Whelved Memory
When Morana visits her family town, Silent Hill, she learns it’s not what it used to be. Having to weave her way through forgotten memories, she grows glad to no longer be alone.
CW; Child death, Religion, Graphic Descriptions, Eventual Smut
This will be posted on AO3 (here), with only the first chapter on here.
Chapter One
Have you ever wondered what life would have been like had you made a small change? Like choosing to stay in and rot rather than going out and enjoying the sun? One lone difference in day-to-day life weaves the strings of fate; a single choice can be life or death, a pathway shadowed by the unbeknownst.
That's why Morana chose to work with the dead — their choices; their pathways alight from a life lived, the strings frayed and the past unchanged.
It’s ‘certainty’.
Certainty that nothing can be changed — a life already carved. A moment of tranquility between her and the story foretold by their scars — they had nothing to worry about anymore. It is a safety net of consistency; embalming the dead and onto the next.
So then why was she here?
Why was she at this god awful place filled with uncertainty, unknowing what could be round the corner and ready to alter her timeline. Was she a masochist? Subjecting herself to debilitating trauma beyond belief — only a masochist would put themselves through this. Though, what more damage could be done?
Her black painted nails tapped at the dashboard of her car, a dense fog surrounding the forest she was carefully admiring. Large pine trees peak over the fence of the half wall by the parking lot, the main road to Silent Hill cut off and leaving her alone in her car with two other vehicles perched across the parking lines.
It was hard to remember the true beauty of Silent Hill amidst the fog and dull skies and although she rarely saw beyond the gates, word has it that it was a town written for a fabrication with a comeliness only found in dreams.
Morana could never see it as a resort, though. It brought pain and an unnerving urge to set the place alight; for many it was a fairy tale but for her it was a petrifying purgatory aimed to keep her caged inside abhorrent corruption — or in other words, hell on earth.
Why am I here?
Her mind spiralled as she burned a hole in the fuzzy bear sitting happily on the passenger's seat. The baby blue fur matted at the back of its head, dust hanging on the tips of the ears. Its eyes no longer looked as glossy as they used to, her fingers brushing the burn mark on its white tee.
“Care to tell me that, Kenny?” She asked faintly, dusting off the bear and waiting as if expecting an answer. Dejectedly, the bear could only fall face first with that never ending smile.
Her throat tightened like swallowing glass, her heaving chest rising rapidly repeatedly as if short on breath; her body heavy like an anvil had plummeted down on her lungs.
‘You can just turn back now.’ Her thoughts wandered, logic siding with the abrupt anxiety stalling her from a single step outside the comfort of her car.
‘No one is making you go here.’ She pushed open the door with Kenny in hand, brushing the potentiometer to zero and hearing as Led Zeppelin’s ‘Stairway to Heaven’ grew to a silent chatter of chirping crows.
Her mind was made up as the door slammed to a lock, the light breeze biting at her pale skin and brushing up a tender dust of pink across her nose.
She is either going utterly insane or she is the strongest person alive; no sane person would walk back into hell with welcoming arms and a head held high (only barely). Unless, of course, you’re either the devil himself, or sleeping with him. Either works.
The air was serene, almost as if non-existing. Is that what they mean by a fairy tale? It held almost a surreal feel, encapsulating her in its folk tale.
Her boots clicked against the concrete with shaking legs, every step furthering the weakness soaring throughout.
‘Maybe I’m not ready for this’, she thought. Every step dragging her down was like walking through quicksand. She was being devoured in a casing of anxiety.
No. You’re doing this Morana.
With every step, bile arose in her throat. Burning the flesh and threatening to spill from the back of her tongue.
Anxiety. That was the best word to describe this feeling. The feeling of ‘what will I do when I get there?’, the feeling of ‘maybe if I just curl up it’ll go away’. Visiting her childhood home, a place of supposedly safety, gave her a never ending tremble.
Morana’s steps were light, pushing past her own car and stopping beside the mint car parked diagonally. Was anyone there? She wondered, peering in at the open door, but not a soul in sight.
A blanket strewn across the back seat with lumps and bumps, the seats covered in moisture and crumbs. It felt… cold. An icy air to the car like it hadn’t known love in a while; not to mention that awful stench.
With a light cough she slammed the door shut. Who on earth would leave their car door open? She sighed, taking a step away and slowly crossing the parking lot.
