, and any remaining fuzzy feelings I had faded as I took a moment to really take in my surroundings. The structure was even more dilapidated than the previous ones, and that trail of blood was more pronounced—whoever had left it there was apparently in the process of bleeding to death. Despite the darkness, I could make out bodies hanging in the distance, but I hadn’t a clue what they were hanging from or even if they were really there, or if it was simply my mind playing tricks on me.

We continued along the path and came upon one of the infamous rooms that had a pane of glass separating us from what was inside. In this particular room was what looked like a hospital bed with a blood stain in the center of the mattress. It reminded me of when I saw Walter Sullivan defiling a woman’s corpse, and I shook my head gravely.

We moved on, but shortly, I saw movement in the corner of my eye, and I turned to see something I’d rather not have. In this next room was a mannequin—female, of course—whose arms were bound behind her back. She was suspended upside down by her ankles, which were spread far apart. What was most disturbing was that she writhed and squirmed, whether in agony or ecstasy, I couldn’t tell, as it had no facial features whatsoever, and was completely silent, although its glossy plastic body was segmented enough to allow it to make these movements fluidly.

I shook my head both in disgust and horror … and a vague kind of anger. I had been brought up with a healthy respect for women, and seeing all the blatantly misogynistic imagery that this world so proudly displayed was beginning to get to me. But if this world was somehow created by Walter Sullivan, it made sense, going by the way he treated his female victims. They didn’t necessarily suffer the most, but there’s a big difference between dousing someone with gasoline and lighting a match, or strapping them to an electric chair and throwing a switch, and beating or stabbing someone to death—all are horrific, but the last two would have to involve a deep rage and anger to carry out.

I was startled out of those dark thoughts by the sound of a muffled scream. I turned around to see that Eileen was also looking upon this … object … with horror, her hand clasped over her mouth. As much as it disturbed me, it must have reminded her of the terrible danger she was in.

I quickly embraced her, making sure that her face was hidden against my chest so she wouldn’t have to look at it anymore. “It’s okay,” I told her in a shaky voice, “It’s just here to scare us. Nothing here can hurt us.”

She shook her head a little as if to say that knowing that didn’t make a difference. She clung to me and only responded with a familiar-sounding statement: “This must be what hell is like.”

Chapter 44: Disorientation

I had forgotten just what a jumbled-up mess this world’s twisted version of the city was. It was as if someone had taken the entire city, ripped it apart into a thousand pieces, then put it back together haphazardly—the various objects were recognizable, but their placement was completely illogical, such as cars being on the roofs of buildings.

We entered the city in what looked like the middle of a parking lot that was on top of a building. I saw a set of elevator doors which appeared to be on the side of a neighboring building, on its ledge, where a narrow path bridged the gap between the two buildings, just beyond a chain link fence. We began walking in that direction, but I stopped suddenly when I realized that the Saint Medallion that still hung from my neck began to hum and I felt it vibrate against my chest. I heard a strange sound coming from behind me that could only be described as a humanoid croaking sound.

I jumped a little and whirled around, but even before I made the complete 180, the medallion had suddenly stopped reacting. There was nothing in front of me, save for the asphalt ground and the door we’d just walked through.

What the hell?

I barely had time to wonder if I was losing my mind before I heard the noise and the medallion began shuddering again.

I turned back around, and clutched my axe tightly in both hands at the sight of the thing that had been taunting me. What I saw shouldn’t have surprised me, considering where I was. A familiar-looking ghost stood there. His clothes looked dirty and singed, his hair wildly messed up, but I could still recognize him if only because of the numbers 19/21 carved into his forehead.

It was the ghost of Richard Braintree, and whatever anger and aggression he had when he was alive was multiplied by a hundred, and focused directly on me, as seen in the intensely hateful look in his eyes as he glared. I noticed all this in a very brief moment, along with the fact that he already had a rusty pipe raised high and was about to bring it down on my head.

I raised my axe in both hands, horizontally, and blocked the hit with the handle at the last possible second.

Compared to Cynthia, Jasper, and DeSalvo, he looked more human and more the way I remembered him, and instead of going on the offensive right away, I faltered for a second.

He swung again, and once again, I blocked. This couldn’t go on, but I did have an idea.

“Eileen,” I said, “go to the elevator while I hold him off.”

She gave me a worried glance—probably because of how disastrous it turned out, the last time I had her hurry to the exit while I fought off the enemy—but did as I asked.

I didn’t have a sword with me, and wouldn’t know where to find one, so all I could do was to fight him off as best I could so we could get away.

More determined now, I began hacking at him with my axe, which caused him to stumble back before disappearing.

Knowing what to expect this time, I whirled around, and blocked another hit from his pipe. He disappeared again, immediately.

“Dammit!” I’d end up getting dizzy if I tried to keep this up too much longer.

He was between me and the elevator again, and at this point, I decided to simplify my plan. I had time to wind up and hit him hard this time.

Again, he vanished, and immediately I bolted for the elevator, figuring that he’d appear behind where I was standing when I hit him.

Eileen waited in the elevator, watching the spectacle with intense concern. She suddenly screamed, but I didn’t realize why until it was too late.

I screamed and stopped as suddenly as I could—I was on the bridge now, and I came dangerously close to losing my balance (and not unlike the Water Prison, I was so high up that I could see no bottom, only darkness). Braintree’s ghost was up in my face and I had nearly run into him.

I backed away, attempting to regain my wits as I did so, and once again managed to block one of his hits just in time. Eileen yelled something at me about being careful, but I barely heard it. I fought him again, until he vanished, at which point, I started running at the elevator again.

I was literally in the process of going through the doors, when I suddenly felt a sharp pain on my right shoulder as the pipe came down on it—he’d gotten one last hit in, and this one I was unable to block. I screamed and stumbled forward, nearly falling, but I managed to keep going until I was through the already-closing doors—Eileen was thinking ahead and pushed the CLOSE button before I had quite made it so they’d close directly behind me, which they did.

Once it was over, Eileen asked if I was okay—I answered with a nod, too out of breath to speak, as I flexed my shoulder and rubbed it with my other hand. It hurt like hell, but wasn’t any worse than the other injuries I’d suffered from blunt objects. It’d be sore for awhile, but probably wouldn’t effect things in the long run.

Once I had calmed down, I went to the elevator’s control panel and was about to decide which button to press when Eileen grabbed my arm, stopping me. “Henry … could that be …” She couldn’t quite bring herself to say what we both knew, so she re-worded the question: “Wh-Who was that?”

“Richard Braintree,” I answered with a sigh. “He got pulled into this world too, same way that I did. He mentioned finding a hole …” I stopped when I realized that she wasn’t exactly hanging on my every word. “Are you okay?”

She had backed up and stood with her back against a wall. “I guess. It’s just … weird. It wasn’t that long ago that I’d talked to him. He saw me knocking on your door, and wondered what was going on … well, I guess you already know about that.”

I nodded.

“Anyway,” she continued. “I didn’t really know him that well, but it’s just weird to think that I was one of the last people to talk to him before …” she shook her head, unable to really take it in. She hung her head and paused silently for a very long time before she raised her head again and looked at me, “Does that make any sense?”

“Yeah,” I answered, quickly, “it does.”

She tilted her head a little and gave me a look of sympathy and understanding before approaching me and putting her arm around me. I embraced her as well and we held each other for a minute. No words were spoken, but none were necessary.

I freed my right arm, keeping my left around Eileen, and I turned to the elevator’s control panel, which had three buttons. I pushed the top one, figuring we’d start at the top and work our way down.

The door opened on the ledge of the building and there was no path to step onto, save for the ledge that wrapped around the building. Fortunately, I noticed right away so I didn’t have time to accidentally step off—I warned Eileen about it as well. We walked along the ledge, past a locked door, and around a corner where there was a stairway and two dogs, which I dispatched easily.

As we were approaching the fire escape, a disturbingly humanoid-sounding howl cut through the silence like a knife, causing my heart to nearly jump out of my chest and Eileen to scream and grab onto me, giving me a second start.

“What IS that?”

I waited a second for my heart rate to slow back down to normal. “I don’t know,” I said, “But it’s just another effect put here to scare us.” Not that I could really be sure of that, but I remembered hearing the same sound on my first trip to this area, and I rationalized to myself that if there was really something there, it would have shown itself.

At the top of the first flight of stairs, there was a growl. Knowing that it was harmless didn’t help much and didn’t stop us from flinching. At the top of the second flight of stairs was the screeching sound of feedback, which was not only less threatening, but it clinched the idea that the sounds were harmless and merely meant to make us uneasy—it was more of a random oddity than anything else.

One more flight of stairs and we reached a door that lead into the sports supply store—Albert’s Sports, it was called—which looked no different than it had looked when I was there last.

There was a hole in the wall that I didn’t currently need, but there was a door to the right of it. The door led to the room with the collapsed shelving with the large piece of rotting skin draped over the edge of it—I noticed that Eileen was trying to stay as far away from it as possible, so she apparently realized what it was as well. To the right of the shelves was a Holy Candle, which I took before we went through the next door.

Next was the small alleyway, then the room that had the strange spinal pattern on the floor and the projected red and white image on the far wall. Up the next set of stairs took us to the next floor which was identical to the first, only with the added sound effects—the “internal” sounds, along with more growling.

Eileen held onto me uncomfortably. “What … what is this place?” she said in a nervously quiet voice.

I shook my head. “I don’t know,” I said, pausing. “Sometimes … I think I can make out some kind of symbolism … but this … it’s like it’s supposed to remind us of the inside of an animal …”

“Or a person?” she said so quietly it was almost a whisper.

I shuddered. Considering Walter’s background, this disturbed me deeply. “Uh … let’s keep going.”

Chapter 45: Evidence

We went through the room where the birthday party had taken place (or had started to take place), up various flights of stairs, to the roof where a car was parked—I found some revolver bullets and another candle—then down the long alley until I came to the spot where I had entered this world the first time around … where there was a hole and a dead end.

I sighed, feeling a bit defeated, especially since I’d made poor Eileen walk all this way. “I’m sorry,” I said, “I guess we didn’t need to go this way after all.”

“It’s okay,” she said, “I wouldn’t expect you to know this place like the back of your hand. Besides, at least you found some ammo.” She sounded tired, and the optimism seemed forced, but I could tell that she didn’t hold it against me.

I realized that I hadn’t heard from Joseph in awhile, and—since I’d come all this way anyway—I might as well use the hole, if only so it’d feel less like a wasted trip. I relayed these thoughts to Eileen, along with the fact that it’d be good for her to rest a bit, and she let me go without any resistance.

When I stepped out of the bedroom, I heard my TV blaring static again. I entered the living room and, sure enough, there was nothing but snow on the screen.

Well, you lose points for originality—I’ve seen this one already, I thought, as I approached the TV with one of the candles in hand.

But I stopped as the snow suddenly disappeared, and I could see a clear image, for only a second, before the snow suddenly returned. The image was a head shot of a man, either hanging upside down, or perhaps the camera was upside down, and his head was twitching as he appeared to be screaming, although I still heard only the white noise of static—it was too close of a shot to be able to see what was happening, but by the way he was acting, it looked like he was being tortured off-camera. It was so quick, I almost wasn’t sure that I’d really seen it, and wondered if my mind was playing tricks on me.

I watched with morbid fascination and waited to see if the image would return. When it did, I noticed something I had missed before, a flash of red. I didn’t know why I kept watching, but I did, so I could see what that was. Several seconds later, the image returned and I realized that the flash of red was the victim vomiting blood so forcefully that it filled the screen.

Was this … one of Walters’s victims?

“Okay, I’ve seen enough,” I muttered as I set up the candle in front of the TV and focused on watching it burn instead of watching the TV screen. Soon there was nothing but the snow, then it flickered to blackness.

I gave a sigh of relief, then I dropped off the unneeded items in the chest before looking to the door where I saw a reddish sheet of paper, which I read:

Continuing from yesterday, I’m going to summarize everything that I’ve learned about Walter Sullivan so far. Naturally, it was a long way for a kid his age to travel, but he made the trip every week by subway or bus. Unfortunately, someone else was living in this apartment and so he couldn’t be reunited with his mother (Room 302).

I remembered seeing a ghostly image of the kid banging on the door and calling “Mooomm!” when I was in the alternate version of the apartment complex earlier. Must have made things interesting for whoever lived there at the time.

For years, he continued to come here, almost like he was possessed, just to peek into the apartment. Eventually, the tenants began to complain and treat him badly when they saw him hanging around. Walter began to fear the tenants and see them as obstacles preventing him from seeing his mother.

Of course, one of the aforementioned tenants was Richard Braintree. You look a lot like a little punk that I once caught sneakin’ around there! I supposed, in Walter’s mind, he got what was coming to him.

As the years passed and Walter matured, he began to be more and more influenced by the teachings of the cult. Furthermore, his obsession with his mother and his feelings of resentment towards the other world became even deeper. Walter became preoccupied with one particular tract from the cult’s Bible: “The Descent of the Holy Mother—The 21 Sacraments”

“By the 21 Sacraments, the Holy Mother shall appear in the countries of the world and shall bring salvation to the sinful ones.”

I shook my head. “Why do I get the feeling that he’s taking the term ‘Mother’ a little too literally, and that’s not what the 21 Sacraments are supposed to be about at all?”

After Walter left Wish House, he moved to Pleasant River, a town neighboringSilent Hill. For a while, he lived the life of a normal student, but he wasstill filled with bitterness and resentment towards the rest of the world.Several years later, he launched his plan there. The 21 murders. –July 29

I sighed. I think, had I not met Walter Sullivan in person (as it were), I would feel sorry for him. Hell, in a way, I still did—seeing that child talk about how his parents had abandoned him was heartbreaking—but as for the adult version … I had met each of his last four victims (if I didn’t count Eileen) before seeing the results of his handiwork, and humanizing them, as opposed to him, was easier.

But he had put me through too much hell, and I no longer had the luxury of pitying him.

I wanted him dead.

Once I’d come back through the hole, we made our way back to the Sporting Good’s shop and tried another door, the one directly across from the door we’d come in through, which lead to another fire escape.

“Wait,” Eileen said—as soon as we were out the door, she stopped me with her hand. “Do you hear that?”

I stopped and listened. At first, I couldn’t tell what it was, as it was jumbled up—whatever was making the noise wasn’t alone, there were a lot of them. The sounds were high and low pitched, some were gruff and halting while others were more like mewling and whimpering. In fact, they sounded like … “Dogs and cats?” I said, looking at Eileen, confused.

She nodded. “At least it’s not just me, then.”

This was definitely one of the stranger sounds we’d heard here, mainly because it was a relatively normal sound, setting it apart from the rest. The animals didn’t sound like they were in pain, they were merely in distress—it was the sound you’d here in any vet clinic or kennel.

Or a pet store.

After going down two flights of stairs, the sounds became increasingly louder and we realized that they would have to be on the opposite side of the door. I had a very uneasy feeling—the very fact that this was the only normal noise we’d heard in this particular world gave me pause, and in a way it disturbed me more than the unearthly howl we’d heard earlier. I grabbed the doorknob and opened it slowly.

I stepped inside, cautiously, and stared in shock.

The place was just as empty of anything alive as it had been the last time I was there. And yet, we still heard the sounds, nearly deafening now that we were presumably in the same room as the animals. There were plenty of cages in the back, but they were all empty, save for one that had a plush cat in it.

We went through the area silently, Eileen having a firm grip on my arm. I put my hand over hers just as firmly. There was something chilling about hearing all these animals and not seeing a single one. Were they invisible? Were they here at one time, and were now gone, but left some kind of “echo”? I considered sticking a finger between the little bars of one of the cages, to find out, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to do it.

We found a back door, which I hadn’t discovered before and we exited without hesitation, and I closed it behind us. Outside this door was another fire escape, but I glanced down and saw a newspaper scattered at my feet. Once again, I had a terribly uneasy feeling. Something told me not to read it, but I picked it up, took a deep breath, and read it out loud anyway:

”’According to the Ashfield police, at approximately 8:30 in the evening, witnesses near the pet store, Garland’s, reported the sound of multiple gunshots, possibly from an automatic weapon. By the time the police arrived, the perpetrator had already fled and the shop owner, Steve Garland, was found dead with a probable submachine gunshot wound to the head.

”’All of the store’s animals were brutally slaughtered and the store left in extreme disarray.

”’In addition, inside sources say that Garland’s heart had been removed, and on his back 5 numbers were carved …’

“Another one of Walter Sullivan’s victims,” I muttered, more to myself then to Eileen. “So many senseless deaths …”

Suddenly, I was pulled out of my thoughts by the ear-splitting and repetitive banging sound of machine gun shots, and Eileen screaming as she dropped next to where I was still kneeling on the ground, jumping into my arms, burying her head in my chest.

The shots continued, and were soon joined by the ear-piercing yelping of dogs and the screaming of cats, along with the sounds of metal cages crashing to the floor, with many other objects, and shattering glass.

Eileen and I just stayed close to the ground, holding each other, in silent terror.

Soon, the animal sounds tapered off, followed by the machine gun sounds. A few of the unlucky animals were apparently still alive, as a weaker version of the sounds of dogs and cats whimpering returned , followed by a return of the gun sounds. Soon after the animals were silenced for good, the gun stopped as well.

Then there was a silence almost as deafening as the noises.

We stood, and I waited a few more seconds to make sure that everything was over. I stared at the door for awhile, then I cautiously reached for the doorknob.

“Henry,” Eileen said, grabbing my arm and looking at me with a pleading expression.

I sighed, paused … and opened the door anyway, and poked my head in. It was deadly silent inside the store now. “Extreme disarray” didn’t even begin to cover the shape of the pet store. The walls were pocketed with an obscene amount of large bullet holes, and the animals’ cages were scattered on the floor, along with broken glass and nearly all of the various supplies had been knocked off the shelves. There were no bodies, naturally, but there was blood splattered everywhere.

As if killing the man wasn’t enough, he had to add insult to injury and destroy his livelihood as well, not to mention his animals. Almost as if he tried to erase any proof that he ever existed. What could a lowly pet shop owner have done to piss him off so much?

I shook my head in sad disbelief before closing the door and leaving that place.

Fortunately, a new sound distracted me from the horror we’d just witnessed: the chiming of bells. It seemed oddly cheerful after the sounds we’d just heard, but I wasn’t going to complain.

Chapter 46: Defeated

At the bottom of this new fire escape was another door which lead to a rather bizarre room.

As we went through the door, I immediately noticed strange things—first of all, we had to step down about a foot when going through the door and once we did, we were standing on a ramp. To my left, a lamp was bolted to the wall, next to the door, but it was near my feet and I had to blink upon looking at it because I ended up staring directly at the bulb as the shade didn’t shield me from it, as the lamp was upside-down. I looked up and saw a stairway leading from the top of the door to the ceiling.

“This whole room is upside-down,” I muttered, looking around with a sense of wonder.

We walked down the ramp, which lead to a plain-looking “floor” with vents. I looked up again and noticed the chain link fences that lined the “ceiling”, which also had tables hanging from it by their feet. The entire thing was upside down—it was completely consistent to the point where I nearly felt a sense of vertigo, as if I might fall, like one of those cartoon characters who will run off a cliff, then hang in mid air until they look down.

Eileen held onto me tightly, she must have felt it too.

The chiming of the clock that I’d heard from the fire escape was so loud it nearly hurt my ears, and now it was accompanied by a loud ticking. I looked around and found its source—at the opposite corner of the room from where we came in was another door where a rather large clock was hung upside-down (from my perspective, that is) and its pendulum swung back and forth from the “top”, almost seeming to defy gravity. I tried the doorknob—thankfully, it was unlocked, so we went through.

Once we left, I felt another strange sensation as if being flipped back over, and the dizziness nearly caused me to fall. Eileen held onto me, as I nearly fell into her.

“I guess … we were the ones that were upside-down,” she said, her tone implying that she couldn’t quite grasp the concept, either.

I shook my head. “Stranger things have happened.”

The next area was another square-shaped room where we appeared to be on (at least) the second floor and the middle of the room was cut out, leaving only a path around the perimeter of the walls. We walked past four doors in a row, that were only about a foot away from each other—it made no sense, but then again, this world in particular was pretty nonsensical—but I tried each one anyway, to find that they were all locked. Around the corner, we passed another door that was also locked. To the left of the path, where there was no floor under it, was a door that was wide open, but there appeared to be nothing but darkness inside (not that we could get to it anyway).

At the bottom of a flight of stairs were four more doors. The first was locked, but the second and third were open—well, the third one was open, the second one had the door ripped off, which lay flat on the floor in front of the doorway. I stepped into it, but saw nothing but darkness in front of me, almost as if the world ended there. But I reached out and felt a solid surface, a wall, only about three feet from the doorway—I couldn’t see it, but I could feel it.

“Be careful, Henry.” Eileen warned, having stopped at the doorway “You don’t know what’s in there.”

“It’s okay,” I reassured her, as I walked along until I reached a corner and could go no further. I turned around and realized that I was now where the second doorway was, so I exited through that one. “It looks like these doors are here just for show,” I said with a shrug before we moved on.

We turned two more corners, passing eight more doors—none of which we were bothering to check anymore—before going down another flight of stairs.

Finally at the bottom, we tried one more door, and this one lead out of the room.

The next area was a large, industrial-looking room made out of concrete with a middle section that was fenced off with chainlink … and I distinctly heard the annoying chattering of monkeys.

I saw two running around to the left, on my side of the fence—they were far away, but had spotted me, and were already beginning to make their way in my direction—so I promptly pulled out my gun and started shooting. I managed to down them before they got to us.

As we went around the fence, another one turned up, but once again, I managed to gun it down fairly quickly.

Down the hall to the left, I spotted another one. I fired twice, but heard only clicks after that, as the gun had run out of ammo. I promptly put away the gun and used my axe on this one. It was wielding a pipe, which it swung wildly at me with, and I had to block several hits before I was able to get some of my own in. But after a few hacks, it fell, and I finished it off by stomping on its spine, crushing it.

Eileen gasped, but before I could find out what she was reacting to, I suddenly heard a growl and felt something clamp down on my ankle and pull on it, attempting to pull it out from under me.

I managed to recover and not lose my balance as I yanked my foot away and gave the offending dog a sharp kick. Before it recovered, I pulled back my axe, and swung hard, knocking it to the floor heavily. I finished it off with a stomp and it let out one final cry as its spine snapped like a branch under my boot.

I still got a sense of satisfaction whenever I killed one of those damn dogs. I paused to catch my breath until I noticed Eileen giving me an odd look, and I realized I was smiling a little. I stopped suddenly and looked away. She never said anything about it, apparently cutting me some slack because I’d had such a hard time with these monsters.

With the danger over for the time being, I took the time to re-load my gun before putting it away again.

Around the next corner was another door which lead to another fire escape area where the floors were made out of chain link, the walls out of brick, and everything else was made of old, rusted metal.

