Silent Hill: Static [[PG-13 for Violence and Language]]
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December 24th, 2008 (9:15 AM).
Hoenn and Sinnoh
((Thanks for the comments!))
The house itself was two stories; the only room upstairs was a bedroom and small crawlspace. The other half of the house was one story though, a small front porch added on and the garage having been added on and converted into a bedroom, albeit a small one. As soon as I reached her mailbox, however, I was overcome with a sense of nervousness in the form of cold sweat, fidgeting, my heart beating faster than usual, or what was usual in this situation anyway. A few years ago when we were dating I was nervous too; I was always so nervous and shy to come over to her house, but I somehow gathered the courage to do it each time, and she would laugh at me and say that I have no reason to be nervous. This time was different. This nervousness I felt was totally different; something felt seriously wrong here.
The overgrown lawn almost obscured the pathway; the hammock that stood in her yard was overtaken by the grass and vines, along with various other plants. It’s insane that all of this growth appeared in just three months. The door was boarded shut from the outside; the boards old and the paint faded and chipping. Something told me that Akacia hadn’t been home in a long time, judging by the overgrowth and the buildup of dust and cobwebs, which made me worry a little bit more. I knew she always got a little annoyed with me when I got worried about her. “I’m fine.” She’d say, followed by a groan of self pride. Deep down she knew I cared for her; she was just too stubborn to believe in it.
“I’ll meet up with her eventually.” I decided to myself; a painful decision, however. Somehow I knew she – like a lot of the old gang- was still here and alive….I hoped. When I had left a year and a half ago, everyone made me promise to come home to visit them. I had never felt so loved at that moment, with all of the hugs and pecks on the cheek that I got and probably will never receive again.
I left her yard, walking across the ominous parking lot of Red Apple market, the empty street separating the grocery store from the twin gas stations on the opposite side. The walk down Cascade Ave wasn’t new for me; when I was younger, and without a car, I would have to walk home a lot. The new element was the sheer emptiness of this place that was never here before.
I jogged down the road instead of running so I wouldn’t be out of breath if I got attacked again. The road forked; the stop sign at the corner still visible, with the yellow pain on the bent side from when my school bus ran into it. It was a substitute drive that day and they had taken the turn too sharply, running into the sign and bending it, leaving yellow paint scraped on the side. I turned right and ascended the hill towards the neighborhoods.
The houses looked fairly normal, only a few were condemned and abandoned. The houses, to me, looked like everyone left in a hurry, as if something really bad had happened here, like a natural disaster in which everyone had to evacuate. But what? What could have happened to a small town to have its residents leave in such a manner in which houses had to be boarded up and vehicles abandoned? Things just weren’t adding up.
I started down the large hill leading down to where I had lived and grown up; Dickinson Ave, stopping to listen whenever I heard something in the bushes, whether it be a scraping or a shuffling sound. For whatever reason or stretch of the imagination or curiosity I checked my cell phone as I walked to find that the screen read “NO SIGNAL”. No cellular towers? That was also weird. Someone had to be here other than me, and someone had to have known what happened here and why Isaac disappeared.
I felt an eerie sense of unwelcome when I reached the base of the hill near the old kennels; pipe ready to go at a moment’s notice. I could still hear the furious snarls and barks of the guard dogs that were once chained up behind there years ago. I hurried down the road, the woods and scotch broom on the left side of the road overgrowing, some of it falling onto the pavement. The houses on the right side gave the same eerie and creepy feeling like the rest of the houses around here, empty and standing in the shifting, chilling fog. The entire trip from the kennels was about two or three minutes, but it felt like hours as I passed two cars that had run into the ditch on the side of the road and some strewn debris such as papers or a Childs toy.
Nearing the end of the road I could faintly see the shadowy outline of my old mailbox at the edge of my driveway. This end of the street seemed to be almost untouched, minus the gaping hole in the chain link fence of my neighbor’s yard and an abandoned white truck in the turnaround off the side of the road. As I got closer, I could see a shadowy figure standing next to my mailbox. Even through the thick fog I could make out that it was shaped like a human, standing just shorter than I am.