“Hello?” She called out, her voice so quiet it was barely audible. Like a whisper in the wind, she was just passing by. Yet not a single person in sight here either; she stepped up to look inside of a truck parked further ahead, the dashboards and seat covered in wrappings from Happy Burger. The nylon cloth seats were marinated in sauces and garnished with crumbs, staining the grimy seats with a clear butt indent.
Her heels clicked against the concrete once more, pulling away from the grimy old van and making her way towards the steps down — it’s almost bittersweet needing to take the scenic route. What would be preferable? Getting to the haunting place of your nightmares quicker, or walking and feeling the dread rise with every step taken closer.
Would you rather rip the bandaid off?
However with every step further down the fruitful forest path, it all felt… unfamiliar. Pine trees peering over making her feel smaller than ever and mud slushing her boots as she followed the trail and past the well. The blooming greenery of Silent Hill was suddenly dull. Did the vividness of Silent Hill become soulless with time? Or was it the lacklustre views she had on her hometown?
She clasped onto Kenny, trembling with his woolen fur a light comfort. SQUEAK, the steel gate squealed with her light push. The sight of an unfamiliar woman stood by the gravestones of the cemetery. She adorned a woollen white turtleneck and brown pants, mousy brown hair curled right at her shoulders. The woman seemed deeply invested in the gravestone; must be visiting someone.
Morana stood quietly with her gaze on the woman, just remaining silent as she watched her thumb brush the indents of the flaked sandstone, following the letters engraved so carefully.
Cemeteries held a sense of solemnity for most, yet Morana found it oddly peaceful — comforting. Lands filled with people who once walked this earth remembered through gravestones and lineages — most of the time.
“I wouldn’t go that way… if I were you.” The woman spoke, her soft brown eyes locked onto Morana with a mellow warmth. “I-I mean… there’s something not right. With the town I mean… I wouldn’t….”
“There never has been something right with the town,” Morana’s voice held benign desolation, “but… I’ll keep that in mind, thank you.”
The woman’s slender fingers reached out followed by silence. Just like before, it was hopeless.
Silent Hill has a… pull. No matter where you are, it all leads to Silent Hill.
Once you’ve seen it, you’re stuck for life — should you be born into it, you’ll never leave. Even from across the globe, it’s always there… waiting.
There was just something about Silent Hill.
The unknown woman could only gaze at Morana with understanding; she understood, there was a purpose. Even Morana could see the way her shoulders fell and her hands clenched by her side. She held the same grasp on this town, wrapped in its tight rope and being pulled in a game of tug of war between peace and confrontation.
She was here for a reason just as much as Morana was, that much she could understand.
In a final glance goodbye, twigs snapped beneath her boots as she followed the pathway down the cemetery. The lake had risen more than before, rising above some gravestones soon washed away under the salted water and the church was blatantly vacant after all this time.
Everything was quiet from the graveyard, along the way was a ranch with rotting scarecrows and agriculture, metal fences and barbed wire barely standing clear. Her mind replayed as the farmer — Mr Balinsky — used to offer pumpkins to her family during Thanksgiving and Halloween, he was a lovely man.
He was always answering the door with a smile on his face and offering my brother and I tractor rides across the fields. A faint twitch tickled the corner of her lips as a ghost of a smile danced on her face. Looking back, I never did thank him… I heard he passed last year.
Her smile fell alongside her heart, deep into her stomach and feeling the way it gnarled as it her guilt. She had run up and down the pathways to and from here a dozen times as a kid, always returning to the one place she called home.
Silent Hill.
It had been fourteen years since she last saw these
streets, once a bustling home to many was now a runned down ruin. Even Mrs Cassandra’s flower shop was falling apart — what happened?
It’s… desolate. The fog covering the entirety of Lindsey Street, she couldn’t even see her own home in the distance, it was so thick.
If Cassandra’s was in such a state…
Her boots clicked off the ground — almost like her Irish tap dancing days — as she sprinted by the Texan Café and tripped over her own feet before her home.
A large two story attached house with the cutest little porch. Her hands pressed against her knees with a tight throat as she gazed at the porch swing fit for one; daddy often came out here to keep me company when I had a bad day, he would play his guitar and sing a song to make me smile.
Morana’s hazel eyes fell to the oak instrument perched up on the railing. With an outstretched hand, she twanged at the strings and wincing at the sharp note that played out of tune.
She lightly pushed the pegs, “Daddy forgot to tune you, huh?”
SNAP!
Her fingers halted by the tuning pegs, staring at the snapped string with unprecedented gloom. Like a bull in a china shop, that’s what her daddy used to say. They even had a board of ‘days without accidents’, counting the days between one accident to another.