At the bottom of the third flight of stairs, the Saint Medallion began to shudder and hum, and I sighed in frustration when I spotted Richard’s ghost, once again standing between me and a door I needed to get to.

I readied my axe, looked at Eileen, then gestured toward the door with a nod, as a signal for her to make a run for the door as soon as there was an opening. She looked distressed, but gave an affirmative nod back.

As the ghost approached, I felt a sudden sense of dread, as I felt the vibration of the Saint Medallion weakening, and my head started to throb with a dull ache.

Oh god, not now.

But it was too late to back out now—I’d just have to be careful.

The fight began pretty similarly to the last one—he swung the pipe, but he was fairly slow, so I was able to block, then hit back, and when I did, he disappeared, then reappeared behind me, only for the situation to repeat itself all over again.

Trying to wear him down was no good—I’d likely be worn down first. I realized this, but as I did, he was vanishing. I turned around, fully expecting him to reappear behind me once again. The medallion had stopped humming during the point where he was in the process of re-materializing, but once he was fully formed again, the medallion hummed loudly, then its hum was cut off with a sharp “crack”, like a light bulb that burns out suddenly with a pop and a flash when you turn on the switch.

Once the medallion was rendered useless, the headache that was forming was suddenly coming on full force now and it had practically blinded me.

My opponent wasted no time taking advantage of my vulnerable state.

Braintree’s ghost pulled back its fist, then shot it forward—I had seen them do it many times, but I had always been able to dodge it.

Until now.

Its fist … entered my chest, but without breaking my skin or causing any visible damage—it must have been similar to the way they went through walls. There was no immediate pain in my chest, or at least not the kind you would expect. I could feel how cold its hand was while it was inside me, and it felt as though whatever part of me it touched in there froze instantly and it caused a burning sensation.

I couldn’t move or even scream—either it had me under some kind of trance, or my brain was trying to shut down to block out the absolute horror of what was happening.

Suddenly, I did feel pain, horrible nightmarish pain—it felt like someone had ripped me open and took a blowtorch to my insides. I didn’t know what was happening at the time, but in retrospect, I think its hand re-materialized around my heart, or was beginning to, and it was fixing to rip it out of me, through my chest.

Meanwhile, I was barely aware of feeling the gun being pulled out of the back of my pants, and hearing shots being fired.

What I did notice was the ghost releasing me, and I fell to the ground, twitching in agony until my brain shut down and then there was nothing but a numb blackness.

Chapter 47: Darkness Before Dawn

I don’t know how long I was out, but eventually the veil was lifted, gradually, and I became aware of things. I heard someone breathing, and the feeling came back to my body. I realized that I was laying down, but my upper body was propped up on something that was soft and warm, and I felt a barely-significant weight on my chest.

My eyes opened lazily. Waking up in a strange place was nothing new at this point … but this time I didn’t mind. I found myself lying on my back with my head in Eileen’s lap, as she sat with her right forearm resting on my chest. She was looking down at me with an expression that looked downright terrified, but it quickly turned to immense relief, presumably upon noticing that I was awake.

She looked like she wanted to say something, but instead, she put her hand on my cheek.

Seeing her pretty face light up the way it did was a welcome sight. I had no idea how I’d gotten into that position, but for a very brief moment, I didn’t care. I was just so comfortable and felt so relaxed in her embrace, and too disoriented to contemplate it. It was heavenly—the only situation I can relate it to is the moment when you wake up in the morning and the first thought that pops into your head is how comfortable the bed is and how much you don’t want to leave it.

But it wouldn’t last.

It wasn’t long before I noticed the dull ache deep in my chest. Almost as soon as I did, the memory of the bizarre violation came rushing back. Normally, it takes a lot to rattle me, but having a ghost plunge its fist into my chest to halfway up its forearm, not to mention the searing agony that came with it, is a memory that even now gives me nightmares. Suddenly, my heart started racing, which caused the dull ache to explode into excruciating pain. Every muscle tensed up to the point where my body began to convulse. I clutched at my chest and screamed—it seemed that all I could do was hope that I’d lose consciousness again.

“No!” Eileen said, raising her voice so it could be heard over mine, and trying to brace me with her arm in an attempt to get me to keep still. “Try … try to relax.”

Was she kidding? “I can’t!” I said through gritted teeth, forcing myself to stop screaming for the moment, so I could communicate, “It hurts!”

“Maybe the hurting will stop if you can calm down,” She said as she held me tighter.

I knew she was right—it made perfect sense. I had felt almost no pain until my heart started pumping harder and faster than normal, so naturally getting my heart rate to slow should make the pain stop, or at least become more bearable until I had a chance to heal. But I couldn’t endure the torture and so I continued to panic, unable to end the cycle. Meanwhile, worrying about it only intensified the pain, and I was on the verge of passing out again.

It wasn’t long before Eileen stepped in to help. She held me close, stroked my hair, kissed my cheek, and spent the next few minutes whispering in my ear that everything was going to be okay. It was motherly, but somehow intimate at the same time.

Somehow it helped take my mind off the torment. Gradually, I relaxed, and as I did, the pain lessened a little. I tried to ignore the hurting and panic and focused on her, instead—her soft touch and her sweet voice, her affection. It was gradual, but my heart rate slowed and the pain decreased, until it was just the occasional twinge. After awhile all the twitching died down, and I was merely breathing heavily as I tried to catch my breath.

She caressed my cheek. After a few moments of cautious silence, she asked if I was doing better.

I nodded, slightly, too out-of-breath and hoarse from screaming to really be able to form any words.

Once my breathing had returned to normal, I tried to sit up, but she stopped me with her arm. “It’s okay,” she said, “Take your time and make sure you’re okay before you try to get up.”

I paused, but I lay back down as she suggested. The fact that she was able to stop me so easily was proof that I wasn’t quite up for getting moving again, anyway.

I closed my eyes and, now that the pain was gone, I relaxed completely. I felt so content with her warm body against mine, I almost could have fallen asleep like that. I should have been uncomfortable with being in such a vulnerable state, but for some reason I just wasn’t. It was almost funny, considering that it wasn’t too long before that I wasn’t even comfortable with letting her know about my injuries, not wanting to appear weak. Maybe I was still too dazed to really think about it … or maybe I had really become that relaxed around her.

Suddenly, I remembered the last thing I experienced before losing consciousness—someone had taken my gun and started shooting, causing Richard’s ghost to release me. Of course, that person could only have been Eileen. My eyes snapped open and I looked up at her.

“You okay?” Eileen said, sounding a little on-edge, pulling me out of my thoughts. She was probably worried that I was about to have another attack.

“Yeah,” I muttered. “Just … just thinking.”

She cocked her head a little. “What are you thinking about?”

I should have told her how much I appreciated her saving my life … but instead I chickened out and shook my head, indicating that I didn’t want to talk about what was on my mind, which she regarded with a look of mild disappointment.

I then realized that she must have thought I was dying (although I probably would have died if she hadn’t been there to help me through it, so in a way I was). I remembered how she saw me passing out from being strangled by Walter Sullivan outside the Water Prison, and how much it upset her to think I might be dead.

I sat up—slowly, to avoid the inevitable head rush as much as I could—and I looked at Eileen to find her biting her quivering lip as a tear formed in her eye.

I saw that my gun lay on the ground a few feet away from her.

“Oh,” she said, noticing where I was looking. “You’ll … have to reload that.”

I looked at her again.

“At least it … stayed gone,” she continued, her voice shaky. “I guess it thought you were …” she trailed off. “It seems like … they only go after you. W-Why do you think that is?” She was trying to keep talking so she wouldn’t break down crying.

“I don’t know,” I said, shaking my head. It was the truth, but not the whole truth—I really didn’t know why the ghosts focused their attacks on me, but I couldn’t help but wonder if they were angry at me for not saving them. Then again, it could have just been my own guilty conscious talking.

Focusing my attention back to Eileen, where it belonged, I turned until I was close and facing her. This was another one of those times where I felt like I should say something, but I just didn’t know what. She had protected me so fiercely from the ghost, and made damn sure I was okay afterwards, physically and emotionally—what could you possibly say in that situation that would even begin to cover it?

Throughout this long nightmare, there was one area where I felt consistently lucky: that I had someone who cared about me so much.

“I …” I started, then trailed off with a sigh, feeling inadequate for my lack of knowing how to express myself verbally, but grudgingly accepting it, as it was nothing new. I broke eye contact. “I’m … sorry I keep scaring you,” was all I could think to say as I gave up trying to communicate and just hugged her tight.

Eileen rested her head on my shoulder, held onto me fiercely, and immediately began sobbing intensely, finally letting out all the emotion she’d been holding in so I would have one less thing to worry about as I recovered.

We would get going again, and soon, as we’d already wasted too much time.

But for the moment, all I wanted to do was hold her close, stroke her hair, kiss her cheek, and whisper in her ear that everything was going to be okay.

It was enough.

Chapter 48: Strange Encounters

We had now made it to the alleyway where I had fought several ape men earlier. Fortunately, there were none to be found this time around. The only threat was a ghost, and one of the weaker ones at that—Eileen and I dispatched it easily by getting on either side of it and beating it down until it lay still.

After going around a couple of right corners, I began to hear voices, both of which I recognized very well. I told Eileen to hang back a little, while I went to check it out.

Beyond some yellow caution tape, I approached what looked like an old abandoned store with a big window in front. What I saw inside, through the window, was something I never would have expected.

The man I’d come to (regretfully) know as Walter Sullivan stood calmly, arms folded, facing the kid, who was also Walter Sullivan, who looked up at him defiantly in an odd-looking standoff. If I ever had any doubts that the boy and the man were the same person, they were gone now—seeing them together made me realize that the resemblance between them was striking, too striking for them to be mere relatives. They were, indeed, the same damn person. Walter Sullivan was literally talking to himself—the paradox nearly blew my mind.

They didn’t appear to see me, so whatever scene that was taking place continued as if I wasn’t there.

“I’m going to see my mom!” the boy said, practically yelling, “Stay outta my way!” He stood on his toes, trying to look as tall as possible, but his … other self still towered above him. Then he stopped and said, in a quietly curious voice, “Who are you, anyway?”

“My name’s Walter. Walter Sullivan.” He said calmly, smirking. Then he leaned forward, as if sharing a secret. “It’s time … to complete the 21 Sacraments.” On this last bit, a cruel grin stretched across his face—the sight of it caused a shiver to run down my spine.

The kid seemed to have a similar reaction because he lost some of his spunk at this point. His voice quieted and he sounded confused. “But that’s … m-my name… and what are the … ‘21 Sacraments’?”

“Don’t worry. You’ll know soon enough.” The man in the blue coat said, simply, in that almost sweet-sounding, yet emotionless voice of his, as he shook his head and held up his index finger. I shifted uneasily at this, remembering that he used almost exactly the same tone as he was pulling on my hair and driving his knee into my back in the forest as he threatened to skin me alive. There was something about that faux-friendly tone he used … if it was just a little more convincing, it would make one want to trust him, but it was “off” just enough that upon hearing it, it set off an alarm in your head that something just wasn’t right about this man.

“Well,” he continued, clasping his hands together, almost as if in prayer, “let’s go and see Mother!” on this last line, the voice deepened into the darker and more threatening tone and he suddenly lunged forward.

The kid backed away, terrified, and turned as if about to run away, but the man scooped him up before he was able to get anywhere. “Lemme go! That hurts!” the boy cried as the man in the blue coat ran off with him under his arm as if he were a football.

I snapped out of the trance I was in and ran to the door. I tried the knob, but it was locked. In a last desperate move, I brought out my axe and struck the big window, but it merely warped and rippled, reacting more the way a sheet of thick metal would, deflecting the axe, not unlike how the windows in my apartment reacted when I tried to break them. When Walter wanted to keep you somewhere, there was just no way out.

“Damn!” I hissed through gritted teeth.

A few seconds later, I heard Eileen approach. “He … wouldn’t hurt himself … would he?” She asked, apparently having seen at least the end of the confrontation.

“He did commit suicide once,” I said. Then, after thinking about it, I added, “This is probably different, though. Maybe they need to be together for the ritual to work.”

Soon, we continued down the path until it turned left into an open area where there was a door that we went through, which lead to the large square-shaped room that had a fan installed under some lights so that the rotating blades caused a giant shadow to spread across the floor, then across the room through the only door, which lead to yet another fire escape with two flights of descending stairs.

Through the door at the other end of the room was Bar Southfield where an ape man stood taunting me by chattering and beating its chest. It was only a few feet away, so I aimed my gun and put a bullet through its head.

Eileen went to the windows, parted the blinds, and looked out through the gap. “I recognize this place,” she said, in a tired voice. “It looks … a lot like Downtown Ashfield.”

I nodded, absentmindedly.

She suddenly turned around and faced me again. “Is this really what’s happened to the city,” she said in a louder voice, demanding my attention, “or are we going insane?” she continued, her voice breaking into sobs.

I quickly went to her and pulled her into my arms and held her for a moment. Verbally, I paused, as I tried to think of an acceptable answer. “We’re not insane,” I told her, calmly. “This isn’t … the real city. It’s … sort of a recreation.” Saying this out loud helped me put things together in my head—things I probably should have figured out a long time ago. “It was made by Walter Sullivan, based on how he sees things. “We’re not insane. This place is, because he is … but we’re not.”

She snorted in what I honestly couldn’t tell was a sob or a laugh—maybe it was a little of both. “I’ll never understand how you can stay so calm.”

“Because I have to,” I responded, deciding to give the short answer.

She sniffled, having composed herself. “Is that the only reason?”

I paused for a minute, then answered honestly: “No … it’s part of it, but … I’ve always been that way. I just … don’t react to things the way people expect me to. Gets on their nerves sometimes.”

“Still waters run deep,” she said, quietly. “I guess not everyone gets that.”

But she obviously did, and it meant a lot to me. Part of the reason I was always withdrawn was because people couldn’t relate to me. But she seemed to “get” me in a way that most people didn’t.

I pulled away, softly, once she seemed to be okay, and I went to the door with the keypad and tried the knob, only to find that it was locked.

This time I remembered the number code—3750—so I typed the numbers in, only this time, I received a buzzing sound as a response.

I told Eileen that I’d need to go back to my apartment, briefly, to check something out. She let me go, but seemed even less happy about it than usual.

Once I woke up, I immediately looked through the window at the sign outside for Bar Southfield. The number hadn’t changed, so I immediately went to the phone, picked up the receiver and dialed 555-3750.

In response was a few clicking sounds as a recording came on, and a velvety voice crooned, “The number you are trying to reach, five-five-five-three-seven-five-zero, is no longer in service. The new number is five-five-five-four-eight-nine-zero,” followed by another click.

“I guess they changed the code to that, too,” I muttered, as I stood up from the bed and made my way back down the hall.

On the way back to the laundry room, I glanced at the front door, half-expecting to find a note from Joseph. What I found, instead, was a thin stream of blood oozing from the peephole.

I approached the door, noticing that the new Saint Medallion—the one I’d found in the Water Prison and had put on after my encounter with Richard’s ghost to replace the one that had worn out—was beginning to hum and shudder against my chest, and I saw movement on the other side of the door, but I was too far away to be able to see what it was through the fisheye lens.

Every fiber of my being was screaming at me to not look through the hole—it was a haunting, after all, so I already knew that whatever it was, it wouldn’t be pretty. And yet, after all I’d seen, it was hard to believe that anything would bother me much at this point. Plus, curiosity was getting the better of me.

I leaned forward and brought my eye to the hole. What I saw on the other side of the door couldn’t be there, it wasn’t possible, and yet there it stood, defying the most basic of logic.

A man stood there. His longish light-brown hair was unruly and stiffened with blood in various spots. His hazel eyes were half-closed and his head lolled back, as if he were barely conscious. Almost the entire left side of his face was bloody, as blood spilled from his nose, mouth, and a horrible gash across his cheek, not to mention from various other places, staining his white t-shirt. His lips were moving, as if he were mumbling, almost as if it were trying to tell me something, though I heard no sound.

I could literally feel my sanity unravel as I looked at this apparition. It couldn’t be what it looked like, and yet its features were unmistakable.

He was either nearly dead, or possibly a ghost. The features were unmistakable—I saw them whenever I looked in a mirror.

The apparition was me.

Unable to take it anymore, I pushed myself away from the door and backed up a few steps—enough that the apparition was just out of range of the medallion—before my legs buckled under me, and I fell to my knees in the hallway.

To this day, I don’t know how to describe what exactly I was feeling when I saw that twisted, undead version of myself looking back at me. The terror was so great that part of my brain shut down, and tried to force me to forget that I ever saw it, but that was, of course, impossible. I almost couldn’t react. I wanted to scream, but no sound would come forth.

Suddenly, I felt something rising within me, and I realized I was about to scream. I figured this was a good thing, that maybe it’d help to get the fear out of my system.

But it wasn’t a scream. What came out, instead, was a laugh. I clasped my hand over my mouth and tried to suppress it. By now, I was no longer worried about the apparition, but myself—more specifically, what was happening to me.

“I’m losing it,” I whispered to no one. “I’m losing my goddamn mind.”

Now that the urge to laugh was long gone, suddenly my eyes were welling up with tears—I guess my brain figured that if it couldn’t get me to laugh, then crying would be just as good.

The urge to just give into the madness was so great—to just get it all out of my system and let the insanity take over so I wouldn’t have to worry about anything anymore, and just forget everything I’d seen and experienced.

NO! I thought, as I wiped away the tears, as quickly as I could, Not now! I’ve come to far to give up now, and I have to keep it together … if only for HER sake.

I let out a shuddering sigh as I rubbed my arms where goose bumps had formed. After a few seconds of breathing deeply, my mind cleared and I knew I’d be okay … for now, at least.

Eileen. Once again, she had unwittingly kept me going. She had saved me in more ways than she’d ever know.

I looked up at the door and saw that the stream of blood that was leaking out the peephole was on the verge of reaching the floor, reminding me that I needed to take care of that haunting.

The chest was within reach, so I retrieved a candle and the book of matches. I set up the candle at the base of the door without standing, so there would be no danger of looking through that hole again, even accidentally.

Chapter 49: Not a Dream

I returned to the bar, and Eileen greeted me as usual. Fortunately, she was less distressed than I expected her to be … or maybe I was too preoccupied to notice, what with my experience in the apartment that had happened just a little while before. I had done my best to pull myself together before getting back to the bar, but it wasn’t the kind of incident that I could just shrug off. Was what I saw just a random image put there to scare me, or was it showing my actual fate? And if so, could I prevent it, or was I doomed, no matter what I did?

I went to the door again and tried the new code—by some miracle, I was able to remember it, despite the distraction—and upon hitting the forth number, I was rewarded with a cheerful-sounding beep and a satisfying click as the door unlocked.

As I opened the door and stepped outside, I abruptly remembered hearing Richard’s scream coming from above, from the last time I was there—I even looked up as I did then. Then I looked to the steps that lead upward and, in a way, I was relieved to see that they had collapsed at some point—not that I expected to literally relive the experience of seeing someone tortured in an electric chair, but the proof of that fact was welcome, regardless.

So where are we supposed to go, then?

I looked in the other direction to see that there were stairs leading down—stairs that I was pretty sure weren’t there before.

We procrastinated a bit before walking down eight flights of stairs. The only thing breaking up the monotony a bit was the occasional appearance of moths, which we smacked out of the air, causing them to plummet to the ground below.

We reached the bottom, but once we were in the middle of the area, the thing I had been subconsciously fearing the most happened. I felt Eileen suddenly grab my arm. I turned around, and she practically collapsed into my arms. “Eileen …?”

At first I thought she had fainted, but then she spoke. “I’m not … I’m not sure how much farther I can go,” she said, her voice weakened as it broke into sobs. “My leg, it’s just … it’s killing me … and there’s something else … ” she shook her head, apparently not wanting to go into what that something else was, “What am I gonna do?”

I swallowed hard, trying not to show how worried I was. “It’s okay,” I said, softly, “we’ll just rest for a minute—you’ll be okay.” She could barely even stand and so she wouldn’t have been able to make it back to the steps (I supposed I could have carried her, but that hadn’t gone over too well the last time) so I lowered myself to the ground, taking her with me—I had intended for us to sit together with her to end up in front of me, or next to me, but she ended up sitting somewhat sideways on my leg. I couldn’t tell if she’d planned it that way or if it just happened, so I immediately looked at her to see what her reaction was—at the very least, she didn’t seem to mind, so I just went with it. I embraced her firmly so she wouldn’t fall off.

She was silent for a long time, looking away, then finally, in a weak voice: “I’m in too much pain for it to be a dream.” With her so close, I could see that her wounds had gotten worse again—perhaps it was also affecting her sanity. “Plus, I can see you so clearly,” she continued, as she brushed the hair away from my eyes with a stroke of her finger across my forehead, and stared long and hard into my eyes, as if studying every detail—or perhaps searching for an answer.

I wasn’t sure what to make of the way she was looking at me—all I knew was that it was heart-breaking seeing her looking so lost and scared. I continued to hold her, to comfort her as best I could … but I wouldn’t lie to her—to do so would be to admit defeat, and I was nowhere near ready to do that. Not with her. “My dreams don’t have much clarity either … which is why I don’t think this is one. I’m sorry”

She put her head on my shoulder and started sobbing.

She was beginning to break down more often now—this place and her injuries, along with whatever might be going on in her head, was really beginning to get to her. Sadly, I realized that she was right to doubt that she could make it much further.

Sitting on my leg placed her at a slightly higher level than normal from my point of view. I held her a little closer and realized that I could easily rest my head on her shoulder as well, so I did. After what I’d experienced in the apartment, on top of worrying about her, I needed some comforting myself. She slipped her arm around my shoulders and held me tightly as well, seeming to sense that I needed it.

This was a dire situation we were in to begin with, and it had just gotten so much worse. But I’d be damned if just holding her close like this didn’t make me forget about it, even for just for a second. It was just so comforting.

It seemed to have a similar effect on her because her sobs gradually died down until she was only sniffling occasionally.

She pulled away a little so that we were eye to eye. She stroked the hair on the back of my neck. “Sorry I keep holding us up,” she said in a small voice.

I was used to having to look down to see her, so having her suddenly at my eye level was interesting. I noticed the black lace choker that was around her neck—it was sexy, but I’d come to the conclusion that I liked her usual daytime look better. Not that she wasn’t a knockout in anything she wore, but the casual style and lighter colors suited her better. I saw that there was still a tear on her cheek, so I put my hand on the side of her face and gently wiped it away with my thumb. She flinched a little, not expecting something like that from me, and bit her lip.

I did want to get out of the city, and finally move on to what I figured must be the last area—I would have come full circle twice, and I doubted that there could be anything I’d missed the second time—but I could see the door leading out of this world on the wall opposite where the stairs ended, and having the exit within reach was good enough for the time being. “It’s okay,” I said, softly, “take all the time you need.”

