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| F A N F I C T I O N : F A N A R T : T H E G R E E K F A N S I T E F O R T H E G R E A T E S T V.G. S E R I E S O F A L L T I M E S |
| SILENT HILL: THE VAT by Room302 |
| Courtesy of Room302 (room_302) e-mail@: yourownsilenthill@yahoo.com |
| ONE. MEMENTO.
Fri 2:02pm When Pete opened his eyes and took a breath again, he felt free – probably for the fifth time in his whole life. It was the fifth time he had this comatose kind of shock, but for the first time it terrified him that much. He really believed that he wouldn’t snap out of it. He thought it was the end. But it was not. And that peculiar sense of freedom was more intense than ever. Then the “Memento” poster on the wall of his office caught his eye. The sense of freedom was gone and a new one, the sense of depression and despair took its place. “Either if it puts you to sleep or kills you, the fucking side effects are always the same…always the same…” he whispered, more likely to hear himself talking again than anything else. “Why do I have to go through this over and over again? After this weird perfect feeling of freedom that I can’t have even in my normal life, why do I feel like I wanna die? Why do I feel like the main character in this fucking movie and I don’t remember anything except the basics? I was married, my wife died, we don’t have children…but then again…when did all these basics happen? One year ago? Ten years ago? Yesterday…? Maybe I have to fill my body with instruction tattoos and bare this Flauros amulet everywhere with me too. Wait a minute…that amulet thing…It’s not from the movie! What am I talking about? How did this amulet thing and its name come out of my mouth? What the fuck was that?” Pete was sinking into his dark thoughts and monologues until he realized that a noise was interfering his thoughts the last 40 seconds - the sound of his office phone. When he fully recovered the ability of picking it up, the ringing stopped. TWO. TONIGHT’S DECISION. Fri 5:13pm A few hours after the PIBS (Paint-It-Black-Syndrome, as he used to call his unique blackouts), Pete decided to go out for a short walk and return home to call Myrah, with a chance of getting some answers about his situation. He didn’t say a thing about the PIBS to anyone until now. He thought that Myrah, besides an exceptional scientist, is also the only friend he had left. Or so he thought. After every new PIB, another memory of his was fading away from his mind. Or a faded one from a previous PIB, was getting completely lost – like it was no memory of his anymore, but a story or a clip Pete read in an article of a magazine. Like the one with his dead wife. He wasn’t completely sure when she died, he wouldn’t remember how she died. Only the pieces of the newspapers could now reveal the whole story to him. Trying to remember, comprehend and plan, Pete fell asleep on his couch in the only room he was using anymore, his office. - “THE MAP, THE KEYS, THE CURSE. THEY ARE ALL YOURS. THE JUDGEMENT.” Fri 7:08pm Pete jumped from the couch. After realizing that he’s in his office where he overslept, he tried to hear if the radio or the TV was on. “The map, the keys, the curse…they are all mine? The judgement?” This nonsense scared him even more than his last PIB – he felt like they were not part of a dream. He could swear he heard these words when his eyes were already opening and the last rays of sunlight were forming shapes on his office floor. No TV or radio were on. After he got a beer and a bag of potato chips, Pete turned on the radio and tuned in his favorite alternative rock radio station. He grabbed the phone and sat back on the couch. He stared at the radio for a few minutes, or somewhere between his radio and the window right next to it, and he drowned again in his thoughts, that at this point were literally devouring him. His only way out of this temporary labyrinth of his mind, was the end of the Ophelia’s Garden song that was playing and the voice of the radio announcer. Pete grabbed the phone, but it rang before he started calling Myrah’s number. -Myrah. -Pete? What the..? How did you know it was me? -…Let’s say that my sixth sense is the highlight of the last 20 days of my life. -Yeah right…and by the way…where were you the last 20 days of your life? This is how you disappear? -Well, all I can tell you right now is…ask you to visit tonight. It’s important to see you before I disappear completely and not only for 20 days. -Is this a threat, my beloved Pete? -No, it’s a fact if you don’t visit tonight. And bring with you books about blackouts, astral projections, living dead hypnotized mediums, ghosts. Science and fiction. And find info about Silent Hill too. -What are you talking about, man? I don’t know if you’re kidding me or you’re scaring me…Silent Hill? What is this now? A new movie or a new band? -I…really don’t know why I said that name to you…I don’t know what it is…really. Uh…Myrah…What time am I expecting you? -…I’ll be there. A beautiful brand new corpse is awaiting for me now in the police medical center, so I can’t promise you what time, but I’ll be there for you tonight. I hope you’re serious about all that. No. I hope you’re joking. See you later. A handsome police officer is waiting for me to take me to my dead date. Bye for now! THREE. THE VISIT Fri 10:22pm Pete was sitting and watching the “Memento” poster on the wall. He was trying to remember if he ever found any ray of light in that movie. He thought it was the most depressing and dark movie he had ever seen, that’s why he rated them amongst his favorite ones. Pete’s favorites, classics and masterpieces in music, theater and cinema, were usually the things that he couldn’t watch or listen to easily for a second time – not because he was bored from the first one, but because he was hurt by them. An emotional hurt that was even stronger than the hurting people cause us. Movies like “Memento” and “Requiem for a Dream” or music albums like the ones from Scott Walker were really hurting him. That’s why they were sitting there, in his collections, like the king of kings, the most precious items of his whole life, yet, undiscovered in their full dimension because of the pain… Suddenly, his silent dangerous thoughts were interrupted by the door bell. “It was about time”, he admitted to himself and looking at the walls of his hallway, as if something was terrifying him into his own house, he walked at the door, stood and typically asked who was there. A lustful voice answered back. –I am here for you. Pete opened up the door trying to stand at the frame like a handsome black and white movie lover, like the ones from the noir movies of times past. He paralysed in less than seconds, when he realized that there was no one there. He didn’t even searched the roof hallway – he knew that he opened way too fast for someone to disappear so quickly. He closed the door fast and stayed there with his back laying on the door. The lustful voice was heard again, having an eerie tone this time that made Pete freeze before he even hear the whole sentence. -I am here for you James. I am here for you. I am real. Open the door. Open the door. Murderer. Murderer. The door started to shake. Pete thought that the door will be torn down and he would not have the opportunity to escape. The sound became louder and louder and now, Pete was feeling he was facing a huge personal earthquake rather than a knocking on a door. He fell on his knees and started crying and screaming, holding his ears. That lustful and chaotic voice was still in his head, repeating the words that sounded like a nightmarish promise and a psalm from a heathen ritual… “I am here… I am real… James… Murderer…” ---to be continued--- |