The longest I made it was a month, she thought, a phantom turn of her lips as she pushed off her feet and nudged open the door with a squeak. She brushed her hand on the whiteboard in the hallway with ink still smeared, the number ‘12’ almost still apparent. They took me out to eat at the Texan Café to celebrate… though it was cut short when I shattered my glass of orange juice and ended up scarred across my palm.
“Mommy? Are you here?” Her voice echoed through the bare wooden walls, a place once lively now filled with debris. The corner fern now wilted and covered in dust — it was deserted, the stairway up to her room splintered into a pile of rubble.
No chance of going up there now, huh?
A small glint brushed her gaze, catching her eyes hook line and sinker underneath a heap of charred books; notebooks decorated with stickers and romance novels piling atop of a golden frame.
Her fingers tingle as they curl around the icy metal, raising the shattered glass frame to her sight. Morana carefully brushed the shards atop the crumpled image; her family stood in front of ‘Groovy Music’, celebrating her fathers debut - her mother beaming with her brother on her shoulder, meanwhile Morana was wrapped tightly around her father.
I remember this day… yeah, daddy’s vinyl was in the music store. His face was a picture; I’d never seen him so happy before, not even in their wedding photos. Morana searched her mind, peering for the sound of her fathers music. It had been so long since she heard it. I’ll have to ask him to play me something when I find him again.
The picture effortlessly slipped through the cracks, the thick photo paper in her fingers flipping to show the marker scribbled on the back.
Daddy’s Debut, November 28th 196–
The remaining marker smudged across the white sheet, but nonetheless it was a fond memory. As clear as if it were yesterday.
Maybe Daddy’s at Groovy Music.
She glanced around peering for anything as intriguing, but the remnants of her past home was mostly charred in ashes and rubble by now.
Kicking the head of a baby doll, she gripped Kenny closer to her chest as she kicked through the remaining debris, finding herself back outside just in time for—
CRASH!
Morana broke out into a coughing fit; a large cloud of smoke and dust emerged behind her, filling her lungs and shading her clothes a dark gray. She spun on her heels as the dust settled to nought — the wreck and ruin of demolished bricks sat in a tall pile of her old home.
Her breath hitched at the sudden demolition and a soft thud followed. Kenny’s silky fur hit the concrete below as her skin ran cold and the hairs on her arms stood on end as her smile came crashing down as hard as the wreckage.
There was only one thing she could be thankful for; they weren't in there. Her family weren’t in there, only the memories.
They’re out there… somewhere.
Morana stood, her gaze latched onto the rubble for moments after the dust settled. It took a while before her gaze focused once more and the initial shock wore off, with her hairs finally falling from their stand, she picked up Kenny once more and mindlessly sauntered back down Lyndsey Street.
It was like she could see it all again so vividly replaying in her mind. Not just the rubble, but the memories too. Like the screams when her mom found a rat eating out of a packet of crackers, or when they would curl up under a dozen blankets because the heating broke — once again.
Kicking at stones, the faint smell of debris stuck up her nose and clung to the fabric of her clothes; it was almost haunting in a way. Taunting her of the loss of her childhood with every whiff of air and deep inhale she breathed.
She was almost mindless. Maybe she should just turn back, this wasn’t a good idea after all.
Or maybe it’s the nostalgia gripping her by the throat for dear life. Haling her further into town by rote as if her feet were no longer hers; but that of a physical epitome of her subconscious.
Maybe she just wants nostalgia. Yeah, that makes sense. She can leave whenever she likes, this is her choice, her decision.
…I think.
The familiar overhanging bell rang as she pushed the creaking door which definitely needed some WD40.
The strong stench of rotten coffee beans was overt, intense and down right revolting. With foods strewn about and tables abandoned, it’s no surprise that the café reeks beyond control.
Be that as it may, it was almost unchanged. The Texan Café always played strongly on the western vibe — although it would be more surprising if it didn’t, given its name — with wheels perched up on the beige walls and landscape photos hung across the counter. Newspaper articles framed the lining, though she couldn’t exactly read it.
Back there in the corner was our booth, reserved for us and us only. My brother would always beg to be at the window seat so we had to take turns — unless it was our birthday.
And over here was where Ol’ Tim would have our ticket at the ready.
Morana smiled behind the counter, brushing the window from the kitchen to the counter where the chefs often push food through. The amount of dirty burgers ordered was beyond belief — they were never allowed it, ‘too greasy’ their mom would say.