She cocked her head in that way that usually meant that she either appreciated me or sympathized with me—obviously the former in this case—as she put her hand on my cheek, and ran it affectionately down the side of my neck to my chest, where it stayed.

I tensed, still not quite used to the feel of a woman’s touch—at least not so intimately.

She leaned in until her lips were less than an inch from mine. She didn’t kiss me right away—she was either hesitating, or intentionally drawing out the moment so it would last longer. Either way, it was maddening … and yet exquisite at the same time.

I closed my eyes and tried to keep my lower lip from quivering in anticipation of what was coming.

Suddenly, I felt her lips pressing firmly against mine, and once again, I felt almost no apprehension, and I relaxed almost instantly, as a small moan of pleasure escaped from my throat. I had needed that, but I didn’t realize how much until it was happening. After everything that had happened I needed something, anything, to remind me that pleasure of some kind still existed, and that there was more to the world than fear, sadness, loneliness, and suffering.

I held her tightly, ran my fingers through her hair, as she did the same, and I just … took in as much of it as I could, completely lost in the moment as we kissed passionately, repeatedly. It was bittersweet that it took a situation such as this for me to finally find someone I was so comfortable with, who I connected with on such a deep level, but at the moment, none of that mattered. All that mattered was the warmth of her embrace and the softness of her lips—she just felt so good all over.

Unfortunately, nothing is permanent, and it had to end eventually. She pulled away softly, and I had a vague urge to pull her right back—if I had known that this would be our last chance to have a moment like this before everything really went to hell, I would have—but I didn’t. The make-out session had become so intense, that we both had to take a brief moment to catch our breath before she reluctantly scooted off of my lap and away from me so I’d have room to stand, which I did before helping her to her feet as well.

I felt rejuvenated, and she seemed to as well. I don’t doubt that she was still in pain, but she was willing and able to go on, regardless.

Despite not wanting the sweet moment with Eileen to end, I was more than happy to be on the way to the door and on to the next area. The door with the crest on it was illuminated by a fluorescent light above it, and it practically shined like a beacon.

Chapter 50: “The One Truth”

On the other side of the door, I was met with bitter disappointment. The door lead not to the spiral walkway that would take us to the next world, but to a massive rectangular room. It looked oddly theatrical at first with gigantic chandeliers dangling from the high ceiling and what looked like plain brownish-grey curtains draped over the walls, covering them completely.

Also on the walls were what appeared to be a new breed of wall monster. The ones I had dealt with in the Subway Station and the Water Prison were generally human-sized and took on the color and texture of the wall they emerged from. These new ones, however, were giants—at least three times my size—and fleshy. Instead of emerging from the walls, they appeared to be connected to rectangular metal frames, the flesh and muscle tissue having been stretched over the frame like canvas. It looked unbelievably painful—nothing in the real world could have survived such a horrible mutilation, not to mention having the anatomy required in the first place—only Walter Sullivan’s subconscious could have conjured up such ghastly imagery.

These “panels” were side-by-side, at least five on each long side wall and one on either side of the door on the shorter far room. They lined the walls to the point where they would cover them completely whenever they were all down.

To make things worse, the middle of the floor was cut out, leaving only about a six-foot-wide walkway along the walls and what looked like a black bottomless pit in the middle, leaving no way to avoid the monsters when they were down. No sooner had we closed the door behind us then there was an echoing click as it locked.

As we entered the room, each monster was pulled up to the ceiling by four hooks, each connected to a thick black cord.

Eileen grabbed my arm.

There was a door on the other end as well, apparently the exit—I figured that, if we hurried, maybe we could make it there before the monsters came back down, and we could avoid them completely. I lead Eileen around the perimeter of the room to the opposite door. The first thing I noticed was a sign on the door, which immediately gave me a sinking feeling, but I tried the door first anyway only to find that it was also locked.

“We can’t get out of here?” Eileen said, her voice riddled with panic.

I swallowed hard and read the sign out loud:

”’To reach the deepest part, you must defeat the One Truth. Do so and this door will open.’

“‘Defeat the One Truth …’” I muttered again. I turned with my back to the door and looked around the room, my eyes wide with apprehension. “I think it means,” I said, more to myself then to Eileen, “that only one of these is the real one … and killing it will unlock the door.”

“How will we know?” she asked, raising her voice so she’d be heard above the snarling and roaring of the monsters.

“Only one way to find out,” I said, as I lay my axe in the nearest corner and took out my gun. “I’ll have to shoot each one and whichever one that stands out somehow will be the one I’m supposed to kill … I hope.”

“Henry …” I heard her say in a shaky voice a she clutched my arm.

I faltered a bit. “Just … uh … stay close to me,” then I added, under my breath: “I guess.” I didn’t like not having a safe place to stash her, and I wasn’t sure how, exactly, to keep her safe—I supposed I’d just have to wing it.

A “normal”-sized wall monster (if anything about them could be called normal) was so strong that it could easily knock me across the room with one good whack—I didn’t even want to think about what one of these gargantuan horrors could do to me (or especially Eileen). This situation was terrifying, even for me—I could only imagine how Eileen felt.

The monsters began to slide back down in a line, one by one, beginning with the one that was to the right of the exit, so we’d have to act fast. We moved to the left of the exit, out of its reach. I barely had time to give Eileen one last piece of advice. “Watch them,” I said, “If you see one nearby throwing back its arm, strike before it has a chance to—if nothing else, it’ll pause and you should have time to get away.”

I didn’t have time to wait for her response—the walls were nearly filled, and it was time to move and then some.

We began the long process of going around the room and hitting every monster. I had become quite good at dodging their strikes—in some cases, I would duck at the last possible second, then immediately fire before the attacker would have time to recover.

Eileen did well, too, and somehow also managed to dodge their hits—but, like the ghosts and most of the monsters, their attacks were aimed primarily at me anyway.

What helped, somewhat, was that once they were pulled back up to the ceiling, they stayed there for a few seconds, before coming back down in their usual formation, and eventually catching up with us, so we did get the occasional breather and chance to regroup.

But, once again, too many instances of good luck made me just careless enough that I wasn’t paying attention to the one that was slightly to the right of me, and it took a swing, just barely clipping my shoulder, but it was enough to make me lose balance and fall to the concrete, missing the edge by mere inches.

Dazed, I tried to stand, only to suddenly feel a hard and painful blow to the side of my head—I had no idea where it came from since I tumbled when I landed, so I didn’t even know if it came from the same monster or even where the hell I was in the room at this point—and suddenly I went flying, landing hard on the concrete once again, not quite losing consciousness, but coming very close.

Even in my dazed state, I dimly realized that I felt nothing under my legs, and before my reeling mind had time to register what had happened, I began sliding over the edge. I immediately began to panic, clawing frantically at the floor to no avail as I saw the wall getting further and further away from me, as gravity dragged me off the ledge.

I’ll never understand how I managed it, but somehow I stopped myself as I caught the edge with my hands on the way down.

I hung there for only a second before realizing that I couldn’t stay that way for long—my strength would give out. I just hoped I’d have the strength needed to pull myself back up.

I heard Eileen screaming my name, and I looked up to see her nearby, moving in my direction.

“Don’t … worry about me!” I managed to say, though it was a struggle, as most of my strength and concentration was being spent on not letting go. “Make sure … they don’t … hit you!” She wouldn’t have been able to pull me back up even if she were healthy—in fact, I could end up pulling her over the edge with me and that wouldn’t do anyone any good. I could only climb back up myself … somehow.

It was a slow process—or at least it seemed that way to me—not to mention a painful one. I pulled myself up with my arms, as I pushed my boots against the side as hard as I could to help the process along a little. Eventually, I was able to raise myself high enough that my head and arms were above the floor level. That was the hard part—once my arms didn’t have to do as much work, I was able to bring one leg up and pull myself back onto the floor. I was somewhat lacking in upper-body strength, so the only thing that really saved me was that the concrete was rough and caused too much friction for me to slide back down easily—unfortunately, it also scratched the hell out of my skin, but I’d take that over death any day.

I was also extremely lucky in that by the time I had climbed back up, the creatures on that side of the room had slid back upwards.

By the time they came back down, I had reclaimed my gun and aimed, planning to shoot at the one I figured was most likely the one that knocked me off the edge, purely out of spite.

I fired once and it flinched … but as it did, every other monster in the room also flinched at exactly the same moment in exactly the same way.

“Yes …” I muttered, triumphantly. I fired several more times until all the monsters in the room went limp.

They all simultaneously slid back up to the ceiling, but the two that were at either side of the exit came back down where they stayed, hanging limp, almost as if they were the world’s ugliest ornaments. This was followed by an echoing “click” as the exit door unlocked.

I groaned and collapsed to my knees, breathing heavily, just barely able to keep from passing out. This was a close one—this was the closest I had come to death since Walter was choking me, maybe even closer since no one was in control of my fate this time. I wasn’t sure how many more of these I could take. Suddenly, I was reminded of something.

“Eileen?”

In all the commotion, I had all but forgotten about her—what reminded me was that I had subconsciously expected her to run to my side to see if I was okay, as she had those other times. Panic set in as I looked around and didn’t see her at first, and she wasn’t answering my call.

Oh god, she didn’t … she … couldn’t have …

Of course she could have fallen off the edge, and easily, but thankfully she hadn’t—however, she wasn’t looking very good either. She was huddled in a corner, opposite from where I was, staring straight ahead, her wounds having gotten much worse even since just before we’d made it to this room.

I looked directly at her. “Eileen!”

Still no answer.

Now it was my own injuries and fatigue that I had forgotten about as I stood and practically ran to where she was, barely noticing that I was running right past the two “dead” wall monsters. I crouched in front of her, put my hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes for some sign of awareness.

Suddenly, she began screaming, and it gave me such a start, I nearly jumped out of my skin.

I yelled her name again, and tried to tell her to calm down.

She continued screaming. I tried to hold her, but she fought it, pushed against me, and eventually started hitting me in the chest and shoulder. It didn’t hurt much—even in this frenzy she was in, she was physically weak—but seeing this kind of behavior from Eileen, who was normally so sweet and caring, was beyond shocking.

Through the screaming, she almost sounded like she was speaking in some alien tongue, and her voice became deeper and took on a strange inflection, sounding almost like two people speaking. Her eye turned a milky white, and, as if that didn’t disturb me enough, my Saint Medallion began to react as if there was a ghost nearby.

I began to panic and, while I couldn’t bring myself to admit it, I knew she was possessed, although I didn’t know how or by who or what. She had to have been—she was displaying most of the behaviors shown in any horror movie I’d seen that touched on the subject. It couldn’t have been more obvious of her head did a complete 360.

This was too much, and finally I snapped a little—I gave up trying to be gentle with her and I grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her, almost violently, as if trying to wake her up—it was all I could think of to do.

The screaming got louder and she fought harder against me, but soon it tapered off, and as she seemed to settle down, I figured it was safe to go back to holding her again.

“H-Henry?” she said in a small voice, “What happened?”

I breathed a sigh of relief as I could see that she was back normal … or as close to normal as she was before this incident, anyway. “It’s okay,” I said, softly “You must have fainted or something. It’s okay now.” I had told another lie … but I rationalized that it was acceptable. I hadn’t given up on her, I was just making things more simple for the time being. In thinking this, I was also lying to myself.

“Last thing I remember …” she paused, then her eyes became wide as she recalled, “You fell off the edge! Are you okay?” She said, hugging me tightly.

It stung a little, with all the abrasions I’d received from being dragged along the rough concrete, but I barely noticed—I was so glad to see her back to her old self, I was nearly moved to tears. “Yeah, I’m okay—just … pretty scratched-up … but okay.”

She pulled away. “Then … let’s get going. I want to get out of here.”

I wanted to continue as well, so I didn’t think much of it.

Chapter 51: The Ultimate Truth

Back on the spiral path that connected the previous world to the next, it had gotten darker. In fact, if not for the streetlights, it probably would have been pitch black, and if there was still fog, I couldn’t see it.

I had gotten pretty hot and sweaty while fighting for my life in the big rectangular room, and as the freezing air hit my skin, I shivered almost violently, and had to cross my arms and hold myself, as my breath created little white clouds of condensation. Eileen huddled against me and I realized that she was shivering a little as well—it wasn’t surprising that the extra shirt wasn’t making that big of a difference.

We went along the walkway—for the most part, it was more of the same. Rusty metal structures lined the perimeter, looking as if someone had begun constructing a building around the walkway, but didn’t finish it, leaving only the metal framework.

The first room we walked past had another hospital bed with a blood stain in the middle. The second room was empty.

We were getting close to the bottom now—despite the darkness, I could see the ground not too far below us. In the distance was a cart of some kind that was filled with mannequin heads—their black lifeless eye sockets stared blankly in a way that was vaguely disturbing.

A third room displayed a nude baby standing and shaking—almost vibrating—as it thrashed about with its arms. Eileen said nothing, but pulled on my arm urgently as a signal to hurry and leave this spot. Perhaps even she was becoming desensitized to the horrors of this place, but that didn’t mean that she enjoyed looking at them.

It almost seemed like a miracle—only a few more steps and we were stepping off the ramp and onto the grassy ground. It was a round area fenced off by bars, almost looking like some kind of outdoor prison.

“We made it to the bottom,” I muttered, nearly unable to believe it. There were doors scattered about—at least five inside the area, some stacked on top of each other, while others were leaned against the bars or each other, with a few more just outside the bars, and each one had a peephole, looking exactly like my door from the inside (or rather how my door used to look).

The bloody trail had continued along the path and lead to an area where the grass transitioned to floor tiles that surrounded a chunk of wall. On the wall was a door.

On the door were the numbers 302.

Eileen and I looked at each other. I sighed, apprehensively. “Looks like I’ve come full circle.”

“What do you think is in there?” she asked, uneasily.

“I … don’t know,” I muttered. In truth, I wasn’t sure I even wanted to know. “I’m not even sure if it’ll open.

Just then, I happened to look down and saw a book with handwriting in it. I picked it up and read it out loud:

”’I had that weird dream today. The one with the man with the long hair and coat. He was crying and looking for his mother again’”

I inadvertently scoffed a little—it was difficult to picture Sullivan crying. Laughing I could imagine—crying, not so much. Then again, this was a dream and probably symbolic.

”’I saw that man with the coat 10 years ago at this apartment. He was going up the stairs, carrying a heavy tool, an old-looking bowl and a bag that was dripping blood. I never saw him again after that. But a few days later, the neighbors complained that they heard strange noises coming from the supposedly empty Room 302. So I took a look around Room 302 and found signs that someone had been in there, but nothing odd other than that. But that’s when it all started.

”’I still hear strange noises coming from the window of Room 302. –Sunderland’”

I shook my head. Completely disgusted, I held out the book and let it drop back to the floor with a loud thud.

Eileen was quiet for a moment—probably wondering what I was angry about, then realizing it—before she spoke up. “Henry … didn’t you say that … there was something keeping you in your apartment, and that’s why you hardly ever left it?”

I took a deep breath, and nodded. “Walter Sullivan’s influence,” I muttered.

“Well,” Eileen responded, cautiously, “maybe he also influenced Frank to let you move into it in the first place.”

My gaze dropped back to the book on the ground. “Could be. Might explain why he was having dreams about him.” I was a hypocrite for blaming Sullivan for my behavior, and then turning around and blaming Frank for his own. I realized that I should try to hear his side of it before passing judgment.

Assuming I’d ever get the chance.

Not wanting to contemplate this anymore, I quickly grabbed the doorknob and twisted it.

Unlike the door to the real Room 302, it opened.

“Is this … your apartment?” Eileen said, looking around.

I was so overcome with wonder and confusion, I could barely speak. “It’s … Room 302, but …”

But it was different. I recognized the layout of the room: there was a short hallway, which ended at the door. At the beginning of that hallway and to the left was the kitchen, and directly across from the kitchen, at the other side of the hall, was the door to the laundry room. Beyond that was the living room if you went straight, or the hall leading to the bedroom and bathroom if you went right. But it was what the room contained that was different.

“… but,” I continued, “this isn’t my stuff …”

Some of the furniture I did recognize—some of it was already there when I moved in, such as some of the chairs, bookcase, coffee table, and the small stand that had been moved away from the wall—it had been moved here as well. In place of my TV and VCR was a cabinet containing a record player … which did seem familiar somehow, even though I didn’t have one.

Why do I remember a record player?

Also, there were lit Holy Candles everywhere.

I saw two books on the coffee table, so I knelt in front of it—for some reason, I was uncomfortable with the idea of sitting on any of the chairs—and I read the one on top aloud. It looked like a child’s picture book, which also seemed familiar somehow:

”’There once was a baby and a mother who were connected by a magical cord. But one day the cord was cut, and the mother went to sleep. The baby was left all alone.

“‘But the baby made lots of friends at Wish House, and everyone was very nice to him. The baby was happy. His friends told him how to wake up his mother. So the baby went right away to go and wake her up.’

“If this isn’t an account of Walter Sullivan’s beginnings, I don’t know what is,” I muttered before continuing.

”’But the mother wouldn’t wake up. No matter how he tried, she wouldn’t wake up.’”

I faltered before reading the next line. I almost couldn’t form the words. I became so tense, I nearly started shaking, and my stomach tightened. In any other context it would have sounded like superstitious nonsense, but here …

Eileen knelt next to me, put her arm around me, and rubbed my shoulder. “C’mon, Henry,” she said, firmly but gently, “Keep going.”

”’Because … the one that he was trying to wake up was … actually … the Devil.’”

Eileen gasped, audibly.

I looked over my shoulder at her, unable to hide my terror—I felt cold, and I can only imagine how pale I must have been. “This just got a lot more serious. If this is true … it’s not just about twenty-one senseless deaths anymore …” I couldn’t continue that thought, so I took a deep breath and went back to reading:

”’The baby had been deceived. Poor baby. The baby cried and cried and cried. When he thought of the mother, he remembered the feelings of being connected to her through the magical cord.’”

So help me, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for Walter Sullivan when I read that part.

”’Just then, a ray of light came down from the sky. The light was very warm and made the baby feel good. When the baby looked into his hand, he saw that the magical cord was lying there. With the cord clutched in his hand, the baby went happily to sleep.’”

The last bit didn’t quite make sense to me—I supposed it was what he envisioned being with his mother again would be like after he completed the 21 Sacraments.

I went on to the next book. It was open to a specific page, but I looked at the cover first. It was an old, thick book with a dark red leather binding. Stamped on the front in block letters was the title: Crimson Tome.

”’She who is called the “Holy Mother” be not holy one whit. The “Descent of the Holy Mother” is naught but the Descent of the Devil.’”

I hesitated for a second—there was that word again. I’ve never been a very religious man, but seeing the word in this context made me very uneasy.

”’Those that be called the “21 Sacraments” be not sacramental one whit. The “21 Sacraments” be naught but the 21 Heresies. To give birth to a world of wickedness within the blessed realm of our Lord be blasphemy and the work of the Devil.

”’If thou would stop the Descent of the Devil, you must bury part of the Conjurer’s mother’s flesh within the Conjurer’s true body. Thou must also pierce the Conjurer’s flesh with the 8 spears of “Void”, “Darkness”, “Gloom”, “Despair”, “Temptation”, “Source”, “Watchfulness” and “Chaos.” Do so and the Conjurer’s unholy flesh will become that which once it was, by the grace of our Lord.’”

“Jesus,” I muttered, as I put down the book, and slumped forward, resting my elbows on the table, with my face in my hands. I felt like everything was crashing down around me. As evil as Sullivan seemed, he wasn’t the true evil here, it was the cult that brainwashed him—he was merely a puppet …

“They manipulated him,” Eileen said, echoing my thoughts. “They used his longing for his mother as a way to trick him into summoning … something else.”

I turned and looked at her again. She was looking pale as well, making her wounds stand out even more dramatically than usual. “I don’t know if it’s really ‘The Devil’,” I said, continuing my thoughts, “but, whatever it is … it’s likely much worse than Walter Sullivan.”

I had found the “Ultimate Truth” … and it was much worse than I ever could have imagined.

Chapter 52: Despair

Sometime after reading the books, and after recomposing ourselves, we went down the hall, which was lined with more candles. The bathroom door was open, so I peeked in and saw a hole identical to the one that was in my bathroom, only this one hadn’t been filled and was surrounded by even more candles.

We entered the bedroom, which was also filled with lit candles, along with unlit ones which were scattered on the bed, haphazardly. The bed was in the same place as mine, and there was also a writing desk like mine in the same area. On it was a red typewriter.

Red typewriter—why does that seem familiar?

Scattered on the floor were red notes, cluing me in to the fact that this was Room 302 of the past, during the time that Joseph lived there. I picked up the note nearest me and read it … but as soon as I recognized the words, I became silent.

What’s with this room? It’s covered in blood and rust … This is my room … But what the hell has happened to it? This room … Is it really my room? … It’s in terrible shape … The air is so heavy … My head hurts … Creepy … It looks like a face.

What the hell am I writing? August 2 -Joseph

I backed up until I was in front of the chair beside the writing desk before my legs gave and I fell into it.

“Henry,” Eileen said, obviously alarmed, “What’s wrong?”

“I … I was …”I took a deep breath, and collected my thoughts. “Remember those nightmares I kept having when I was locked in my apartment?”

She nodded.

“I think … in that dream … I was Joseph. It was my apartment, but I didn’t recognize it … I wondered where my red typewriter and record player were … and this,” I said, as I held up the note so she could see it, “this is what I was thinking. Then I saw that face on the wall, and …” I was back to rambling again, but hopefully I was getting the point across. I shook my head and stopped myself. “I thought that dream was a premonition, but … I think … I was experiencing Joseph’s last moments.” It was most likely Walter’s doing, probably to taunt me, and begin the process of breaking me down, mentally.

What I didn’t tell her was exactly why it disturbed me so much—since Joseph and I had lived in the same apartment, and had some of the same experiences … I feared that whatever happened to him would happen to me. All the talk of headaches and fear … he must have been so confused and terrified. And I could easily picture myself walking the same path, ending up the same way, feeling trapped and hopeless and in constant pain.

I sat silently for several seconds, just staring ahead at nothing. Eileen put a sympathetic hand on my shoulder, then began stroking my hair—whether she understood the full meaning of what was bothering me or not, she was concerned, regardless, and attempted to comfort me.

Get a grip, Henry, I thought, and somehow shook myself out of the state I was in. I picked up the other three notes that were on the floor and read them. Fortunately, they were all brief, so I just flipped through them and read them quickly to myself:

I can’t break down the wall. August 3 - Joseph

When the bell rings, Eileen (equals) mother’s body, blood. August 4 – Joseph

The Crimson Tome

“Bury part of the Conjurer’s mother’s flesh within the true body of the Conjurer.”

Part of the flesh (equals) super’s room? August 5 - Joseph

“What do they say?”

