Evil Wakes
biblxcal
He had lived an alright life. One that suggested that the world must be a good place if he didn't stray too close to the edge of town. He had vague memories of being a kid and his mom telling him that was dangerous, so dangerous. Some memories he was alone, others there was someone else. But his memories were always in spots, his mom said that when he was 8 they got into an accident. She bore a car on her leg as proof. Peter didn't remember. There was nothing that he could remember. Nothing to forget. His life was taught to him. He had no real felt childhood experiences.
His brother had been dead since he was 10. Killed in action, fighting for the country. Everyone in town was proud. Nathan Petrelli the hero. Peter didn't remember him. Their mom said they were close. Contrast to his relationship with his dad. He was always far away. Now that he was dead Peter felt closer to him somehow. And there was an ache in his chest for him. One he hadn't felt in a long time. His dad had never been proud of him, his dad had told him that his way of life was simple. Living day to day, searching but never finding. He thought he was destined to always come up empty handed. Peter supposed that he would, he had been anyways.
The funeral was done. Over. Put to rest. Like his dad. Always resting now. And his mom was accepting condolences half felt from the town. Peter was tired of them. Alone in the house. Alone with the unlocked attic that was supposed to be locked, always locked. And there he found it, boxes of pictures, clothes. Memories that should be his only they weren't. Like staring at a stranger, two strangers. Someone who looked like him and another kid, one that was vague like the spots in his mind were vague. Vague. His whole life summed up in one word.
His mom was in no form for confrontation but he did it anyways. She didn't cry. His mom rarely cried. She had a steel to her that could never bend. She said that he'd never understand, the sacrifice. He wanted answers so badly, she whispered Silent Hill. The most terrible fable in this town, like that of the ghost Gabriel Gray. Gabriel Gray.....His mom said that he was his brother. Not the ghost. Not the stories everyone gives to their children. Not the monster of the town or the demon. Gabriel Gray was in Silent Hill. She begged him not to go. But he went anyways.
Silent Hill was ghosts and fogs. And he felt the thickness of it before he even entered it. The town was small. Haunted. But everyone was haunted. His car stopped working so he had to get out. Step out. He heard his own steps, loud banging in his ear. He felt heavy, too heavy for his own frame. Every step pulled at him, the whole world was draped in shades and darkness. The world was bitten into, still and hollow. He felt strangely like he was sleeping only he was tired.
The void felt empty and hollow, pulling himself through seemed to take forever. He felt like he might've gone through an entire life time before he saw any sign of life. Movement, not life. He saw the shadow cast on the street, dark. Everything was gray and dense but the shadow cast on the street was black. He followed it but he felt the pound of in his chest, it was painful the fear. Cracking.
The house he found was small, run down. It seemed like no one was living here. Everyone spoke of Silent Hill, cursed, haunted. But no one was here. He called out, slipping into the house and looking around. Everything was creaking, everything made a noise, like a low exhaled breath in the atmosphere of the room. He heard the crying, low and light coming from the corner of the room, hidden in shadows. He approached, cautious. She creaked as she shifted, moving closer and when she touched him she was cold, her eyes nothing but blackened holes. Crying, hollowed and then he was running. He could only run. And his steps nearly broke the stairs.
The room was empty besides the bed. The bed was dark colors. Red, damp. And there was some one sitting on it. More vivid than the girl. Only he didn't want to approach. He had a picture of Gabriel Gray in his pocket but he was a kid. Obviouslt different now. And who said he was alive? Who could live in this mad empty shell?
"Sir...excuse me...?" Only his breath hitched and his voice was hoarse. His throat burns, like the skin of his arm. Burned by damp flesh. He took another step, a loud creak. But the man didn't move. "There was a girl....are you okay?"