She looked out upon the café from by the till, it was almost real as she recalled the busy tables at lunch hour; when they would meet up with the Orosco’s and spend evenings just talking and dining.
It was the cold metal of the till that brought her back to this gloomy reality of a desolate town; it was ever so slightly ajar with nothing inside bar a single coin.
A coin she saw often in her mommy’s wallet.
Nelly’s Bar.
These were often used for the jukebox within Nelly’s Bar — she had only been in once or twice, however screeching stool chairs and pounding music was never her style.
Maybe I should return this… if there’s anyone around, that is.
Her pads pushed the till closed and pocketed the coin; but first up — the records shop. Maybe they still have one or two of her dads’ vinyls left.
Morana left through one of the three doors, heading onto Martin Street, it was still a wonder how she knew this area like the back of her hand. Like a second nature she can’t shake off.
Everywhere was so… quiet. Almost eerie; was no one really around? Not a single person in sight. How could an entire town just disappear? Surely one person would stay, right?
God damn I knew I was right!
Her hazel eyes grew wide as she saw a figure, her shoulders dropping to her sides with a deep exhale. Of course this place wasn’t abandoned! Silly me, her mind raced as she watched the figure stumble up Neely Street towards Groovy Music.
“Excuse me?” She called out, but Morana’s words fell on deaf ears as it continued to sway up the street.
Must be drunk, looks like they’re coming from Neely’s.
“Excuse me.” She called out once more, the fog shrouding them in its deep dense grasp. There wasn’t even an outline anymore, the silhouette disappearing as if ceasing to exist altogether.
Abruptly she took off, chasing after the unknown up Neely’s Street. Passing stores alike, all boarded up as if closed entirely; the entire street seemed vacant as shutters were closed and windows blocked.
“Excuse me!” She cried out, her slender fingers reaching into the thick murk grasping at nothing.
The haze cleared and they were gone.
Nought but a single pathway back to her beginning, or forward to the music store.
Her fingers gripped Kenny as the large sign towered over her with an enticing charm; Morana couldn’t help but remember the photo, pulling it out with ease and staring at her daddy’s beaming grin.
The bell chimed marking her entrance, rows of vinyls still scattered across the shelves and posters of recent music scattered across the walls.
“Wow.” Morana grew breathless, her eyes following the almost vivid colours of the record store; although in ruin, it still looked almost unchanged.
It was certainly a breath of fresh air compared to the Café.
Mountains of dust had piled up on the records, from collections of 80’s music and infamous artists, there were still so many untouched vinyls stacked and untouched along the shelves.
Including one; her daddy’s album.
Another gasp escaped, her fingers picking up the Vinyl and gazing upon her daddy’s melancholy expression looking off into the distance like a cheesy model. Though she couldn’t fight the smile on her lips as the imagery of her daddy trying to remain gloomy for the shoot played through her mind.
Daddy was never really a serious man, that’s what mommy loved most about him. Every day was like a breath of fresh air — he made sure of it.
A small huff of air escaped her nose, “They got you to act the total opposite, huh daddy?”
Without warning a flash of white fell to the floor, slipping almost fully under the shelving unit out of sight; it was a piece of paper that slipped out of her daddy’s vinyl.
She leaned down, sliding it out from underneath. Most of it had been ripped half way across and the columns looked almost newspaper-like. Maybe that of the Toluca Times?
‘FAMILY OF FOUR — THREE DEAD, ONE SURVIVED.’
The ink smudged, barely decipherable from the aged paper and the water damaged smudges.
What a strange place to put a newspaper.
Shuffle. Shuffle. Shuffle.
A faint sound of shuffling scuttles from behind the counter — was the owner here? Was someone finally around?
Her voice croaked, “Hey, what’s this about?”. Morana held up the newspaper article over her shoulder, tucking her daddy’s vinyl beneath her arm.
There was only a gargle and groan and before she could respond, she had turned to face what could only be described as flesh.
A being — a monster — covered and stitched in only flesh with a veil of skin trailing down its back. Around its neck hung a wooden cross, her eyes locked onto the garment as it lunged forward.
She could only scream. Pushing the claws away with the cover of her dads vinyl as a shield; even without being there he was her protector.
But the monster was significantly stronger, pushing and throwing its arms in a rapid thrash towards her. Scraping flesh wounds across her skin and causing barely a trickle of blood.
It suddenly went flying back, hitting its fleshy head against the corner of the counter and limply falling to the tiles.
“Mary?”