“Oh, it’s mostly nonsense,” I said. I knew they were clues of some kind, his attempt at translating the vague directions that were in the Crimson Tome, but at the moment, they didn’t make sense. All that was true, but I didn’t want Eileen to know that her name had been mentioned for fear that it might freak her out, which is why I made it a point to devalue them so she wouldn’t worry about what was written. I folded them and stuffed them in my back pocket when she wasn’t looking.

As we left the bedroom, I suddenly noticed that the wall on the left, the space between the bedroom and bathroom, was cracked and broken, but not all the way through. This was another thing that set this version apart from mine.

On the left and right walls, respectively, were writings in red: The gate to Hell, and Why must I destroy this wall?

On the way back to the living room, I noticed a black stain on the carpet and saw that more black liquid was dripping from the ceiling. I looked up and saw what looked like a wall monster coming out of the ceiling, but this one looked more humanoid and fairly non-threatening for what it was, but I grabbed Eileen and pulled her away from it just to be safe.

Eileen gasped. “Wait,” she said, “it’s him!”

I looked closer and saw that the “monster” looked like a middle-aged man with a receding hairline, wearing a shirt not unlike mine. Then it spoke: “You’ve done well to make it this far.” It had a strange, deep, echoing voice and it spoke slowly.

Oh my God, I thought, It’s Joseph Schreiber … it has to be! Of course it was, it was his apartment after all, and how else could Eileen have recognized him? I suddenly felt an almost inexplicable sense of terror, and I reached to my left and grabbed Eileen’s hand tightly.

“Let me tell you something about him, Walter Sullivan,” Joseph continued. “When he was a little boy, he began to believe that my apartment was actually his birth mother. He decided to ‘free’ her from the stains and corruption of this world.

“At the orphanage, he learned of the ‘21 Sacraments,’ the only way to purify her. He then performed the ceremony of the ‘Holy Assumption’ and created this … twisted world.”

As he spoke, his lips never moved, but the sound was still coming mostly from him—the effect was disturbing. He looked more like a statue then anything, having taken on the texture of the ceiling the way the wall monsters did. What a terrible fate to be condemned in such a way—not being able to move or express yourself aside from speaking, and even that seemed strained. A fate he didn’t deserve, I’m sure.

“Now … he’s become nothing more than an inhuman killing machine,” Joseph continued. “Well, he’s dead now … but he’s still trying to complete … the ‘21 Sacraments’. His boyhood desire … to return to the bosom of his birth … has divided him. Now his child self … has manifested itself in this world. And soon, he is planning to finish his work: the … 21 … Sacraments.”

Even though this was mostly a re-iteration of things we already knew, hearing him say it caused a chill to run up and down my spine.

“Number 20 … The Mother Reborn … Eileen Galvin …”

I looked at Eileen. She looked back with a sad and scared expression and squeezed my hand a little tighter. Poor Eileen—once again, it wasn’t anything we didn’t already know, but having it spelled out like that must have been terribly upsetting for her.

But it was what he said next that really blew my mind.

“Number 21 … The Receiver of Wisdom … Henry Townshend … even now … it may not be … too late.”

My heart nearly stopped upon hearing “The Receiver of Wisdom”, the phrase that I’d come to recognise as a title that was forced on me, but it was hearing my full name uttered that really hit me hard and nearly caused my legs to buckle under me. I managed to hold myself together, but my mind reeled. Number 21. Me. I was to be the last victim of the 21 Sacraments. Of course, there had been plenty of signs that I should have caught (You’re not going to die—I’m not prepared for you, yet … prepare for the Receiver of Wisdom … If you are the Receiver of Wisdom, you will understand my words … I may not be ready to kill you yet, but I can make you wish you were dead), but I somehow felt disconnected from his plan, as if I just happened to be there, or that, arrogantly, I had some greater purpose, like saving the victims. Or maybe my mind just refused to see what was right in front of my face, in an attempt to protect my psyche. I kept wondering how I had gotten into this, but now I knew at least part of the answer: I was chosen to be his final victim, The Receiver of Wisdom.

“Follow the … Crimson Tome,” Joseph continued. He was talking slower now, as if doing so was a struggle. “Stop him! If not … wherever you run … he will catch you.”

I shivered at the cold terror brought on by that concept. There was no turning back now, if there ever was.

“Find … him. His … true location … it must be nearby. You must kill … him … You must kill him … Kill … Kill … Kill … Kill …”

I bit my lip, anxiously. All this time, I had been trying to avoid Walter Sullivan … I should have known that I’d have to face him eventually, and it was “kill or be killed” at this point. I didn’t know how it would be possible, but I did know that there had to be a way.

“Hurry … she’s being taken over. She’s Number 20 … The Mother Reborn.”

Of course … Eileen was being possessed by Walter Sullivan. If killing him was the only way to save her, then I’d do everything in my power to make it so.

“The Crimson Tome … obey the Crimson Tome … Kill him … Must … kill … him … Kill … Kill … Kill … Kill …” And with that, he was silenced—now reduced to nothing more than a statue that protruded from the ceiling like some kind of abstract piece of art. I wondered if he was still aware of his surroundings, and I shuddered at thinking what it must be like, being forever trapped in Room 302 like that.

I didn’t know how to react to all this. I was somewhere between inspired to go on by the urgency of his words, and afraid to at the same time. I was so afraid of Walter Sullivan … even if the Crimson Tome did have the information on how to kill him, it didn’t change the fact that I’d still have to face him somehow—actually seek him out and kill him, something I didn’t know if I could do. To say I felt overwhelmed would be an understatement.

“Henry?” Suddenly, I felt Eileen embracing me, probably sensing that something was wrong. “You okay?” I could tell by her voice that she was distressed as well, but as usual, her main concern was me.

“I … wait.” I happened to be facing the right way at this point that I was able to spot something at the very end of the hall that wasn’t there before. It wasn’t there because I wasn’t meant to use it yet. I gently pulled away from Eileen and went to get a closer look.

As I approached the end of the hall—the space between the bedroom and bathroom—I saw that there was something sticking out of the area of the wall that had been hacked away at.

It was another pickaxe.

I grabbed the handle and gave a good pull—at first, it wouldn’t budge, but when I gripped it tighter and yanked hard, it finally came free. As I held it in my hands, I looked at it, then at the wall where it had been used in an attempt to make a hole. I looked at the words inscribed on the wall to the right (Why must I destroy this wall?) and recalled one of the memos I’d seen in the bedroom (I can’t break down the wall).

“Maybe he wasn’t supposed to,” I muttered. “Maybe …”

And just like that, I realized what it was for. I didn’t know what it would lead to, exactly, but I did know what I was supposed to do with it. I turned the big heavy tool over in my hands and I wasn’t at all surprised at what I saw inscribed on the handle.

HOPE.

I turned to Eileen, who had followed me silently down the hall. “It’s weird, but I think … somehow … this will get me out of my apartment.”

She put her hand on my shoulder, stood close, and looked at me anxiously. “Go find out, then,” she said. This was the first instance where she let me go back to my apartment without it bringing her down.

I don’t know if it was the positive feeling I was getting from knowing I was on the right track, or the fact that Eileen appreciated the urgency, or both, but I suddenly felt compelled to do something very uncharacteristic of me. I actually leaned forward and kissed her.

This time, she was the one startled, but she didn’t mind. I kept it brief, but when I pulled away, she was looking at me affectionately, albeit surprised.

“I’ll be back.”

I took a deep breath before making my way to the bathroom where the portal was.

Chapter 53: Liberation

I woke up to find my Saint Medallion humming and vibrating, as I heard horrible loud crunching sounds coming from somewhere above and to the left of my head. I leapt from the bed and hurried to the doorway before stopping and turning to see what was invading my room this time. It turned out to be one of my worst fears realized.

Black slime ran from a large stain on the wall, and I knew, immediately, what it meant. For the moment, I couldn’t react. I just stood and watched as a pair of white hands appeared just inside the edges of the black spot and then a face, as the same exact bald, white-skinned ghost from my nightmares slowly made its way through the wall.

I grabbed my gun, and aimed with a shaking hand. I had seen plenty of ghosts and this was one of the weaker ones, but having one in my goddamn bedroom was another thing entirely, not to mention that it gave me flashbacks of the recurring nightmare—which may not have been a premonition in the literal sense, but that didn’t mean that I was immune from suffering a similar fate.

I stopped when the ghost was in up to its armpits as I realized that it wasn’t advancing any further—it writhed around and tried to push itself the rest of the way through, its head convulsing, but it was stuck. For whatever reason, it couldn’t get through all the way … yet.

I lowered my gun and realized that a candle would be a better weapon in this case.

I went back to the living room and retrieved a Holy Candle from the chest and the matches from the coffee table. On the way back, I was surprised to see that there was another memo from Joseph. I figured he had told me everything he knew, but apparently there was something left. It would have to wait until I had disposed of the latest apparition, however.

Back in the bedroom, I sighed apprehensively. I knew that with the Saint Medallion around my neck, the ghost couldn’t hurt me, but the idea of getting so close to it still gave me the creeps.

I slowly approached the thing and placed the candle on the floor directly below it and lit it with a match. Fortunately, the creature was so intent on trying to get in that it didn’t appear to notice that I might have been within swatting distance.

It was interesting, and almost amusing, seeing the ghost being pulled back into the wall against its will. It clawed at the wall, trying to find something to hold onto, but to no avail. Once it was back in the wall, the black spot shrank and vanished, leaving no trace that it was ever there.

Chalk another one up for Henry.

As anxious as I was to use my newly acquired pickaxe, I thought it best to read the note first, in case there was more that I’d need to know before using it.

I picked up the red note, and I faltered as I glanced over it and realized that it was a complete list of the victims … or rather, it would have been complete if it wasn’t stained so badly that I couldn’t make it all out:

No. 1…Ten heart…

No. 2…Ten…

No. 3…Ten hearts…

No. 4…Ten hearts Steve Garl…

That was Steve Garland, the pet shop owner. Interesting that he was only the fourth victim—I would have expected the earlier murders to have been a bit more tame.

No. 5…Ten…

No. 6…Ten heart…

No. 7…Ten hearts Billy Locane

No. 8…Ten hearts Miriam Locane

The Locane twins—the murders that eventually got him locked up … for all the good it did.

No. 9…Ten hearts…

No. 10…Ten…

No. 11…Assumption Walter Sullivan

He had killed himself so he could be the eleventh victim. Once that was out of the way, he had the power to create his alternate world.

No. 12…Void…

No. 13…Darkness…

No. 14…Gloom…

No. 15…Despair Joseph Schreiber

Joseph … had he really written this himself and somehow knew about the victims that were coming after number fourteen, including himself? Or maybe he somehow wrote this after the fact.

No. 16…Temptation Cynthia Velasquez

I sighed at this one, realizing that I hadn’t known her last name until now. But at least now I did know—it held some importance, as far as I was concerned.

No. 17…Source Jasper Gein

No. 18…Watchfulness Andrew DeSalvo

No. 19…Chaos Richard Braintree

Seeing this reminded me that I hadn’t pinned his ghost—as much as the thought troubled me, I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d be seeing it again.

No. 20…Mother Eileen Galvin

Not if I could help it.

No. 21…Wisdom Henry Townshend - August 7

I shook my head. Seeing my own name among a list of mostly dead people was beyond disturbing—almost as if I was condemned already. I shivered and tossed the list aside, deciding that there was no point in keeping it around.

Suddenly, I was startled out of my thoughts by a series of loud banging noises, as if something had fallen off of a shelf somewhere and tumbled on its way down—it came from the laundry room, so I went to check it out.

On the floor was a cardboard box that I was pretty sure I’d never seen before. It had been filled with papers, but most of them had landed in the pool of blood that had spewed from the dryer earlier and were now soaked to the point of being illegible.

But one was readable. Unlike the other notes from Joseph, this one was written in red letters on white paper:

He used this place as the locus for the creation of his world. I’m certain he must have performed the “Ritual of the Holy Assumption” near here. But I’m not strong enough to stop him anymore. He locked me up in this room and played with me just like a toy.

I could certainly relate to that. It never felt like he was trying to kill me purely out of some sense of duty—sure, he wasn’t just a thrill killer, there was a reason why he did what he did. But there was no doubt about the fact that the bastard enjoyed messing with my head and wearing me down slowly.

My eyes are starting to go blind … The pain … I can feel my body starting to die … But … things are taken care of. Whoever lives here after me, You’ll be the 21st, the last of the sacrifices … I leave it up to you.

When the bell tolls, the ritual begins.

Eileenmother’s body, blood.

Part of the mother’s fleshsuper’s room.

This is all I’ve been able to figure out. I hope this letter gets to you in time. - Joseph Schreiber

Joseph’s words weighed heavily on me. But, somehow, I knew this would be the last communication from him, so I lowered my head and gave him a moment of silence—it just seemed appropriate, somehow.

“Thanks for all the guidance, Joseph,” I muttered. “I will put a stop to all this, somehow. I can’t change any of what he did, but maybe I can … fix it. When all this is over, and his plans are destroyed … maybe he’ll lose his hold over all of you and you will be able to finally rest in peace.”

With that, I went back to the bedroom to retrieve the pickaxe, as I had left it on the bed, then I stood in the hall, facing the wall between the bedroom and bathroom. I procrastinated a bit, wondering what could be beyond that wall. I was glad to have gotten the pickaxe, at first, but now I worried about what I might find back there.

I’m certain he must have performed the “Ritual of the Holy Assumption” near here.

I held the pickaxe—even at arm’s length, it was pretty heavy, especially with how much of a beating my left arm had taken over the course of this nightmare, then lifted it over my right shoulder, pulled it back, the way I normally did with the axe whenever I used it as a weapon, then I grunted with effort and pain as I moved forward, swinging it in an upward arc until it connected with the wall and smashed a hole in it that was a little lower than my head. It had broken a lot easier than I’d expected. I looked through the hole, but I couldn’t see much, aside from the opposite wall and some shelves to the left.

The hole wasn’t big enough for me to fit through, so I repeated the motion, directly below the first hole, and it chipped away enough of the wall that the hole was roughly oblong-shaped, and went nearly to the floor.

It wasn’t as big as it could have been, but I could fit through it if I ducked and stepped over the bit of wall at the bottom, so it was good enough. I lay the pickaxe against the corner, and kicked the chunks of drywall out of the way and waited a moment for the dust to settle.

Once I felt I was as ready as I’d ever be, I stepped through the hole, and my nose was immediately assaulted by the worst stench I’d ever experienced—a combination of very old dust, mold, and … something rotten. It was so strong that it made my eyes water and nearly gave me a headache. “Oh … oh, Jesus!” I muttered as I covered my nose and mouth.

I instinctively backed away, and as I did, I held onto the flimsy metal shelving that was next to the hole I’d made in the wall. As I did, a big empty plastic bottle fell to the floor, and as it did, it separated from its cap. I watched the cap roll across the floor, past what looked like a perfectly round depression in the old wooden floor that was filled with black liquid.

My line of vision moved upwards, and what I saw gave me such a blow, I nearly could have passed out from the site of it—all the other horrible sights I’d seen were supernatural, put there to scare me and mess with my head. But this … this was real.

Standing in the puddle was a massive cross. On the arms of the cross, large feathers and other decorative objects were attached.

At the middle of the cross was the physical body of Walter Sullivan.

When I saw this, my psyche nearly collapsed in on itself. My jaw dropped in horror. I tried to scream, but almost no sound came out, save for a series of gasps and whimpers. I backed up until my back was against the opposite wall. I suddenly felt sick and I crossed my arms over my stomach as if afraid that my intestines would spill onto the floor. The dead body of Walter Sullivan had been in this hidden room—only a single wall separating it from where I slept, for god’s sake—the entire time I’d lived there and long before that. It didn’t seem possible, and yet I was seeing it with my own eyes.

How it got there, I didn’t know, and would never quite figure out—he had killed himself in his prison cell, after all. I doubted he had an accomplice. Had his own ghost moved it, somehow? Once I recomposed myself, I slowly moved closer to get a better look—I certainly didn’t want to, but it seemed necessary.

The body wasn’t exactly crucified, it looked more as if it were tied, or possibly sewn to the cross with some kind of cord, as the cord appeared to be going through at least his coat. The right arm was tied into a bent position, the left hung limp. His eyes were open and appeared to be looking upward. The mouth was slack and part of the upper and lower lip was missing on one side, exposing the teeth. A patch of skin was missing on the forehead, exposing the skull. But other than that, it was pretty well preserved. His hair was much longer, straighter, and more blonde then on the version of Walter I had seen, reaching to about the middle of the torso—I remembered reading somewhere that your hair continues to grow after you die, so I supposed that was the case here, not to mention that it had probably lost its color and strength over time. The shoulder-length hair on the other version probably looking the way it did while he was alive. His legs dangled over the strange black puddle, and on his right foot was carved 11/ while on the left was 21.

Behind and to the right of the body was a smallish refrigerator with an open door, containing bags of blood and things like that. The light from the refrigerator, that somehow didn’t burn out in all those years, shone directly on the body, casting stark highlights and ominous shadows, making the scene look even more grisly and disturbing.

Being in the same room with that body made me feel uneasy, as if it was watching me, or could come alive at any moment, but I needed to see what else was in the room, so I searched it, occasionally shooting a glance over my shoulder at the corpse, just to make sure it hadn’t moved.

There was a metal table—the sort of table you’d see in an operating room—against the wall, adjacent to the cross, and on it was a large saw-like knife. It appeared to be a tool, as opposed to a weapon, but it still made me feel uneasy, and I didn’t dare touch it.

The table on the wall opposite the body and cross was covered with a white tablecloth and contained several stone bowls, a mortar and pestle (with some kind of residue in it, which I also wouldn’t touch), a bottle filled with white oil, along with candles and what looked to be the cult’s bible.

I looked to the left and saw that on the shelves between the table and the hole I’d made in the wall were many bottles of various medicines.

So many things in the room—he was so damn thorough. I just couldn’t believe all of it had been there the entire time without my knowing about it.

I had been standing closer to the body than I thought, and as I turned back around. I brushed against it, giving myself a start. I gasped, then suddenly covered my mouth and stared at it for a moment as if waiting for it to move. Then I noticed a bulge in the left pocket of his long blue coat—something metallic and shiny.

I took a deep breath, and wondered if I really had the nerve to reach in and find out what it was. And then, suddenly, I had an idea of what it could be.

No way, it can’t be.

But there was only one way to find out.

I sighed and slowly reached toward the pocket, my hand shaking. Every one in awhile, my eyes would dart toward the face, once again as if he might come back to life—I even moved slowly as if I might disturb him somehow and wake him up. I grabbed what was in the pocket, and once I brought it out and saw it, I became so fixated on it, I practically forgot about the body. I brought it closer to my face and had to look at it more closely, as if I couldn’t believe what it was.

Keys.

Again, I thought, it can’t be. But what else could they be for?

Almost as if in a trance, I took the keys straight out of the room, down the hall and to the door. I had spent five days trying to get those goddamn locks off—the idea that I actually had the means to do it in the simplest way seemed surreal, nearly ridiculous.

I inserted a key into the padlock that it looked like it’d most likely fit in—it slid in easily, and with a turn, the lock popped open, and the chain slipped out of it and slid to the floor with a series of soft thumps as it hit the carpet.

I gasped, feeling a sense of triumph, before opening three more padlocks, and whatever chains didn’t fall off by themselves, I removed.

I wasted no time grabbing the knob and turning it.

Chapter 54: Infested

“Oh no you don’t!” I muttered through gritted teeth, nearly losing it when the door didn’t open immediately. I had come too far and done too much to fail at the seemingly simple task of unlocking the door.

I took a deep breath and pulled it together before I turned the knob as far as it would go and thrust my weight against it. Fortunately, it was merely stuck, and as it finally gave, I burst into the hallway, nearly stumbling.

I immediately looked around at my surroundings, and my heart sank. It didn’t look the way it had when I was there last—it looked worse. The stuff on the walls that looked like ground meat was more red and glossy and now it was moving as if worms crawled just underneath the surface, causing it to look even more rotted and disgusting than it had before. Not to mention that the room felt humid, and there was a perpetual hissing sound that seemed to come from everywhere.

“No way,” I muttered under my breath, shaking my head as if denying it would do any good, “No way … not here … too.” You’d think that I would have learned not to get my hopes up by that point, but I had subconsciously held onto the idea that getting the door to open would somehow get me out of that nightmare … but all it did was take me back to the alternate version of the apartment again. I hung my head hopelessly.

I heard familiar footsteps and when I looked up and saw who was approaching, my mood lightened a little. “Eileen …”

“This is our apartment building,” she remarked, as she approached me, “but … now it looks like some kind of nightmare.”

“Yeah, I know,” I muttered as we embraced and held each other for a brief moment. I didn’t know quite how she’d gotten there, but at the moment, I didn’t care.

“Will we have to search the entire building?” she asked, apprehensively.

“I hope not,” I replied. “At least I know where to go—I think there’s something we need in the super’s room … so we should start there.” I looked to the right—the direction that lead to the stairway that would’ve lead to the lobby—and saw that it was blocked off by bars. “Somehow,” I added.

Since it was the only way that wasn’t blocked off, we went to room 301.

As I opened the door, however …

“Receiver!”

On top of everything else, the place was now infested with double-heads. I quickly drew my gun and fired repeatedly. It charged at me, and managed to get to me before taking enough hits to kill it. I moved to the side (Eileen was smart and moved to the other side) and managed to dodge the blind swipe it took at me. I quickly moved around behind it, and finished it off with a couple more shots as it was turning around.

If those creatures weren’t so slow and awkward when it came to turning, I thought, they would have been the death of me fifty times over by now.

Once the threat was gone, I immediately noticed the sound of a woman’s constant sobbing—it didn’t come from any specific direction, but seemed to echo throughout the room. Eileen and I exchanged a glance, as we noticed it roughly the same time and both wondered where it was coming from. I remembered hearing it coming from the portals in my apartment. I didn’t know what it had to do with any of this—all I knew was that there are few sounds more heartbreaking to me than that of a woman crying. But I took a small amount of comfort in the fact that at least it wasn’t Eileen crying this time.

Before we had time to say anything to each other, I suddenly heard a stomping coming from an area of the floor that was cut out to make room for a stairway.

“Damn!” I hissed as another double-head appeared. I dealt with it similarly as the last one.

I barely had time to catch my breath, when …

Stomp, stomp stomp …

I groaned and when I turned around, what I saw was startling. I had expected to see a Double-head appearing at the top of the steps, although what I saw turned out to not be too far from that. It was identical, in build, to a double-head, but it was missing the cloak, and it nearly appeared skinned. It was more of a pale flesh color and its musculature was visible, looking almost Giger-esque with all the intricate details—a sharp contrast to the smooth-looking chalk-like skin of the double-heads. It had two heads, as well, but I couldn’t make out any facial features. Its torso ended halfway down, tapering toward the end to a small spot where some sort of fleshy bulbous organ dangled, looking grotesquely like genitalia. These creatures pretty much confirmed what I’d imagined the double-heads looked like under their cloaks when one fell on top of me.