“Hey!” I called out, hoping for a response, but instead who or whatever it was hurried down the driveway into the darkness and out of sight.
“Damn it, don’t just ignore me!” I grumbled, taking pursuit, jogging faster than I was earlier but still not flat out running to be on the safe side. The fog thinned slightly as I descended the gentle slope leading to my house. Two large trees grew in the front yard, my old Honda still parked off to the side next to the spot where my grandmother’s motor home sat; Had she and everyone else left in it? Or did she sell it like she was thinking about doing? The stone flowerbox we built one summer was destroyed, half of it broken and destroyed with the flowers scattered around. Quickly, I reached the backdoor; no sign of whom or whatever I saw moments earlier.
The house looked to be intact; it was a one story building, the white paint still looking fairly new with blue trim on the sides, a new kitchen built out on the front yard side and a bedroom added on the other side too. The backdoor, when I tried the knob, was unlocked, to my surprise. Slowly and cautiously, I walked inside. The smell of mold and mildew immediately came to my nose, and I looked and saw the source; the ancient washer we had finally leaked so much with broke through the floorboards in one of its earthquake spin cycles. I told my grandma that we needed a new one several times, but she stayed firm that it worked just fine. The carpet was still damp when I stepped on it, either from recent activity or the cold outside. The door to my sisters’ bedroom was open, sparking my curiosity. I hopped the gap in the floor and looked around. Nothing useful; everything except for the bed and dresser was gone, and even the drawers in the dresser was completely empty. Did everyone here move out without telling me or something? I felt betrayed that my own family didn’t tell me this.
“Maybe….Maybe I should check my room.” I thought, curious if my old stuff was there or not. When I moved out I left some of my things there, such as my dresser, TV, and one of my old katanas I secretly gave to my sister before I left. The door to my room was shut but opened quite easily, creaking on the hinges loudly before falling from its hinges. Fearing making too much noise I eased the door to the ground. My bed and desk were there. In the past, before all this strangeness, the desk I had was small; bought from a garage sale and covered in scratches in the paint and small gouges in the wood. I never repainted it. To me those small imperfections gave it some character. The bed was laying half on the floor and half still on the frame, like someone had been frantically searching for something, throwing the mattress to the side and leaving it. The frame was nothing special; pine wood painted brown with a small cupboard for my stuff at the top.
I know I left more than that behind, so did my family take my stuff with them when they left? Or since the door was unlocked did some thieves take everything? Finding nothing of value I left the room, for whatever reason propping the door back up. The following noise I hear was rather gruesome; a loud scraping noise followed by a thump. Thinking it was another monster I opened the door, knocking it to the side in a rush, pipe in hand, but found nothing except a long black object on the ground. Upon further inspection, I saw it was my old katana! Apparently it was left here too when everyone moved. I picked it up, and after a quick inspection I tied it to my back with the green cloth tied to the sheath; feeling safer with a better weapon than the pipe, which I still kept just in case.
The hallway was long, the walls painted white had faded and chipped, some tears in the red carpet and some random items lying on the ground, such as strewn garbage from the overturned trash can and a framed picture thrown on the ground and shattered. The hallway ended, leading to the kitchen, which was built out to extend the size of the room. I turned and looked around. The refrigerator looked like it had seen better days as I walked over to it, finding nothing edible; something that happened whether or not the house was abandoned. I walked into the newly built dining room area, seeing a small black object on the table.
Small and black, rectangular shaped with a note attached – and again I was curious. Getting closer, the light from my flashlight revealed it was a small radio, a note written on torn notebook paper taped to it. The note read, in hurriedly written handwriting, the black ink running in places:
THIS TELLS YOU WHEN THEY ARE NEAR
I couldn’t figure this out at first. When I turned it on, though, I got absolutely nothing. No radio stations, just nothing at all, just silence. But after a few seconds it screamed white noise. It was then I figured it out.
I had a visitor.
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