The thing turned and began to move in my direction, and as it did, I regretfully got a better look at the thing that I thought was an organ of some kind. In the front, it had a protrusion at the top, with a gaping hole directly beneath it, with two dark spots about halfway down with a small protrusion between the spots and the hole. It was a somewhat rotted human head dangling between the monster’s arms/legs that hung slack with the mouth open, the eyes nothing more than dark pits. The sickness I felt upon noticing this was nearly indescribable.

Oh a whim, I aimed my gun directly at the dangling head, and fired—it took a couple hits to get it on target, but once I did, it ruptured in a shower of blood and bone fragments.

The creature screamed, and fell to the floor, twitching in agony.

I approached it and looked on with morbid fascination as it continued to twitch and blood pooled under it. The shot was apparently painful, but not fatal, and it wouldn’t be dying on its own any time soon. As I stomped on its back, breaking its spine, it let out one final cry and shuddered briefly before becoming still and silent.

Once it was over, and I moved away from the monster’s corpse, Eileen grabbed onto me for comfort, disturbed by the scene. I held her for a moment to comfort her, but it was really only for her sake. I didn’t enjoy killing the monster the way I did, so much as I had become so desensitized to violence that I just didn’t care about the level of brutality I used.

The stairs lead to a room where everything appeared rusted with giant holes punched through the walls, which appeared to have curled inward from the force like metal. The hallways were lined with a chainlink fence that had several of the sort of black and yellow metal signs you might see at a construction site with the word CAUTION! with various messages written over the normal text in blood. They lead all the way down the hall.

It’s starting

Soon

Any time now

Very soon now

Soon it will begin

The ritual … the ritual

They were unsettling, and I took Eileen’s hand, almost without thinking about it.

Now that we were on the second floor, we went back out to the hall, following it until we came to a dead end where it was blocked off by bars. On the other side of the bars were what looked like bodies wrapped in fabric, then tied up with straps and hung from the ceiling. Apparently Walter Sullivan was on the other side of the bars as well, because I heard his laugh and the click of his gun being cocked.

Fortunately, we had gone through the next door before he had time to shoot at us. I never saw where exactly he was so either we were damn lucky, or he never intended to shoot in the first place—most likely the latter since he could have easily picked us off if he’d wanted to.

We ended up in Room 202, the one with the paintings. I stopped for a second and recalled that when I was there earlier was when I realized that even when I had my freedom, I wasted it, and I wondered if the point of that place was to make me realize that. I had learned so much since then—this place had absolutely nothing to do with me, it was all about Sullivan. Even the recurring theme of confinement—it was probably because he often felt trapped, not only in the Water Prison and orphanage, but he probably felt trapped, spiritually as well, for most of his life. Maybe part of the reason he locked me in my apartment was to inflict what he’d gone through on someone else.

By this point, there was no doubt left in my mind that he influenced me somehow, that he was the reason I rarely left the apartment even when I was able to. But when exactly had the influence began? When I moved in? When Frank gave me the tour and I first saw room 302? Or did it go back to the very first time I even walked by the building?

A shiver ran through me—possibly not being able to pinpoint where my own free will ended and his influence began, the fact that it was a seamless transition that I never noticed—was the most disturbing part.

Shaking off these thoughts as best I could, I decided to search the place on a whim, and I ended up being glad I did. I found the last sword in the bedroom. I had a feeling I’d be needing it, so I picked it up and brought it along.

Back in the living room, I found that there was a big hole in the wall where the large unfinished painting had once stood, as if someone had pushed it aside and made a hole that was about the same width as a doorway, but it went all the way up to the ceiling.

We went through it to find that it lead to the alcoholic’s room, 203, which had nothing of interest, so we followed the hallway to the door and ended up back in the hall, which lead to the stairs.

As soon as I went through the door, I was greeted by my old friends, the Patients—two of them, this time. Fortunately they were far away and slow coming at me, so I pulled out my gun and dealt with them mostly from a distance, stomping on them once they fell.

The way to the stairs themselves was blocked. On our way to the door to the opposite hall, another Patient came around the corner and intercepted me. I had already put my gun away, so I decided to use my axe this time.

It swung its weapon. I blocked the hit with the handle of my axe—the force behind the blow caused a shudder to run down my arms. It pushed down, and the damn thing was so strong, my arms nearly gave. But I was able to hold out just long enough for it to give up on that swing, and try another one.

As it pulled back its weapon, I was able to pull back my axe more quickly, and I delivered a good swing, knocking it off its feet. Once it was down, I finished it off with a stomp.

I paused to catch my breath.

“You’re getting good at that,” Eileen said in a tired voice.

I shrugged a response. Maybe she was right—the monsters were giving me little trouble at this point and had become more annoying than anything else. Unfortunately, every time I let myself get a little cocky, I’d end up paying for it. Then again, being confident without overdoing it wouldn’t be a bad thing.

I looked over at Eileen. She wasn’t looking so good, and I was beginning to notice that she wasn’t making an attempt to help me fight the monsters anymore. I was okay with that—I had never expected to have her help in that area, even though it was a nice surprise and ended up being an asset at times—but it made me worry. I could tell that she spent a lot of time being concerned about me, and while I wasn’t sure how healthy it was to be more concerned about me than herself, I’d come to think of it as part of who she was. The fact that she had possibly stopped thinking that way made me wonder what was going on in her mind to cause it.

She raised her eyebrow at me, probably wondering what I was thinking about all that time I was looking at her.

I wanted to say something—possibly ask her if she was okay, but I quickly realized that would be a stupid question, and it wasn’t as if I could do anything about it if the answer was no. Instead, I held my hand out.

She smiled, meekly, and took it.

“Let’s keep going,” I said, as I pushed the double-doors open.

Chapter 55: Losing Eileen

Down the next hall and around the corner was another area that was blocked off by bars, keeping us from the stairs, so there was nowhere to go but room 206 where the big family had lived.

No sooner had I opened the door and stepped in, then suddenly a horribly loud bang rang out. I flinched as I felt a sharp burning pain on the side of my head, followed by Walter Sullivan’s cruel laugh as he stood only about fifteen feet away. Once again, he had shot at me in such a way as the bullet only grazed me, and it was horribly unnerving every time. I can’t begin to describe the terror that comes with thinking—if only for a split-second—that you’ve been shot in the head.

Fear quickly gave way to rage. I shouted and ran at him, keeping my axe pulled back until I got close. I brought it down in an overhead arc, hoping to split his head wide open.

Naturally, he saw it coming from a mile away, quickly put away his gun, and blocked the hit with his rusty pipe. As the blade hooked over the pipe, he yanked, pulling me forward and causing me to let go of the axe. Taking advantage of my momentum, be quickly circled around behind me, positioned the pipe horizontally across my throat, and pulled back so I was trapped between him and the pipe as it was choking me.

“Hey there, Henry,” he whispered in my ear. “Hadn’t seen you in awhile, I was starting to miss you,” he mocked.

Feeling his breath on my ear made my skin crawl and caused a shiver to run down my spine. I tried to wrench free of his grasp—unfortunately, pulling away from him meant having the pipe pushed harder against my throat, and I was already starting to gag and cough. It burned horribly.

Somehow, I managed to push the pipe far enough away from my neck that I just barely had room to turn around so that I was facing him. He tried to hold me against him so I wouldn’t be able to move, but I ignored the pain of the pipe digging into the back of my neck and pushed against him as hard as I could. He was stronger than me, but I had better leverage, and in the split second that there was a foot or so of room between us, I quickly ducked my head down as I continued pushing against him, and freed myself from the headlock he had me in.

I moved back quickly and pulled out my gun.

“There’s still some fight left in you, isn’t there?” he taunted. “It’ll be interesting to see how much longer it’ll last.” He laughed again, the sound quickly turning into a cry of pain after I hit him in the torso, off to the side.

Stunned only for a second, he ran at me and swung the pipe again. I moved back as fast as I could and turned my head away. It still clipped me at a spot very close to where the bullet had grazed me only moments before, and I winced at the pain.

Before he had time to regroup, I aimed the gun carefully this time and put a bullet through his head.

He stumbled, dropped the pipe, then wavered a bit before falling onto his hands and knees. He tried to stand again before falling, unceremoniously, onto his back. Apparently I didn’t get a clean shot because he continued to move around, slightly, as if the struggle would make any difference at this point.

I didn’t hesitate before bringing my foot down on his stomach and was rewarded with a satisfying crack as he cried out in pain, then was quickly silenced.

I felt no remorse.

Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, I started to feel the effects of having been choked. I began coughing painfully, my hand covering my throat as if to protect it from any further abuse.

Once the coughing had died down, I looked down at Walter’s corpse and I was vaguely pleased to realize that I had done a much better job fighting him off this time than I had the previous times.

But he’s been going easy on me—what happens when he finally decides he wants me dead?

I shivered in response, but I didn’t have time to think about it before I became distracted.

“Henry?”

It was Eileen’s voice that pulled me from my thoughts—I had lost track of where she was during the fight, but I followed the sound of her voice, and saw that she was still standing by the door. Her back was against the wall, supporting her, as she started shaking.

As I approached her, the Saint Medallion that was still hanging from my neck started to buzz its warning.

Oh god, not again!

I ran to her, despite not knowing if it was a good idea or not—I couldn’t just leave her alone.

“He … he’s … coming in!” She screamed, as the red and purple marks on her skin spread out and blended together until only small spots of her normal skin color showed through. She looked at me with a milky-white eye. “I’m so cold … help me!” She was showing signs of the possession again, but she was still able to speak in her normal voice—she was fighting it, somehow. It was a sight that was frightening and heart-breaking at the same time.

I wrapped my arms around her and held her fiercely as she shivered and sobbed. “Don’t worry,” I said, in a soft but determined voice. “I’ll be putting an end to all this very soon. But for now, keep fighting it!”

It took a little while, but the episode passed, and she began to calm down as her skin and eye color returned to where it was before the rapid change. I breathed a sigh of relief.

“Oh god, Henry,” she said, her face buried in my shoulder, her voice sounding muffled. “I’m so scared … what’s going to happen to us?”

“Shh, it’s gonna be okay,” I told her, softly. “We just have to keep going.” Deep down, I didn’t really believe that it was that simple, but I had to make myself believe it. And I needed her to believe it too.

She sighed and nodded, probably having similar thoughts.

We continued down the hall to find another gap in the wall. It lead to Richard Braintree’s apartment, and I became tense, but wasn’t terribly surprised, when I heard a familiar sound—a cross between croaking and wheezing, and I knew immediately what—or, rather who—it was.

Soon, the ghost of Richard Braintree appeared, strolling down the hall, into the living room, almost casually. As it turned its head and glared at me with its wild eyes, I felt a tightening in the pit of my stomach as I quickly flashed back to when it plunged its fist into my chest. The fact that it didn’t kill me or at least cause some kind of long-term damage to my heart was nothing short of a miracle. Somehow I had recovered from the physical injury, but the mental trauma would stay with me for a long, long time.

I took a deep breath and reminded myself that it was either pin this ghost or risk having it stalk me for the rest of the journey. I knew what I had to do and I had the means to do it, since I was wearing a fairly new medallion and I had a sword in my hand. I just hoped I wasn’t too worn out from the scuffle with Walter to handle it. It probably would have been safest for me if I used the gun, but with the wild aiming I knew I’d have to do to keep up with the ghost’s disappearing/reappearing act, I didn’t want to risk hitting Eileen with a stray bullet if I got carried away.

I quickly approached the ghost, and it abruptly disappeared. Expecting this, I turned—instead of doing a 180 and risking making myself dizzy after awhile, I turned my body only halfway, and did a backhanding motion with my axe, striking it soundly.

It flinched and, predictably, it vanished, reappearing in the original spot. It swung at me and I blocked. It disappeared, then rematerialized in another spot and I struck again.

This went on for awhile, but I was able to keep going. For the most part, I was more calm this time than the previous times, and I was careful about expending more energy than was absolutely necessary. The only problem was that my arm was getting tired, which is something I couldn’t have prevented.

The ghost reappeared. My swing was too slow, and it managed to block with its pipe. As I pulled back my axe again, it managed to be quicker, and it swung the pipe right into the left side of my torso which I had unwittingly left open as I readied the axe.

I screamed at the horrible flare of pain as it struck, and backed away quickly.

“Fuck this,” I muttered, indignantly, as I pulled out my gun. “Eileen, go down the hall to whatever room is at the end! Hurry!” It came out a little more curtly than I intended, but if it hurt her feelings, she showed no sign of it.

Eileen quickly made her way down the hall, and I immediately aimed at the ghost and fired. It pulled its trick again, and I turned and fired again.

This went on for a few more times until, finally, the ghost fell to its knees, then collapsed to the floor.

I didn’t hesitate before bringing the sword down, plunging it into its back until it was met with resistance.

With the threat finally over, I succumbed to the exhaustion and fell to my knees, breathing hard and clutching my left side.

I looked at Richard’s ghost as it twitched and made a horrible wheezing, choking sound. With the other ghosts of people I had met, I ended up having some closing thoughts on the person before walking away from their pinned ghost. But there wasn’t much about Richard that hadn’t already crossed my mind, not to mention that I had spent more time with the ghost than with the man at this point.

Then, as if on cue, I saw his chair in the corner of my eye, and it reminded me that as he was dying in that chair, he tried to warn me about Walter, despite the horrible pain he was in. It was better to remember him as the man who tried to help me than the ghost who tried to kill me (and nearly succeeded).

That was really all I could say about him.

I heard irregular footsteps, and I realized that it was Eileen cautiously returning. “You okay?” she said, her hand settling on my shoulder.

I took a deep breath and stood, wincing at the pain in my left side, and covering the area, protectively, with my right hand. “Yeah, I think so,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Let me take a look,” she said, as she gently moved my hand out of the way, then pulled the hem of my shirt up to my chest on that side so she could look at the wound.

She looked closely at the area. “It’s a pretty nasty bruise,” she said, “But it doesn’t appear swollen or anything.”

She absentmindedly ran her fingertips over the area lightly. I felt my skin break out in goosebumps as a mild shiver ran down my spine and I nearly forgot to breathe. I’d become used to the hugs and even the kissing, but with the way she was touching me, running her fingers lightly over my exposed skin … if I wasn’t in so much pain from all the wounds I’d gotten, I would have found her touch bordering on erotic. I swallowed hard and tried to ignore the feeling as best I could. “It … I don’t think anything is broken—my breathing doesn’t effect it, so …”

She put her arm around me, softly, and rested her head on my shoulder. “I’m sorry I’m not being much help anymore,” she said in a faint, tired voice. “I just … I feel like I’m constantly distracted. Sometimes the fog clears, like now. But, other times, it’s like something else keeps stealing my attention, and I just zone out.”

More like someONE else, I thought, bitterly, as I put an arm around her as well. “It’s alright,” I responded, trying to sound as reassuring as possible.

She sighed. “Let’s go.”

After going out the door, we soon reached the end of the hall where there was a stairway, which was guarded by a “naked” double-head, and I dealt with it similarly as the last one—it wasn’t a pleasant method, but it was effective.

As we reached the bottom of the stairs, I heard a child’s voice. A child I recognized as the younger version of Walter.

“Dad? Daaad! Where’s Dad? Daaad … I can’t see your face.”

Like the woman’s crying from earlier, it wasn’t coming from anywhere, specifically—it seemed to just bounce off of every wall. Eileen took my hand—whether it was out of sadness at what the voice was saying or unease at not knowing where it was coming from, I wasn’t sure, but I found a bit of comfort in it, hoping she did as well.

At the other end of the hall was, finally, Room 105, the super’s room … but there were six chains crisscrossing in front of it. I sighed—I should have known it wouldn’t be as easy as just getting to the room (not that it had really been easy, all things considered).

Having nowhere else to go, we continued through the door at the end of the hall to the foyer and lobby.

In the very middle of the floor was a child’s sketchbook. I opened it up to the first page and saw a drawing of a person—a man, presumably—that was later scribbled out, as if in anger. Walter’s father, perhaps.

Eileen had been looking over my shoulder at the book, and after a moment, she took it from me and looked at it more closely.

I waited for her to finish and put it down, but she just stared at it, her brow furrowed as if deep in thought. Eventually, I realized that she wasn’t even really looking at the book anymore—it only happened to be in front of her as she stared at nothing.

After what I figured would be a respectful amount of time, I spoke up. “We should … really get going,” I said as I made a move toward the opposite door.

I quickly realized that I didn’t hear a second set of footsteps, so I turned around to see that she hadn’t budged, or even looked up from the book.

Confused, I gave her benefit of the doubt and figured that maybe she really was so distracted by her own thoughts that she didn’t hear me. I went back to her, took her arm and gave it a gentle tug—if she wasn’t going to pay attention to what I was saying, she surely couldn’t ignore being pulled in the direction that we needed to go.

She responded by wrenching her arm away from me with a jerk of her shoulder and turning her back to me, never looking at me once.

I swallowed hard. I remembered what she said about feeling distracted and “zoning out”, and—intellectually, at least—I knew that it was at work here. Still, I couldn’t help but be offended by the sudden cold shoulder. There had to have been something wrong with her for her to act this way—she wouldn’t just suddenly stop giving a damn if she was in her right mind. It just wasn’t in her nature. But still … to be feeling so close to her one moment, then suddenly have her push away … yeah, I won’t lie, it hurt.

The last thing I wanted to do was leave her alone, especially in her current state, but I figured if I could let her get whatever was going on out of her system, maybe being out of the way for a bit was the right thing to do.

“Uh … okay, I’ll just … I’m gonna go check out the rooms over there,” I said, awkwardly, wondering if I was even being heard. “You just stay here and rest if you need to. I won’t be gone long.”

No comforting goodbye hug or kiss, no “be safe”. Not a wave or even a glance in my direction. Nothing. I may as well have been invisible to her. Hell, for all I knew, maybe I was.

I sighed and went through the door quickly. As immature as it may have been, this was the one time since I’d come in contact with her that I wanted to be away from her. Just for a few minutes. It wasn’t really anger, it was more the need to get away from the oppressiveness I felt in that room.

Chapter 56: The Bell Tolls

Back in the hall, I realized that I’d have to look everywhere. Since there were six locks, there would have to be six “keys” of some kind, likely scattered throughout the rooms.

I paused for a second, as I heard something, a very low-pitched and gruff grunting and groaning, as if some unknown massive beast was crying out in pain or loneliness. I quickly realized that it was another sound created for the sole purpose of unsettling me, but it still gave me goose bumps. I was all-too-aware of Eileen’s absence and I was almost disturbed at how much I missed even just the comfort of feeling her hand in mine as a reminder that I wasn’t alone.

I shook off the feeling as best I could, reminding myself that I’d dealt with being away from her before, and I could do it again. It would have been easier if the way in which we parted didn’t give me such an uneasy feeling, but I pressed on, regardless.

I quickly went through the first door I came across, not even bothering to notice what the number was. I looked around the living room and didn’t see anything at first. I was startled when suddenly two of the bigger wall men dropped from the ceiling in a room that was connected to the living room, separated from it only by bars. Fortunately, there didn’t look to be anything in that room that I needed, so I tried to ignore them—despite the fact that the sounds they made brought back horrible memories of nearly falling to my death—and continued down the hall.

The first thing I noticed was a cylindrical-shaped room with bars for walls, looking for all the world like some tiny prison cell—but it was what it contained that really gave me a start. Hanging from a chain in the middle of it was a man who was wrapped in some kind of glorified tan-colored straightjacket that covered his entire body so that he couldn’t move an inch. It looked similar to the bodies I noticed beyond the bars in the hallway, but this one’s head was uncovered. It was downcast, and I couldn’t make out any features because its shoulder-length blondish hair was in the way. I went to get a closer look, when suddenly I heard a voice.

“I TOLD you we shouldn’t have a baby, DIDN’T I?” The thing snarled, startling a gasp out of me. Immediately afterwards, it vanished into thin air. As it did, I felt a small amount of relief.

“Walter Sullivan’s father,” I muttered, shaking my head. While I couldn’t see the face, the hair definitely reminded me of him, and of course the comment about a baby was a dead give-away.

There was nothing else of interest in the room, so I left. When I did, I saw another body hanging in the corner of the hall.

As I approached, it yelled, “Oh, shut the hell up! You can’t blame it all on me!”

It startled me again, but mostly because of the volume of its voice. I was obviously hearing one side of a heated argument between Walter’s parents.

I continued down the hall to Room 103 where, in the middle of the living room, was another hanging body. “Anyway, let’s get outta here, I can’t stand it anymore!”

Well, wasn’t he a ray of sunshine, I thought, as I went back out into the hall.

In the next room, I found another one in the corner of the living room: “If that super hears him, we’re in trouble. There’s just something about that guy … I just don’t like the look of him,” he whispered, intensely.

Back in the hall, there was another one at the very end. “Stupid little crybaby!”

That was when I made what should have been an obvious connection—the crying I’d heard earlier must have been Walter’s mother, and I supposed this last line was in response to it. Unless he was talking to Walter, but it’d be pretty redundant to refer to a baby as a crybaby. I supposed that Sullivan’s first memory was hearing Dad yell at Mom and Mom crying.

In Room 101, down the hall, and in another cylindrical-shaped room was another body. “Hurry up—get packed!”

I realized that I had seen six of these, and recalled that there were six chains keeping me out of the super’s room.

It was time to go back.

I entered the lobby, and not without some apprehension about what sort of scene was about to play out. Regardless, she was coming with me, by force if necessary.

But all my tenacity dissolved once I saw her—she still held the book, but she was at least facing me, if not looking at me directly, a tear rolling down her cheek.

“Eileen?”

She shook her head. “It’s terrible … that poor little boy,” she said, her voice weakened by the crying she had been doing in my absence. “His parents just … threw him away … right after he was born!” She looked up at me. “The poor thing … he really thinks that Room 302 is his mother.”

I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t exactly disagree—it was a tragic injustice. A wasted life full of pain and isolation. No human being should have to go through what he did. As much as I had come to detest Walter Sullivan for what he had done to Eileen and me, not to mention the other victims, I couldn’t deny that. But it was strange that it was hitting her like this all of a sudden. Not to mention that she could carry so much pity for someone who had just recently beat her within an inch of her life.

Eileen finally put the book down, closed the distance between us, and put her arm around me, nuzzling my shoulder. I embraced her, relieved that she seemed to be back to her old self again. It felt so good having her in my arms again, it nearly brought tears to my eyes.

But then …

“I … I’ve gotta …” she started to say, her voice slightly muffled against my shirt, “I’ve gotta help him!”

I was so startled by what she said, I actually flinched a little.

God, he’s got such a hold on her now, she doesn’t even realize it anymore—she just thinks it’s perfectly normal to feel sorry for him enough to want to help him.

There was definitely something … wrong … going on in her head. It was in her nature to be compassionate, there was no doubt about that, but this was taking it too far.

I should have tried reasoning with her. I should have told her that what she was feeling wasn’t natural. She was being brainwashed by Walter, just as he brainwashed Frank Sunderland and me into believing that there was nothing strange about Room 302. And while what happened to Walter was terrible, it was all in the past and there was nothing we could do about it. Even letting him kill us wouldn’t give him what we wanted.

I should have said all that, but I just couldn’t form the words. All I could do was hold her tighter, as if keeping her physical body close to me would also keep her mind from slipping away. And now my eyes really did tear up. I was losing her—the signs were too obvious to ignore. She settled in my arms, affectionately, probably thinking that I was trying to comfort her, but the comfort was really for myself. I didn’t know what I would do if I lost her, and the possibility of that happening seemed to be getting more likely by the minute. And I didn’t know how to stop it.

I quickly wiped the tears from my eyes before they could escape, took a deep breath, and managed to recompose myself. “I … I had to unlock the super’s room,” I said, pulling away from her, gently. “So let’s go, I think there’s something we need in there.”

She gave a forced smile.

All we could do was trudge on. I took her hand and we, finally, left the room together.

Back in the super’s room, I immediately made a beeline for the bookshelf where the umbilical cord still sat in that box. There had to have been a reason why he kept it.

I took the small red box, held my breath, and opened it.

Suddenly, I felt a horrible piercing pain, as if someone shoved red-hot needles into my eyeballs and a railroad spike through my skull. Every muscle in my body locked up, and I couldn’t move or scream.

But I could see. Everything turned white, but once the whiteness faded, I could see many things.

An umbilical cord.

A newborn baby laying on a towel in the middle of the floor.

A man and a blonde-haired woman standing at the doorway of Room 302.

Suddenly, it faded, and I regained control of my body.

I dropped the box as I fell to my knees, screaming, my hands covering my face. I slumped forward until I was in a fetal position. The pain was so horrible, I honestly thought I was dying from it.

I barely noticed Eileen kneeling beside me as she put her arm around me and rubbed my back in an attempt to comfort me. “Henry?” she said tenderly, “Are you okay?”

“M-Myy … h-heeaad-d …” was all I could say in response, my voice strained..

Eileen was silent for several seconds, then: “It’s Walter,” she said, “He’s crying. Even finishing the 21 Sacraments … It won’t help that boy.”

Although the headache was beginning to subside, it still dulled my senses, somewhat … but not so much that I couldn’t hear her. It felt like something was behind my eyeballs, trying to push them out of their sockets … and she was pitying Walter Sullivan. The pain distracted me from staying focused on the fact that she wasn’t in her right mind. I crossed my arms and held myself as a shudder ran through me, unsure if it was the pain or the feeling of betrayal that was making me more nauseous.

I felt her pushing on my shoulder a little as she braced herself and stood up. “I’m going back, Henry,” she said, “to the room where he is.”

I forced myself to look up at her, despite the light stinging my eyes. I was speechless, and I could only stare at her in disbelief. Was she talking about facing him alone? Was she serious?

She put her hand on my cheek. Normally it was comforting, but this time it only added to the unease I felt. “We’re the only ones … the only ones who can stop him,” before she turned and limped out of the room.

No sooner had she closed the door behind her, then I heard the low-pitched toll of a bell echoing throughout the building.

When the bell tolls, the ritual begins.

“Ei-Eileen!” I yelled after her as soon as I was able to.

I stumbled to the door and looked into the hall, toward the left, then the right … but she was gone.

The headache had faded, for all the good it did. I sighed in frustration as I leaned against the door frame. I couldn’t help but remember how I was always getting separated from the people I was trying to help, only to find them after it was too late. For it to happen with Eileen was nothing short of devastating.

I shook my head, stubbornly. I couldn’t give into despair so easily.

She had said “the room where he is”.

Did she mean MY room?

I guessed that there was something in Room 302 that I’d missed. As my mind wandered, my eyes shifted back to the middle of the room where I’d left the box containing the umbilical cord.

It was time to return to Room 302.

Chapter 57: Return to 302

I wasted no time in leaving the super’s room.

After going down the hall and rounding the first corner, I spotted a piece of paper on the floor that appeared to have a crude drawing of some kind on it.

I picked it up and saw that it was a child’s drawing of a woman. At first, it looked as if she had a round body that was covered in spikes, until I realized that it was a spiky object that was cutting her into pieces—the dismembered head was just above it, dismembered hands to one side, and dismembered legs below. The drawing was done in black crayon, then scribbled all over with red to resemble blood spraying everywhere. It was obviously meant to show Eileen’s grisly fate, and the realization of this caused my blood to run cold.

“I need to end this,” I was barely able to say, “as soon as possible.”

The trip back to the third floor was fairly uneventful, except that the monsters (double-heads of both kinds) were now coming at me in droves. Walter may have wanted me back in the room, but he wasn’t going to make it easy, and was trying to wear me down further by throwing as many monsters at me as possible. I ran past most of them, and only fought when I had to—I needed to conserve energy and ammo for the upcoming fight.

When I finally reached Room 302, I abruptly stopped as I was greeted by an odd sight. The child version of Walter was banging on the door and calling for his “mom”, but that was nothing new. What made the scene so odd were the three double-heads—one of the cloaked kind and two of the “naked” variety—that paced around the area, almost as if guarding him. Or, more likely, guarding the door from me, and he just happened to be there. Still, the monsters seeming to not notice the kid, and vice versa, made it a bizarre thing to behold and I just stood at the other end of the hall for a moment, staring in disbelief.

I wanted to hurry and get back to the room (ironic as it seemed) and I didn’t want to waste any more time fighting things. But the question was how. One or two I could likely outrun, but three? I doubted it—not with all of them between me and the door, and especially within the narrow space of the hallway.

It wasn’t long before one of the “naked” double-heads spotted me and began moving in my direction, and it inspired a plan. I pulled the gun out from behind me and aimed at its weak spot and waited.

As it came closer, it picked up the pace. I held my ground until I knew it was close enough that I’d be able to get a good shot, then I pulled the trigger, resulting in an ear-splitting “bang!” and the small human head between its arms, that served as its legs, exploded. The creature screamed and fell over, twitching on the floor as blood pooled underneath it.

I didn’t finish it off instantly—I’d come to the conclusion that, since Walter created them, they weren’t real and therefore I had no reason to show them any mercy. Instead, I watched the two remaining monsters pace around. When the final “naked” one was facing my direction and the other one had its back to me, I finally walked forward and stomped on the dying monster, finishing it off. This caught the attention of the one that was facing me, and I dealt with it similarly as the last one.

I didn’t have to wait for the final double-head to notice me. As I defeated the second one, I looked up to find the third one pointing at me from across the hall, just in front of the door to Room 302, as if daring me to try to get past it.

“Receiver!”

“I hate that word,” I muttered in response as I stepped forward and finished off the previous monster. Naturally, this caught the attention of the remaining one and it charged at me, screaming its battle-cry.

I put the gun away. I remembered their method of attack and I stood and waited as it came closer and closer. I nearly froze and for a moment I flashed back to the first time one of these things had charged at me in one of the halls in the Water Prison. Of course, the difference was that now I was keeping still on purpose. But no matter how many times I dealt with these things, they never failed to strike fear in me if only while they were charging at me.

At the last possible second, I dashed out of the way and it ran past me, but slowed down as it realized what had happened. Without hesitation, I dashed for the door, thinking that spending two bullets on three monsters wasn’t a bad bargain.

As I reached the door, the child disappeared, as I expected, and I grabbed the knob and turned it, only to find that it wouldn’t open.

“No …” I muttered as I struggled with it. Meanwhile, I saw through the corner of my eye that the last double-head had done a 180 and was moving in my direction again. “No!”

It picked up the pace, nearly running at me now, as I turned the handle as far as it would go, and I yanked on it as hard as I could.

The door finally gave, at the last possible second, as the double-head was closing in, and the door opened so abruptly that I nearly fell backwards.

I ran through the door, and closed it behind me. I leaned against it while I took a moment to catch my breath. I had fought so hard to get out of my apartment, only to have to fight just as hard just to get back into it again. I can’t say I found the irony amusing.

Once I’d composed myself, I made a beeline down the hall and into the hidden room but I stopped in my tracks as I realized that something had changed. Something pretty significant, in fact.

Walter Sullivan’s body was missing.

I approached the area to see what else had changed, and suddenly it became obvious where the body had gone. I felt as though I was being pulled into the area, but not physically. It was almost as if I was being coaxed in that direction, not unlike the way I was coaxed toward the apartment two years before, only more insistently. I followed the calling—slowly and cautiously, so as not to be drawn anywhere against my will that I wouldn’t be able to escape from—and I realized that it was coming from the round depression, which was filled with black liquid. I quickly realized that it was another portal—the place where Sullivan had taken Eileen (“It’s Walter, he’s crying … I’m going back, Henry … to the room where he is”). Now I was being summoned there as well.

To just go right in after her immediately was painfully tempting, but I held back. Rushing in without making damn sure I was prepared could only end in disaster, especially since I didn’t know if there would be a way out if I ended up over my head.

“Hang in there, Eileen,” I muttered, “Just a couple more minutes.”

I backed away from the fluid-filled depression, and hurried out of the room before it could tempt me further.

But as I was going back through the hole I’d made in the wall, I heard a voice coming from the door on the right—the bedroom. I stopped and listened. It was distorted, so I couldn’t make out the actual words, but whatever the voice was saying was being repeated over and over.

I lay my axe in the corner, and as I took the doorknob with one hand, I reached behind and pulled out my gun with the other. I slowly and silently turned the knob all the way, then I suddenly threw the door open, aiming my gun randomly, like something out of a cop drama.

The room was empty, but the Saint Medallion around my neck buzzed.

“I’m always watching you! … I’m ALWAYS watching you!”

I jumped a little upon hearing the voice. It was loud, but sounded filtered and tinny, almost as if it was …

I was barely able to finish the observation before noticing that the phone was off the hook and while the voice was impossibly loud to be coming from the phone, that was certainly the case, regardless.

I rolled my eyes with an irritated sigh at how I was fooled into pointing my gun in the apartment twice as I put it away.

I fetched a candle and the book of matches from the living room. When I returned to the bedroom, the voice continued …

“I’m always watching you!”

… and I was pretty sure I recognized it. At first, I thought it was Walter Sullivan (as much as it would disturb me to learn that he was “always watching” me, it wouldn’t have surprised me in the least), but I quickly realized that it wasn’t him. The voice was much deeper than his.

“I’m ALWAYS watching you!”

It was someone else—someone else I’d been in contact with, although less directly, and I’d heard the voice only once before.

“I’m always watching you!”

“Joseph Schreiber,” I muttered, shaking my head in a mixture of grief and horror.

With no further hesitation, I set the candle on the floor by the nightstand and lit it before backing away and waiting for it to work its magic.

The voice continued for a bit before stopping mid-sentence as the phone receiver gradually vanished and simultaneously reappeared on its base, appearing to be in both places at once as one image was replaced with the other.

I suddenly realized that Joseph had been communicating with me—helping me—not in spite of Walter, but because Walter had wanted him to. Now that he’d served his purpose, he’d been reigned in and reduced to nothing more than a haunting—another apparition put there to scare me. I was the Receiver of Wisdom, but Joseph was theGiver of Wisdom. He probably didn’t even realize that by helping me, he was also helping Walter Sullivan.

At least I like to think that he didn’t.

Once the candle had burned down completely, and the flame flickered and died, I realized that it was time to prepare for what was coming.

One way to prepare was to find a shirt that had pockets, as the blue one I had been wearing earlier did—but, of course, I’d given that to Eileen. My closet was empty, and most of my clothes were in the dryer and therefore soaked with blood and ruined.

I searched the closet anyway, and eventually achieved success: on the floor in the corner was a light blue denim jacket. I hadn’t worn it in ages, mainly because I’d left the apartment building so seldom in the two years I’d lived there that I just didn’t need it—not to mention that there hadn’t been any cold weather for awhile. I cursed myself for not having thought of it sooner, especially during the time I nearly froze to death in the Water Prison.

Better late than never, I thought, as I put it on. The jacket smelled a little musty, from lack of use, but it appeared cleaner than the rest of my clothes, which were soaked with blood. It had plenty of pockets, which was all that mattered.

I went to the living room, knelt by the storage chest, and discarded the Saint Medallion, figuring I’d likely have no more use for it.

It was a good thing that I had conserved ammo on the way back to the room—when I checked the pistol, I found it to be empty. Then I searched the storage chest for more ammo … and my heart sank. Although I didn’t remember how much ammo I had left, I was sure that there was at least something for the pistol left in the chest. But no such luck—the pistol was useless.

However, I hadn’t touched the revolver since I’d found it, and I had found some ammo for it that went unused. I looked in the chest and found three boxes—eighteen bullets. I checked the revolver and found that it was already loaded, so that would make twenty-four bullets in all.

My stomach began to tighten—all things considered, it didn’t seem like much ammo at all. Then I reminded myself that I had something—the umbilical cord—that was supposed to weaken my opponent somehow. Plus, I’d have the axe with me.

Still, had I used the revolver earlier, it might have saved me some trouble, but then I’d have less ammo to use against Walter, so I was glad that I hadn’t.

I pocketed the remaining ammo along with a couple other items I might need, and I made damn sure I had the umbilical cord with me. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do with it, but I figured (or rather hoped) that it’d be obvious when I got to that point.

I also brought out The Crimson Tome and opened it up to the point it was open to when I found it, and I reread that information, along with the last few notes from Joseph.

I took one last look around the room. The change had been so gradual that I’d barely noticed, but now the windows had become so dirty that I could barely see through them, the walls so grimy that they had gone from off-white to nearly brown, and the air was so heavy that it was giving me a headache. I wondered if it would return to normal after I killed Walter and put an end to all this. In a way it would make sense, but it would be odd to find the room suddenly back to its old immaculate self after all that had happened in it.

Armed to the teeth with both weapons and knowledge, I made my way back to the hole I’d made at the end of the hall. But as I stopped to pick up the axe, I was suddenly hit with a horribly uneasy feeling that seemed to come almost out of nowhere. I was nearly crippled with terror.

It’s hard to pinpoint what exactly was on my mind—it was more of an instinctual and primal fear rather than anything specific. I worried that I would lose the fight. I worried what my last few moments of life would be like if I lost and what hideous things he might do to me. I especially worried what would happen to Eileen and whether or not I’d be able to go on knowing that I let anything happen to her.

Everything came crashing down around me and suddenly I felt very much like I was not the man for this job. Maybe a police officer or a martial artist or someone who had spent some time in the military. But me? A shy artsy-type who had never even been in a fight until … how long ago had I found the hole in the bathroom wall? A few days ago? A fewhours ago?

Then I had to remind myself that I was confusing the old Henry with the new one. I hadn’t become a completely different person, but I had changed a lot throughout this ordeal. I had toughed out a lot through his nightmare, things that I never would have thought I’d be capable of enduring—hell, things I never even knew existed. I had come this far and survived—that had to count for something. I never gave up, and when I was tempted, I thought about Eileen and my need to protect her inspired me to go on.

Besides, I had the means to defeat him—it was just a matter of knowing how to use it.

I still felt like Atlas, balancing the weight of the world on his shoulders. It wasn’t fair and I didn’t volunteer for this position … but it was mine, regardless. To paraphrase what Eileen had said—and despite her not being in her right mind at the time, the sentiment was right—I was the only one who could stop him. The only one who knew all the dark secrets of his past, and the only one who knew of his one weakness. And, like Atlas, maybe I’d be strong enough to deal with it.

More determined now, I took the axe and went through the hole at the end of the hall. I entered the hidden room without hesitation and went straight to the depression in the floor. I felt its pull again, so I closed my eyes and let it take me.

It wasn’t long before the pulling sensation changed to a sensation of falling as I descended into whatever waited for me below.

Chapter 58: Womb

Somewhere along the way, I had lost consciousness and I felt nothing. Then, gradually, I began to wake up. Although my eyes remained closed for the moment, I became dimly aware of my surroundings. I was floating, and I felt warm and comfortable. I also felt safe and protected as well—I don’t know how to explain why, it was more instinctual than anything else.

Aside from the ability to breathe, the feeling was much like being completely submerged in a hot bath. I was so relaxed, I was content to just remain there. I didn’t want to move at all. But I knew I had to.

I opened my eyes lazily and was nearly blinded by the bright red denseness that surrounded me—now that I could see my surroundings, it didn’t only feel like I was under water, but it looked that way as well because of the foggy effect.

I looked down and realized that I was curled into a fetal position and that I was only a couple feet off the ground. In a very dreamlike way, I somehow willed myself into an upright position and touched down, as if the motion was completely natural. As I stood, it was as if the physics of the world around me had changed and I was suddenly able to walk around normally, no longer feeling as if I was under water.

I observed my surroundings again and I realized that I was in a ring-shaped room where the walls were semi-transparent and membrane-like. Behind them were bodies which looked like red silhouettes, likely meant to symbolize Sullivan’s victims.

In the middle of the floor was only a massive hole. With nothing else to see or do in this room, I jumped down this final hole, and found myself enveloped in darkness once again.

As the darkness cleared, I found myself in a massive room, where the steady roaring of the motor of some huge machine sounded from somewhere toward the middle.

It wasn’t hard to find the source of the sound, as the machine in question was as large as I’d imagined, if not more so. Just to my right was a metal sphere surrounded by layers upon layers of metal rings, each with its own row of vicious-looking spikes, all facing outward. The rings criss-crossed each other and constantly rotated independently of each other like some bizarre-looking gyroscope. The device sat in a lake of blood, and its movements caused ring-shaped ripples to radiate from the middle to the edges in a constant, repetitive, pattern, ending at the edge of the concrete.

As horrific as this machine was, I was more concerned with what was directly across from me. Walter Sullivan stood, only fifteen feet away, looking back at me. From between the longish locks of dirty-blonde hair, his green eyes seemed to light up with satisfaction as they made contact with mine.

Walter looked over to his right with what appeared to be a knowing smile. I followed his gaze.

I immediately realized that there was no wall fencing off this area, only what looked like an endless ocean of blood, the concrete platform being ring-shaped and sitting in the middle of it. I shifted uneasily at the thought. This place wasn’t real, and therefore it wasn’t reallyblood as far as having belonged to the victims—it was more knowing that it took a severely disturbed mind to conjure such imagery, and that terrified me more than anything.

There were eight outcroppings along the edge of the floor, each with a stone slab, looking disturbingly like an elongated headstone, extending from it. Each had the image of a body, looking similar to what I’d seen in the room above me. They were spaced perfectly apart, as if on display. It wasn’t pretty, but it wasn’t what really caught my attention.

In the middle—across from the machine, with four of the “headstones” on either side—was a massive, horrific creature that was malformed, but vaguely humanoid. It dangled just outside the floor, submerged in the blood, hanging by its elbows, and tied up with a cord, nearly appearing crucified (not unlike Walter’s corpse, I realized, and wondered if it had slipped into this room and somehow become this creature). Its body was so massive that while its head loomed high above, its elongated body disappeared behind the floor at just below the waist.

It appeared … unfinished, as it still had exposed tissue, its skin full of holes and barely covering its head. I thought about the umbilical cord in my pocket, and the wheels in my brain began turning.

The monster seemed to come alive as it pulled back its head and let out a horribly humanoid scream that was so loud it practically shook the foundation of this world, as if responding to Walter’s gaze.

I practically had to suppress a scream, myself. The only mildly comforting thought was realizing that with the way the creature was tied up, it was basically harmless, as it wouldn’t be able to reach me with either its hands or its mouth.

But what in the world was it?

I’ll probably never know for certain. Walter must have thought it was his mother being remade from his own body. But, more likely, it was “The Devil” as it was referenced in the Crimson Tome—and if that were true, it wouldn’t remain immobilized for long. Regardless of what it was, it was so hideous, I could barely stand to look at it.

I turned back with the intention of looking at Walter again, but I was distracted by something I caught in my peripheral vision. I looked over the machine and across the room to what was on the other side. I felt relief that was quickly replaced with anxiety as I saw Eileen standing well beyond my reach at the end of a walkway that lead to a stairway, which lead into the pool of blood and directly to the rotating spikes of the terrible machine. I wanted desperately to call out to her, but I already knew that she wouldn’t hear me. She stared blankly, straight ahead, at nothing.

Seeing her as a mindless puppet caused a surge of resentment within me, which I directed at Walter Sullivan with what was probably the most intensely hateful glare I’d ever given anyone in my life. I tightened my left hand around the handle of my axe and gritted my teeth, overcome with violent thoughts of what I wanted to do to him. As if taking my freedom and my sanity—not to mention probably destroying any relationships I had with anyone before this ordeal—wasn’t enough, now he had taken her from me as well.

As he looked back, one corner of his mouth went up slightly in a smirk, pleased that he currently had the upper hand.

There was a pounding coming from above that caught our attention and interrupted the stare-off. “Mom! Mooom!” It was the child version of Walter Sullivan, still banging on the door to Room 302. Considering how far away we must have been, I heard it with amazing clarity. “Lemme in! Mooom!”

“Hey there, Little Walter!” the adult version responded—he spoke loudly, so to be heard over the machine, but in an affectionate tone that seemed uncharacteristic. “Just a little longer, now!”

He lowered his gaze to me again. “Henry … you’re it,” he said, simply as he pointed, casually, in my direction, “the last of the 21 Sacraments.” His hand gradually changed position as he spoke, and by the time he finished, it looked almost as if he was reaching out to touch something that only he could see, except that his gaze moved upward, his face taking on a disturbingly serene expression. “The Final Sign: The Receiver of Wisdom.” Suddenly, his gaze shifted back to mine, and the smirk returned. “And you’re mine, now.”

The look he gave me was like that of a hungry wolf, and it nearly turned my spine to jelly. He was speaking as if Eileen was already dead, but I knew better—I knew I could still save her. But he was right about one thing: this was it. No more taunting, no more games. He intended to finish me off, once and for all. I was trapped in that room with him with no way out.

I’d have to face him … and kill him. It was the only way that Eileen and I would survive.

As if to punctuate the thought, Eileen took a couple labored steps forward—she had a long way to go before reaching the rotating spikes, at the rate she was moving, but she had shortened the distance by a few feet or so, and it made me realize that I had limited time in which to do what I knew had to be done.

Chapter 59: “Conjurer’s True Body”

I reached for my gun, but during the split second between thought and execution, Walter Sullivan pulled a trick that I’d never seen before and had no idea he was capable of.

The image of him blurred and became shaky. I blinked several times because, despite all the weirdness I’d seen already, I honestly thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. Suddenly, he became a silhouette , laughed, and charged, his movements so quick, his body appeared to leave a path of brief, shadowy imprints of itself. All this happened in a fraction of a second, and he was in my face and swinging a pipe at me before I even had time to react.

At the last possible moment, I managed to jump back and avoid being struck. I immediately pulled out the revolver and fired point-blank at his head.

… to no avail. Not only did he not so much as flinch, but there wasn’t even a bullet hole.

What the hell? I had to have hit him—I wouldn’t miss from this close, would I?

Thinking that maybe I did miss him simply because the revolver felt different than the pistol and I wasn’t used to it, I fired again, and again to no avail. It was as if bullets just dissolved in mid-air before touching him.

Walter had let me do this, smirking the whole time, knowing that I couldn’t hurt him and getting a kick out of the expression of building fear on my face as I began to realize it as well.

But he wasn’t invincible. He had a weakness—the trick was figuring out what it was. I remembered what I’d read in The Crimson Tome …

If thou would stop the Descent of the Devil, you must bury part of the Conjurer’s mother’s flesh within the Conjurer’s true body.

And what was this “true body”? Not the Walter that was currently about to kill me—that version of him was merely a projection. The real Walter Sullivan was the corpse that sat in the hidden room of 302. Because the monster was somehow formed from Walter’s corpse (in theory, anyway), then it must be the “Conjurer’s true body” referenced in The Crimson Tome.

According to Joseph’s theory: Part of the flesh (equals) super’s room?

… and what had I found in the super’s room?

Suddenly, I was struck on the side of the head and I went down, landing on my rear. I kept the dizziness at bay with a quick shake of my head before I scooted backwards several feet. I turned, managing to balance on my knee, before launching myself off the ground and running—not away, so much as toward the captive monster. Somehow, I pocketed my gun in mid-step, then reached into another pocket. This should have been an awkward motion, and it was nothing short of a miracle that I didn’t drop anything, but the urgency of the situation somehow kept me on my toes.

I didn’t risk looking behind me because I knew it would just slow me down, and I doubted I could fight him in this state. Still, I couldn’t help but worry about how close he was. Unfortunately, I received an answer in the form of a rusty pipe slamming down on my left shoulder; I screamed and immediately fell to my knees.

I quickly rolled over, so as not to have him at my back, just in time to roll again to escape another downward swing of his pipe. I jumped to my feet.

With all the dodging I had to do, our positions had changed and he was now between me and my target, and I muttered a few choice swear words under my breath. I didn’t know what to do, and I didn’t have much time to think it over. How do you get past someone who can’t even be harmed by bullets?

Then I realized that hurting him wasn’t necessary—I only needed him out of the way long enough for me to reach my target. I recalled a cheap move I had made earlier, at the Water Prison—perhaps it would work again. If I could just catch him off-guard …

I pulled back my axe, and when I saw the withered look in his eyes—that expression that meant he was getting tired of my trying attacks that wouldn’t work—I knew I had him. Instead of bringing the axe down on him in an overhead arc, I quickly thrust it in front of me in a horizontal position, holding it between both hands, as I ran at him and shoved as hard as I could.

He realized what I was up to, but not until after it was too late for him to react. I knocked him back and to the side, practically plowed him over, in my desperation to get to where I needed to go. I didn’t have far to run, so I only hoped I’d make it there before he had a chance to stop me.

I reached into my pocket again, and as I neared the giant beast, I produced the box containing the umbilical cord. It was strange to think that I was running toward that terrible creature on purpose, but what it came down to was that I was much more terrified of Walter Sullivan. And no sooner did the name pop into my head then I was suddenly struck on the upper-back with a pipe.

I screamed as I stumbled and fell, not so much out of pain or fear, but ultimate frustration, as I was only a few feet from my target. Out of desperation, I dropped my axe and managed to get the top off of the box—no headaches this time, only the horrid smell, which I was too distracted to really notice anyway. I reached out as far as I could, and tried my hardest to push the open side against the monster. The box scraped against it, and fell away, and out of my hand.

But the small napkin that was inside it stuck to the creature, briefly, before falling weightlessly to the floor and revealing the shriveled-up wormlike umbilical cord. Soon it disappeared into the creature’s flesh as if absorbed.

The creature twitched, then began screaming as it writhed helplessly. I flinched and covered my ears to shield them from the terrible piercing noise. Somehow, despite all that was going on, I remembered that Walter Sullivan was directly behind me. I quickly turned to find him standing over me. That is, until he slumped to his knees. But he didn’t die. Of course it wouldn’t be that simple.

Then I remembered the next passage in the Crimson Tome:

Thou must also pierce the Conjurer’s flesh with the 8 spears of “Void”, “Darkness”, “Gloom”, “Despair”, “Temptation”, “Source”, “Watchfulness” and “Chaos.”

As if on cue, a seven-foot-long spear extended from each of the eight “headstones”.

Before Walter even had a chance to stand, I ran to the first headstone on my left, and began pulling on the spear. At first it didn’t budge, so I planted my foot against the base and pulled harder. The spear was released with a dull sucking sound as if I’d pulled it out of a body. I responded with an involuntary groan of disgust as I stumbled back with the released weapon in my hands. I looked at the end and saw a two-pronged, razor-sharp edge. Considering its size, it was obvious what it was meant for.

I took the spear and ran toward the monster. I braced myself as I plunged it into its chest as far as it would go. Once again, I winced as I heard blood-curdling screams coming from in front of, and behind me. Again, just as he had stood and taken a few steps toward me, Walter fell, weakened. The effect was most likely temporary, but it would buy me some time.

Now that I knew what had to be done, I decided to tackle the most difficult parts first. I ran to my left, intent on reaching the headstone furthest away from the monster. With some effort, I was able to reach it and pull out the spear before running back to my target.

Almost.

I shrieked as I felt something grab my ankle. Naturally, it was Walter Sullivan—having gained some of his strength back, but not all—trying desperately to stop me. I tried to pull away, but his grip was painfully strong. Despite the fact that he appeared to be the one in the more vulnerable position, the way he glared up at me angrily, like a wounded animal, struck me with a terrible unease.

There was only one way out, and it was a long shot, but I had to try. I took a deep breath, pulled back the spear as far as I could, and let it fly.

Luck was on my side: it pierced the monster’s chest, if just barely enough to stay in place, and I heard the double-scream as my leg was released. Without wasting a single second, I ran back to the left and grabbed one of the two remaining spears from that side of the room. On the way back, I hesitated for barely a second before dropping the spear, getting the last one, then I carried both back to the monster in the middle of it all, managing to avoid Sullivan this time. I inserted the first one, and heard the double-scream, only to hear a louder and even more agonized double-scream as I inserted the last.

I quickly ran to the right, and repeated the process for the spears nearest and furthest me. Each time, Walter reacted as he had before, falling to the ground, weakened and in pain. The giant creature responded by flexing its hands and blindly snapping at me—I wish I could say it made me squeamish to be causing harm to something that couldn’t fight back, but it didn’t.

Soon there were only two left, leaving me to think that maybe, just maybe, I was inches from victory. I approached the monster for what I hoped would be the last time. I ran past Sullivan’s body, as it lay face-down on the floor, careful not to get within grabbing range again.

Halfway between him and the monster, a gunshot rang out, and I had only the tiniest fraction of a second to realize what it was before a terrible stinging pain on the right side of my torso caused me to fall. I heard the laughing and I realized …

Son of a bitch—he faked me out.

… he wasn’t as feeble as I had thought. He had only pretended that he couldn’t move until I couldn’t see him, then he attacked. I looked over my shoulder and saw that he was moving in a slow, painful lurch. He wasn’t completely immobilized, but he wasn’t at 100 either. I still had a chance.

But I’ve been shot! What if …

I glanced down at myself and grimaced at the red blotch spreading out to stain my once-white shirt. It was an exit wound—the entry would have been in back somewhere that I couldn’t easily see. It was just above the waist, but below the ribcage—it hurt like hell, but it wasn’t fatal. I still had a chance.

It seemed to take everything I had in me—I couldn’t stop shaking, however much I convinced myself that it was all psychological and the wound wasn’t severe enough to stop me—but I forced myself to my feet.

I looked over my shoulder again, and Sullivan was gradually getting closer—already, he was beginning to straighten up and move faster as the effects from the last spear wore off. He raised his gun again, and a smirk crawled across his face, as he likely realized he had me now.

I began moving again, and I ducked just in time to feel a bullet whiz past my head. I saved myself some time by throwing the spear like a javelin again, and once again, I was rewarded with screams coming from both victims.

Then I realized that spear number eight had fallen from my hands at some point—likely when I collapsed from the bullet wound. I was so distracted that I didn’t even notice.

I looked around and realized that Walter Sullivan had fallen on top of it. Now he was holding it tightly and shooting me a defiant glare.

I wasted no time in accepting his challenge. With both hands on the spear, and weak besides, I knew he couldn’t pull a weapon on me. I lunged for him, taking hold of the spear with both hands and pulling. He resisted it, proving that despite what had happened, he was still inhumanly strong.

But, for once, I had the advantage. In an uncharacteristically savage move, I pushed my foot against his head for extra leverage, and pulled with all my strength. After a couple seconds, the spear was released from his grip. I plunged it into the monster’s chest.

The two screams were heard again, but they seemed magnified this time, signifying the end. The creature’s reaction was much more dramatic—it threw its head back as it gave a final cry of agony. It lowered its body and hung by its restraints, unmoving. Walter fell and appeared to lay still.

I looked across the massive room to Eileen. My heart sank as I realized that she had already covered half the distance to the spinning spikes of the machine. And she didn’t look like she’d be stopping any time soon, as she still appeared catatonic. I was so exhausted from the running and fighting, so distracted by the pain and the terrible despair at realizing that it still wasn’t over, that my mind started to cloud over when another gunshot rang out. A sharp, biting sensation originated in my right thigh, causing my leg to give out. I felt myself falling …

And lost consciousness before I even hit the floor.

Chapter 60: Torment

I slowly regained consciousness as I felt a heavy weight settle on my stomach. I quickly realized I couldn’t move. As the numbness that comes with unconsciousness subsided, it was replaced by a burning pain in my right side and another one in my right leg.

Suddenly, the memories of the events leading up to that point came rushing back. My eyes snapped open to find the intense green eyes of Walter Sullivan staring back down at me. I shivered involuntarily, but my movement was so restricted that only my lower lip trembled.

My arms were at my sides and pinned under his knees, his weight restraining me to the ground. It hurt like hell (particularly on my right forearm where I had been burned earlier), but the pain was nothing compared to the terror I felt at being at his mercy. My heart was pounding. I felt like I couldn’t breathe, yet I was breathing so hard it was almost painful.

“It’s your turn.” He said these words in a simple, matter-of-fact way, as he reached toward by neck.

I tried to scream, but I was so stricken with terror that no sound would come forth.

He grabbed my shirt collar roughly, and violently ripped it away, exposing the upper-right side of my chest. He produced the knife from his pocket. I gasped and looked away, knowing full well what was coming. I also knew I was powerless to stop it.

I heard the scratches and felt the pressure and the stinging as the point of the blade dug into my skin. I tried not to scream—I tried to hang onto that last shred of dignity—but I’d be lying if I said that no sounds escaped from behind my gritted teeth from the beginning. By the time it was over, my eyes had teared up and I wasn’t bothering to suppress the screams anymore. I couldn’t move an inch, so screaming was all I really could do.

Once it was over, I looked down at the results of his handiwork. I didn’t want to, but morbid curiosity got the better of me. I could barely make it out through all the blood, not to mention that it was upside-down and distorted from my perspective. Still, I didn’t need to see it with my own eyes to know that he had carved 21/21 into my flesh, creating a scar that would forever remind me of this nightmare any time I looked in a mirror.

He stared down at me, coldly fascinated by my behavior. While it was probably only for a second or two, it felt like an eternity to me. I couldn’t just lay there and take it—I had to do something. Distract him … maybe if I could get him to let up, even just a little, maybe I could somehow get away.

“W-Wait!” I choked out, suddenly. “Don’t—please! Don’t do it!”

He paused and looked down at me with a surprised but bemused expression.

I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself as best I could so I could speak coherently. “Killing me won’t bring her back. They—I know they said it would, but they lied to-“

Suddenly, my words were cut off as my head snapped to the left, and immediately my ears began ringing. He had backhanded me across the face, and hard. I was already so petrified that I barely felt it.

I looked back at him again to see a strangely vacant look in his eyes—this was a different kind of insanity than what he normally displayed. Was he so delusional that his brain practically shut down and he couldn’t hear me?

With nothing else I could do, I tried again: “Even-Even if they didn’t … do you think she’d want this? You think any mother would want her son to-“

He struck me again, but as my head snapped to the right, I heard a ragged scraping sound and instantly felt my left cheek start to burn as a warm wetness ran down it.

Walter Sullivan held the flat side of his pocket knife up to an inch from my eye so I could see my own blood on it. “Shut up.”

I did as he said. After seeing the now furious look in his eyes, I couldn’t have spoken if I wanted to.

“Good boy,” he said in response to my silence, suddenly back to his more serene mood. I shivered as he ran the flat of the blade along my lower lip, forcing me to taste my own blood. A thought flashed through my mind about how many people he’d used that knife on (I knew that Cynthia was one), and I nearly gagged. I managed to suppress the urge along with the impulse to jerk my head away for fear of being cut again. I was in no position to take any more chances.

“Next time, I’ll cut out your tongue,” he added in a calm yet stern tone, before grabbing me by the face, pulling my head away from the ground. He quickly slammed it back down against the concrete, causing a flare of pain and dizziness. I felt his weight shift as he stood, but I was so dazed that I didn’t know which way was up.

As I heard the sound of footsteps becoming louder, then softer, I dimly realized that he was pacing in circles around me. “Henry, the only reason I didn’t kill you is because you can’t die until after she does.”

My head was beginning to clear and I barely had time to realize that he was standing just to my left before I felt a sharp explosion of pain in my left side as he kicked me hard enough to break a rib. I screamed and rolled onto my left side to protect it from any further abuse, crossing my right arm over my body and covering the area with my right hand. Having never been a very active person, I had never had a broken bone before—it was excruciating and all I could do was curl up in a ball as I fought the urge to pass out. Unfortunately, focusing on staying awake was distracting me from keeping an eye on my attacker.

“So I’m going to take my time with you,” he continued, as he brought his foot down on my left forearm. I heard a horrifying crunch as the bones snapped under the sudden pressure, and I screamed in agony at the white-hot flash of pain that quickly spread over my arm. I was seeing spots before my eyes and my stomach was turning almost violently—sure signs that I was much closer to passing out now. The only thing keeping me awake was the fear of what would happen to me if I blacked out again. He wasn’t finished with me by a long shot, and as much as I’d suffered already, it could only get worse from this point if I didn’t do something fast.

All but forgetting about the broken rib and the bullet wounds, I forced myself onto my knees. Every movement felt like a sledgehammer being taken to my arm, and I held it against myself, hunching over it protectively.

I looked around to see if I could find a weapon—I didn’t know how I’d be able to fight with the agony distracting me the way it was, but I was determined to survive. I’d left my axe over by the bound monster, but my gun …

It seemed that Walter was always one step ahead of me, and this time was no exception. Before I even had a chance to reach behind and pull out my gun, I felt his presence immediately behind and to the left. Before I had a chance to act, his hand shot out and I screamed in protest as he grabbed my broken forearm, roughly, indifferent to the terrible pain it caused. My right arm was still free—maybe I could have done something—but the sudden onset of agony caused every muscle in my body to tense right up and I couldn’t will myself to move.

He paused. My vision was blurred at the time, but I tend to imagine that he was taking a moment to appreciate the level of pain he was causing. After that brief moment (although it felt like forever to me), he twisted my arm behind me and folded it against my back.

No longer able to suppress it, I tossed my head back and screamed as I writhed and twitched involuntarily. The pain was unbelievable. I could focus on nothing but the torture at this point, the pain seeming to radiate from every part of my body. Almost as if I were drowning in it.

Not satisfied with that, Sullivan clasped his other hand over my mouth, muffling the sound of my screams. Left with no other way to express the torment, I began sobbing.

“Shh,” he said, in an oddly soft tone. “It’ll all be over soon, Henry. See, she doesn’t have far to go.”

Oh god … Eileen!

I opened my eyes again and, after blinking back the tears and black spots that obscured my vision, I was horrified to see that she had reached the halfway mark of the steps leading to the terrible machine, and it would be only a short walk to the end. To her end.

“Go ahead and watch,” he continued, “it should be interesting.”

Either he was trying to rub salt in my wounds, or perhaps my witnessing the final death before mine was required to fill the roll he’d imposed on me … or maybe both. But by reminding me about Eileen, he had unwittingly provided a distraction from the pain. Of course I still felt it, but I was no longer as focused on it.

I had to do something. I may have gotten sidetracked for awhile, but I knew she was depending on me. As she had said earlier, I was her only chance.

I couldn’t let her die. Not Eileen. Not like that.

I had been waiting for a diversion, and now I had one—he still had me in a tight grip, but it was Eileen he was currently watching. I couldn’t get to my main weapons, but I suddenly remembered that I had a couple of “secret weapons” with me. I noticed Walter’s position—he was kneeling behind me, but his right thigh was next to mine, and my right arm was still free.

I slowly reached into my pocket and brought out a small item I’d gotten from the hospital earlier: the box cutter. I slowly pushed on the lever until the blade was extended all the way out to its full five inches or so—I made it a point to scream louder as I did this, to help mask the sound. It was hard to aim, with the way he was holding my head back, but I positioned it as best I could. Once I was reasonably sure I was holding it directly above his leg and not my own, I slammed it downward, driving it into his thigh, clear up to the handle, then I quickly twisted it, breaking the thin blade off in the wound.

As he screamed, he let go of me, and I scrambled away, doing my best to ignore the pain, or at least put it aside.

I could see that he was in a lot of pain as well, as he tried to dig out the blade to no avail, and despite the pain I was still in … god help me, I relished that moment. By the time he looked back up at me to shoot me an angry glare, I had somehow managed to get back up on my feet while favoring my right leg, and I’d pulled out my second secret weapon.

I could tolerate most of the pain I was in—if barely—but the broken arm was too much. With my jacket on, I couldn’t really see the damage, but I saw that there were spots of blood soaking through the fabric, so I guessed that it was a compound fracture. Also, I knew he’d use it as a target and he’d probably attack it repeatedly, knowing it would have a devastating effect. So my only chance was to kill that pain. In the hospital, I’d found a pre-drawn syringe. It was sitting next to an ampule that had Morphine on the label—at the time, I didn’t know when or even if I’d need it, but since it was a small item, I brought it along just in case.

I pulled the cap off of the needle with my teeth, and took a deep breath (wincing at the stabbing pain in my left side from the broken rib) before I poked the sharp tip through the fabric of my jacket, then quickly into my skin and emptied the pain killer into my forearm. I had to try to suppress a scream as I did this—even under these circumstances, I knew it was an extreme and potentially stupid thing to do, but I also knew it was the only way I’d survive.

Walter slowly and painfully stood up as I did this, favoring his right leg as well. Strangely, he raised his eyebrows at me in a vaguely amused kind of surprise. I think he was impressed that someone like me could pull such an intense stunt.

A tingle spread over my arm, quickly followed by a numbness that masked the pain. I tried to keep my left arm in a bent position, as if it were in a sling (although I knew it’d be difficult to keep it up), figuring that it’d help lessen any more injuries.

Having the very worst pain I’d ever felt suddenly gone caused not only a sense of relief, but a bit of a rush as well.

“Now it’s your turn,” I said, my voice calm (albeit hoarse from screaming), as I pulled out the revolver.

Chapter 61: Destruction

I had given Walter Sullivan a pretty nasty wound, but we were far from “even”. I still only had the use of one arm, not to mention all the other injuries. But by damaging his leg, I was at least able to slow him down a little. If nothing else, I had revealed that he was no longer immortal, which explained why he was so quick to incapacitate me. He knew I had a chance to fight back, and he wanted to take it away as soon as possible.

But that was over now, and I’d somehow gotten another chance. I wasn’t going to let this one get away from me. While I had a gun, my ammo was severely limited—the revolver only held six bullets, and I had already used two. Reloading was, of course, next to impossible without the use of both hands, which is why I never let Eileen rely on a gun.

He suddenly came at me with the rusty pipe in hand. Although he dragged his foot, he was still moving fairly fast. Like me, he was probably running on pure adrenaline. He glared at me, his teeth bared, again reminding me of a wounded animal. That normally calm and serene expression was long gone—he’d lost the advantage of immortality, and he wasn’t happy about it.

I carefully backed away, all too aware that one slightly false move could cause my wounded leg to buckle under me again. There was no doubt in my mind that if I went down again, I’d be finished.

I aimed the revolver, my hand shaking, mostly because I was becoming weak and I could barely hold the damn thing up, but also because I knew how much was at stake.

I fired.

As should have been expected, my aim was bad. Really bad.

Walter flinched, and his hand shot up to cover the new bullet hole in his left shoulder. He paused for only a second before continuing forward. The fact that he even reacted to it further proved that he was human again. A terrifying kind of blood lust flashed in Walter Sullivan’s eyes now, as he closed in on me.

I swallowed hard and waited.

Now that he was near enough to use it, he pulled back the weapon.

Three loud, if slightly muffled, bangs could be heard, as Walter’s face took on an expression of shock, then rage, as he brought the pipe down on my left shoulder.

I winced and nearly went down—it hurt, but not as much as it would have if he hadn’t faltered.

He stopped glaring at me long enough to look down. I followed his gaze, and saw the three holes in his coat—in the middle of his chest, slightly to the left—and the dark red stain that spread from the area. I moved the barrel of the gun away, and let if fall from my shaking hand.

He stared at me with disbelief, then a look of utter defeat before he wavered for a moment. The pipe slid from my shoulder, leaving a rust-colored smear, as he slumped to his knees, then rolled unceremoniously onto his back.

Blood pooled under him.

I stepped closer and watched carefully to make sure he wouldn’t be getting back up. In my current state, there wasn’t much I could have done about it if he did, but I needed to see this through to the end.

His eyes were wide. I thought he was dead until he reached upwards with a shaking hand, and I realized he was looking up at something. I followed his gaze to see a warm, soft, light emanating from a large round hole in the ceiling.

(“Just then, a ray of light came down from the sky.”)

I looked back down at Walter who struggled to hold his hand in the air as long as possible as if hoping that something that was just beyond his reach would somehow fall into it. He seemed determined to keep it up until he expended all his remaining energy.

“Mom?” he said in a strained, sad, and desperate voice. Either my eyes were deceiving me, or his lip was quivering slightly and his eyes glistened as if he might … cry.

Instead, he smiled.

(“The light was very warm and made the baby feel good.”)

“Mom …” he said one more time as his arm fell, mid-word as his head rolled to the side, the eyes still open and glistening, but vacant.

(“With the cord clutched in his hand, the baby went happily to sleep.”)

I stood in shock, as the full realization of what had just happened refused to sink in.

I was snapped out of my trance as the entire room suddenly began to shake.

The bound monster, which now hung completely limp, began to sink back into the abyss of redness.

Walter’s world was coming apart at the seams.

As I fought to keep my balance, I heard Eileen cry out, and I looked up just in time to see her fall onto her rear on the steps. I was at once relieved and disturbed to see that she was merely a few feet from the rotating spikes. It must have been sheer luck that she fell back and away from them instead of forward.

I reached in her direction and called out to her.

Before I had a chance to hear an answer, everything went dark, and I began to fall.

The last thing I heard before I lost consciousness completely was a certain child banging on the door to room 302 and yelling for his mother … then stopping.

I heard a thud, followed by the creak of an opening door.

Walter Sullivan was dead.

Chapter 62: Aftermath

The darkness and tremors ended suddenly. I jolted as my eyes snapped open, although at first, I saw very little. I had to blink several times before my vision began to clear. Once it did, I immediately noticed a lazily rotating ceiling fan.

I was back in my room. Again.

But something was different. The room looked different. Felt different.

I was alone, but that terrible stillness and dead silence was gone without a trace. Birds chirped and sang—a sound I hadn’t heard in nearly a week—as if welcoming me back. Even the sparse traffic outside made a welcoming sound.

Sunlight shone pleasantly through the window, bright yet soft. The air didn’t feel heavy at all—noticeably stale, but no worse than if I’d gone out of town for awhile without cracking the windows.

I noticed all of this in a vague way as I slowly regained consciousness. A single thought resonated in my head …

Am I out?

… before pain gripped me savagely as my mind cleared and I became aware of what had happened to me, and I let out a scream. I had a bullet wound each in my leg and torso, and a broken arm, along with countless other injuries—I’d need to get to the hospital. The realization of this reminded me of something else important.

Eileen!

I had to find her. I figured that her physical body would still be at the hospital, so going there would kill two birds with one stone.

If I could manage to get there.

I sat up and flinched as the pain in my left side screamed at me. The morphine I’d shot into my left arm was also beginning to wear off, and while it was only a dull pain at the moment, it would become much worse soon.

Through much limping and leaning against the walls, I somehow made it out of the room and down the hall. Everything looked as it had before. No collapsed fan, no melted wax on the carpet, no randomly moved furniture. No evidence that any of it ever happened.

Including the fact that there was no writing and no chains on the door.

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

As I approached the door, I found myself almost afraid to open it, considering there was a time when I thought I was out, and I opened the door only to find that I had only made it to another part of the nightmare. The desperate need to get out, however, guided my hand to the knob. It turned easily and creaked as it opened.

Once again, the hallway looked different than it had before … only now it was back to normal.

I stumbled through the doorway until I made contact with the opposite wall—I had to touch it to make sure what I was seeing was really there. It felt cool and smooth, the way a wall should—no traces of raw meat with things crawling in it.

In my elation, I barely realized that my strength was leaving me, until I began to slide down the wall—only then did I notice the black spots forming in front of my eyes.

I fell, but I didn’t hit the ground. Someone caught me.

---

I remember very little about what happened afterwards, as I spent the next few hours slipping in and out of consciousness. I remember sensing that I was in a moving vehicle, and I could hear the gruff voice of an older man trying to reassure me, and keep me awake. Occasionally he’d shake me to make sure I was still alive—it aggravated my injuries, and I think I actually told him to stop at some point.

Soon afterwards, I was being moved around. I sensed that I was surrounded by people—I heard several voices, some talking to each other, some to me. I vaguely heard the man who helped me giving them my name.

At times I would briefly wake up to the sounds of people rushing around urgently, but I would pass out again before I really had a chance to figure out where I was.

I think on some subconscious level, I was aware I was in a hospital. I should have been relieved that my injuries were finally being taken care of, but to be honest, it was a terrible time. I’d never spent much time in a hospital before, but whenever I did, I was a good patient, as I’m calm by nature and not prone to freaking out. But, of course, that was before I had a reason to fear them. Now that I’d seen a hospital from someone else’s perspective, I was plagued by a vague feeling that I was trapped, in danger, and separated from someone I wanted to be with. I was too weak to move, but I kept trying.

They had to sedate me several times and I vaguely recall being restrained. In retrospect, I feel kind of bad for all the trouble I caused.

Eventually, I did wake up, as someone was taking my blood. I practically jumped out of my skin, not to mention that I startled some poor nurse.

She reminded me that I was in a hospital and told me what she was doing so I wouldn’t fret. I was just glad that she wasn’t anyone, or anything that was trying to hurt me and I calmed down pretty quickly. I still wasn’t completely alert, but I had the presence of mind to ask the question that plagued me.

“Is-Is … Eileen Galvin a patient in this hospital?”

“I’m sorry,” she responded after a brief pause. “I’m not authorized to give you that information.”

By the way she blanched before answering, it was obvious what the answer really was.

“At least tell me if she’s okay?”

“I’m sorry …”

I passed out again.

---

When I woke up again, a few hours later, I was more alert. The first thing I noticed was that I was able to move around with almost no pain. I looked down at myself and realized that I had somehow been nearly restored to the way I was 6 days before, just as my apartment had. I was even wearing my blue shirt, as if I’d never taken it off, and it was looking downright immaculate.

It wasn’t long before I was greeted by a doctor who started asking some vague questions—did I remember what happened to me, for example.

I told him I didn’t. No way was I ever going to tell anyone about what happened to me. No sane person would have believed it, and after what I’d been through, I wasn’t about to go from being locked up in my apartment to locked up in a mental institution.

He told me that I seemed okay and that I could be checked out, with a footnote about how to take care of the remaining wound on the right side of my chest, and he urged me to contact him if I needed any other assistance.

I thanked him. But before I had a chance to ask …

“Now then,” he said, smiling a little, “I hear you wanted to visit Eileen Galvin?”

I was elated.

---

I stood in the doorway and had to smile as a nice soft, afternoon light shone through the window. It was warm and pleasant, and it reminded me that I was back in the real world again—nothing in Walter’s world was this well lit.

She was there, of course. She was relaxing on a hospital bed with her head and feet propped up, back in her casual clothes and no make-up. Something about seeing her like that caused me to freeze up. Everything was back the way it was before, and I was suddenly worried that somehow that might include whatever closeness we had established.

How would she feel about seeing me? Would I just be a constant reminder of the hell she was put through? Would she even remember what happened, or would her mind have blocked it out? She hadn’t seen me yet—would it be best for her if I just disappeared?

I sighed. Of course I had to talk to her. We’d been through too much together, and of course she would want to see me. Besides, there was something I had to give her—knowing ahead of time that I might try to chicken out, I had bought her something at the gift shop as an extra incentive to see her.

I was over-thinking things—overall, I was just afraid to talk to her, especially since it involved taking the first step. I shrugged and rolled my eyes at my own lameness before pressing forward.

She didn’t have a scratch on her—even her left arm was free from its cast and sling. But this didn’t surprise me, so much as the effect of seeing her that way. As I approached the foot of the bed, she turned her head and looked at me. I could almost sense the surge of emotion coming from her as her eyes widened when they met with mine.

I nearly froze.

Earlier, when she gazed at me near Toluca Lake with only one visible eye, I had wondered what sort of effect seeing both eyes would have. Now that I was looking at them, coupled with her warm smile … she was such a vision, I nearly felt mesmerized. I couldn’t speak, but I was able to hand her the small bouquet of flowers I’d gotten for her.

“Ohh …” she said, touched, as she took them and gently set them in her lap. “Thanks.” I expected her to spend a lot of time looking at them, but for the most part, she continued looking at me.

I felt like I should say something, but no words would come forth. I didn’t think she would want to talk about what happened, but it would seem strange to not talk about it.

Predictably enough, it was she who broke the ice: “Guess I’ll have to find a new place to live, huh?” she said, still smiling.

I nearly laughed out loud at the cavalier way she said it—as if her apartment had been painted an ugly color, or something equally trivial that would cause her to want to move. Instead, I nodded.

The humor relaxed me, but I still didn’t know what to say. By this point, it was beginning to worry me. Is this what it would always be like between us? How long would it take for her to get tired of me and my lack of conversation?

She seemed to sense that something was off, and her smile faded. After what seemed like an eternity of silence, she patted the spot on the bed next to her, as a signal for me to sit there. She had a look on her face that indicated that she wanted to say something important. I hesitated for only a moment before sitting. I sat close to her, but I looked at the floor.

Suddenly, my collar was grabbed and I was pulled toward her almost violently.

“C’mere, you!” she said, as she planted a firm kiss on my mouth.

At first, I was startled by the suddenness of it. Then, just as the first time we’d kissed, I relaxed into it and just let it happen. While the situation seemed similar in a way, it felt very different.

As much as we enjoyed the pleasant moments we shared, there was always an underlying feeling of despair—I think deep down we both knew that every moment together could be our last.

But this time it was different. Rather than a possible ending, this one signified a beginning.

We held each other for a very long time.

She laughed and cried at the same time—it was just about the most candid expression of pure happiness I’d ever heard.

While I may not have been as vocal as her, for the first time in as long as I could remember … I felt it too.

Chapter 63: Survival

As we checked out of the hospital, I was reminded of why I wanted to live in the downtown area in the first place: the hospital, the apartment complex, and several other places were all within walking distance of each other.

As I stepped out the door, I paused to notice the sense of sweet liberation I felt. The air was breezy, and pleasantly cool. The sky was lightly overcast, with the sun barely finding its way through the clouds. I can’t even put into words how good it felt just to be alive, healthy, and free of those horrors.

Eileen seemed to sense what I was feeling, and she joined me by slipping an arm around me, adding to the bliss.

“So now what?” she said, somewhat dampening the moment.

I honestly hadn’t thought any further ahead than just getting out of the hospital, and I told her as much. The thought of going back to my apartment caused a shiver to run down my spine—however safe it might have been by that point, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be able to go back. I didn’t say this to her, but she seemed to be able to guess the gist of what I was thinking.

She admitted that she wasn’t too fond of the idea of going back to her apartment immediately either, so she reminded me that there was a hotel within walking distance.

I found the idea of being able to rest almost anywhere but my apartment or the hospital to be extremely appealing.

It was a short walk to the hotel. Once we got there, I realized that I hadn’t considered if she was thinking of getting one room or two when she pulled me aside in the lobby, just before we would have reached the front desk, and said: “Don’t take this the wrong way, but … I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

I didn’t either, so in the end, we requested one room.

Once we were alone together, things became awkwardly silent again. I tried to occupy myself with things like opening the windows, looking at the room service options, and various other things that people do when they first walk into a hotel room.

“Are you okay, Henry?”

I hadn’t realized how stir-crazy I was until she asked that. In truth, I was trying not to think about anything. I was trying to forget about the terrible nightmare I’d just been through, trying to forget all I’d seen and experienced. I didn’t want to think about any of it. I’d done too much thinking.

I looked over at Eileen as she sat on one of the beds, slumping and looking drained.

I shrugged. “Are you?” I asked, already knowing the answer. I could just tell by looking at her that she was also left with too much time to think about everything that had happened, but I had been too wrapped up in my own thoughts to notice.

She just gave me a helpless look and shrugged back.

I sat next to her and we held each other.

We had been through a lot together. Although we were glad that it was over with, moving on and trying to be happy after experiencing those horrors would be difficult. But we had each other and distractions would always be welcome.

The room had two beds, but in the end we only needed one.

---

The next day, we figured we’d do what needed to be done and get it out of the way: we went back to South Ashfield Heights. It was too soon to think about moving (neither of us had anywhere to move to yet, after all), but for the moment we wanted to get a few necessities out of our respective apartments—changes of clothes, toothbrushes, and the like.

First came 303. Eileen unlocked the door and entered slowly. After she looked around and saw that there was no evidence of the attack, she decided that she could stand to be alone in there for a few minutes while she got her things. I was extremely proud of her, and I couldn’t help but smile.

But the smile faded when I realized that it was my turn.

No sooner had I walked back out the door than I realized that I (obviously) didn’t have my keys with me, so I would have to borrow a spare one from the super.

I paused and sighed heavily before I made my way back down the hall and the two sets of stairs, hoping he wasn’t home so I could put off the inevitable.

I knocked on the door and waited. It wasn’t long before the door slowly creaked open, revealing Frank Sunderland with a drink in his hand and a shocked expression on his ancient face.

That was when it finally clicked. “It was you, wasn’t it?” I said. He was the only one who was likely to be in the area of the hall near my apartment, considering my disappearance, Richard’s death, Eileen’s attack, and the fact that Mike probably left his apartment about as often as I left mine. “You took me to the … hospital.” And that was when I realized why he looked so shocked. I was in such bad shape, he probably didn’t expect me to survive. The fact that I had lived in 302 probably colored his expectation somewhat. That I was standing before him with not a visible scratch on me only two days later was nothing short of absurd.

He nodded slowly. I expected the look of shock to remain, but his face relaxed much sooner than I expected. He had probably seen so many odd things by now, that he simply surrendered and accepted it. He stepped away from the door, which I took as a signal to enter. Now that the tension had lessened, I thanked him for helping me the other day.

He said that it was the least he could do, then cut himself off before saying anything else.

Rather than dance around the issue of what happened to me and whether or not he was to blame, I decided to get to the actual reason of the visit—I asked if I could borrow the spare key for room 302.

He faltered for a second, then asked me to wait for a minute while he went to get it.

Alone for the moment, I looked around at my surroundings. Something caught my eye—a small framed picture was face-down on the bookcase. Having been back in the real world for only 48 hours or so, I hadn’t yet shaken the habit of examining everything, otherwise I wouldn’t have thought anything of it. I lifted it and looked.

“That’s my son and his wife.” Frank’s voice startled me, and I nearly dropped it, but I calmed down once I realized that my nosiness hadn’t made him angry.

The picture was of a blonde-haired man around my age with an auburn-haired woman next to him. It was the latter that really caught my eye—despite the fact that she looked tired and drawn, and was dressed in an overly conservative manner for someone so young, she was quite attractive.

“You remind me of him a little bit—have I ever told you that?”

I was flattered until I took a second look at the guy. He was very pale and while it appeared that he was trying to look happy for the picture, he wasn’t quite succeeding. I didn’t see the resemblance … or maybe I just didn’t want to. I was glad I had my back turned to Frank so he wouldn’t see the face I was probably making.

“They both disappeared around seven years ago after she developed some kind of illness—the doctors didn’t know what it was, but they could tell it was terminal.”

I had a suspicion of what could have happened—it was too morbid to mention, so I kept my mouth shut about it and just told him that I was sorry to hear it as I lay the picture back down carefully.

He held out the key and reminded me to return it. I grabbed the exposed part. When he didn’t let go right away, I made eye contact with him, which was what he wanted.

“Listen,” he began. He sounded gruff at first, but his tone softened as he continued. “If you ever wanna talk about what happened in there … I’d listen. And, whatever it is, I’d believe you. I know there’s something … wrong with this place, and whatever it is, it’s focused in that room. Besides,” he continued, “I’d like to know for my own sake … if you’re ever up to sharing it.”

I paused for a very long time. “Not just yet,” I finally responded after a sigh. “But … there’s a lot you should know.” I paused, knowing I couldn’t leave it at that. “For now, I just wanna say … none of it is your fault. Okay?”

He blinked a few times, taken aback by the statement. Apparently I had read his mind—considering how drawn he looked when he opened the door and the fact that he had a drink in his hand in the late morning, it wasn’t hard to figure out that he had at least a vague sense of guilt over my possible death. Not to mention Richard’s death, Eileen’s attack, and possibly even Joseph Schreiber’s disappearance. Then he relaxed and even smiled a little—I wasn’t sure if he completely believed me, but even just hearing the words seemed to put him at ease.

We parted for the moment, and I found myself feeling a sense of relief. While I hadn’t really told him anything yet, just knowing that I could was a load off. Also, I suppose I was glad that there was at least one bridge I hadn’t burned during my two years of isolation.

---

Unfortunately, the sense of peace I felt faded as I approached Room 302. It was all too easy to remember what it looked like the last time I had seen it. It was even easier to imagine being locked in there again. I shuddered at the thought, and suddenly wondered if it was too soon to try to go in there.

Then again, I didn’t have much of a choice. I would have to go in there sooner or later.

“Déjà vu.”

I was so distracted by my thoughts, I hadn’t noticed Eileen approaching. Now, this was the second time we had stood outside Room 302 and hesitated. Before, it turned out to be Joseph’s version of the room—this time it could only be mine.

I don’t know what enabled me turn the key—perhaps I just didn’t want to wuss out in front of Eileen.

“Do you … want me to go with you?” she asked, cautiously.

“Don’t worry,” I said, “I won’t be long.”

My prediction was correct. I really didn’t spend much time in there. Fortunately, I had some clean clothes (I must have done the laundry shortly before the events started, but it felt like so long ago, I honestly couldn’t remember) and the other necessities were easy to find, as was a backpack to put them in.

I was out of there as quickly as possible and didn’t look back.

Epilogue

As I write this, it’s been two years since the events that took place at South Ashfield Heights.

It was all over the papers for awhile: the man who was found in his living room chair after having been electrocuted; the woman who lived in the same building who was attacked in her own apartment. She was either beaten within an inch of her life or mostly unharmed with numbers carved into her back, depending on which story you happened to read. I was mentioned in passing, but those two other stories distracted them from mine, apparently. Not that I’m complaining.

Naturally, as time went on, everyone more or less forgot about the “Walter Sullivan copycat” case. Eileen has said that she thinks it’s a shame that no one knows that I was the one who stopped it. I’m honestly okay with it—she may see me as a hero of sorts, but I don’t feel like one.

Don’t get me wrong—I’m thankful to have made it out alive, and I’m ever more thankful that she did. I don’t know what I would have done with myself if Eileen hadn’t survived, and I don’t want to think about it.

But there are times when I can’t help but feel some regret about how I handled things. It’s hard not to play back some of those scenes and wonder what I could have done differently. In some cases, I let the victims wander off knowing what could happen to them. Sometimes I think I could have tried harder to stop them. Maybe subconsciously I didn’t believe any of it was really happening … but is that any excuse?

I’ve relayed some of this to Eileen—I don’t go into much detail, but she was already aware that I had seen people die, so it didn’t take too much explaining to make her realize why it weighs so heavily on my conscious. She reminds me that I was as much of a victim as they were—just as scared and confused—and that it’s not fair to be so hard on myself over something that wasn’t my fault to begin with.

My brain is inclined to agree, but my heart … not so much.

For a very long time, I was torn between wanting to forget what happened and wanting to dwell on it. I visited the gravesites of as many of the victims as I could, spending the most time at Cynthia’s for some reason. That one stung more than the others—I guess it was because she depended on me so heavily yet I failed to protect her.

But time heals all wounds, and I’ve gradually come to terms with it for the most part. I still occasionally wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat from nightmares I barely remember except that I’m always being chased and tortured. A lot of times, I expect to wake up in a strange place.

---

Eileen has been doing well for the most part. She was jumpy and skittish in the beginning, and still is occasionally. She would also have nightmares where she would wake up screaming, but be unable to remember them. These, too, tapered off, but she still has them on rare occasions. She still depends on me a lot, which takes a lot of the burden off of her. Honestly, I think she could stand to be a little more self-sufficient—I think it would be good for her—but I don’t have the heart to try to push her in that direction. Besides, I like having someone to take care of. Selfish of me, I know.

She’s the sort of person who tries to shield herself from the evils of the world, and having them suddenly thrust upon her the way they were—her attack, along with seeing what had happened to the other victims, and me, and even Walter Sullivan—came as quite a blow to her psyche. But she’s dealing with it well, and I’m very proud of her, as I know better than most that it hasn’t been easy for her.

An interesting thing I learned about Eileen is that she was 22 during the events at the apartment complex. With me being 28, some people would consider that quite an age gap. I have to admit, it does led a kind of logic, considering the nature of our relationship. But, you can’t help who you fall in love with, and we’d been through too much together to let something like a difference in numbers keep us apart.

---

About a month after the events at South Ashfield Heights—once I was beginning to feel safe again, but before I was ready to move on completely—I made good on my promise and paid a visit to Frank Sunderland.

It was a pretty surreal event. He offered me a stiff drink, which was refilled as needed. Even with the alcohol in my system, it’s hard to believe that I told him all I did. The chains and writing on the door, the portals, the monsters, the victims, and everything about Walter Sullivan. I even told him about finding the small hole in the wall where I could see into Eileen’s room—something I never told her and still haven’t, despite the fact that it weighs on my conscious a little.

He made good on his promise as well, and believed every word of it. I think what helped was that I mentioned Joseph by name and what I told him was consistent with what little he already knew.

Also, when I showed surprise at how easily be believed all of it, he pointed out that, with the alcohol in my system, I was much too physically relaxed have been lying. Traumatized, certainly, but calm.

Frank is … kind of odd and has an air of slight confusion that older people tend to have, where you sometimes wonder if they’re really aware of what’s going on around them. But he’s a really good guy and I’m very glad that I had that talk with him and that we’re on good terms. I still talk to him occasionally.

I’m still not fond of South Ashfield Heights, but I can tolerate going there once in awhile, as long as I stay out of Room 302. I make the occasional visit with Frank to make sure he’s okay and that he hasn’t let anyone else move into that room. I do think that the chance of that is highly unlikely—and that even if he did, it probably wouldn’t matter—considering that Walter Sullivan’s hold on that place should be gone, but I don’t want to take any chances and he doesn’t either.

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I’ve changed a little since the events that took place at South Ashfield Heights.

Despite the fact that it happened under Walter Sullivan’s influence, I had become used to being isolated from other people. I had hoped that the feeling would die with him, but it hasn’t. I’ve always been somewhat shy and awkward, but being locked away for two years multiplied that feeling. Even now, I still find it very hard to relate to other people, with the exception of Eileen and Frank. Most of the relationships I had with other people before I moved into Room 302 have been severed.

There was a time when I enjoyed a good horror movie, but that’s changed now. It’s not that I can’t stomach them at all—after all, I’m still aware that it’s all fiction—but what used to be fun scares now just feels distasteful to me. Particularly slasher films. I lived one, I don’t need to see it reenacted.

Another thing—something that most people would think is very uncharacteristic of me—is that once I got past the grief stage, I went through a phase where I was basically angry at the world. Little things would set me off, and in a strange way, I think I felt that I was entitled to be angry after all that I’d been through.

For example, I saw a guy accidentally bump into Eileen once when I was with her, and despite the fact that he apologized, I wanted to rip his head off. I didn’t do anything physical, but I shot him an angry glare, and he got away from me as quickly as possible.

Fortunately, this kind of behavior and way of thinking didn’t last long. Eileen called me on it, and we had a talk that resulted in me realizing what I was doing.

You really do have to take these things one day at a time. You can’t dwell on tragedies that happened in the past or worry about how they might affect the future. You can’t let the anger overcome you and let it turn you into a monster.

I know because I’ve seen what can happen to someone who does.