~HOMETOWN~(Prologue)

~HOMETOWN~

(Prologue)


I'm falling!

From where I started, I really can't remember. All I know is, I'm falling for what feels like an eternity. Hell, I don't even know who I am. It's as if my whole life...my whole existence...was falling.
Far above me is a brilliant bright light which illuminates my surroundings. In every direction, all I can see is the rapid upward movement of an ancient stone wall, as if I'm in some circular hole.

I wish I could recall when and how I ended up in this predicament, but my entire memory started when I began falling. (Or is falling all I ever experienced? Is this my existence? A free-fall for all eternity?) I wish I knew how long this will last. I think I'm dropping faster now too. Also, why am I naked? These thoughts were well and good, but the one thought that keeps pushing front and center is one of more immediate concern:

Is there a bottom?

No sooner did I get that thought out of my confused and muddled mind, when I suddenly hit the hard ground with a thud.

Huh? Um, yeah, okay. I know that should have killed me, but I'm not bruised, hurt, or even sore! Feels like Novocain was injected into my entire body. Yes...I feel...I dunno...rubbery.

I stand up now and do a "360", seeing nothing but stonework all around me, with the only illumination coming from that bright-ass light source from far above me. Revolution after dizzying revolution I turn, examining every inch of my circular stone prison.
Suddenly, I see an old wooden door, clearly recessed into the masonry work. I must have missed it somehow. Since there's clearly nowhere else to go, I better chance it. The door creeks open on rusty hinges. No light is visible from the other side, and whatever is in there is hidden in pitch black, What's odd is a peculiar smell wafts from the darkness. Not musty or earthy, as one might expect, but...what? The faint hint of vanilla mixed with fear.

Yes indeed.

The smell of fear.

Olfactory mortal terror.

Huh? What am I thinking? The smell of fear? Yes. That's what it is. (Mixed with vanilla.) There's a sound coming from the open doorway as well; from the sightless abyss, there's a (very) quiet tinkling of bells. Chimes. As I step though the open doorway, goosebumps pop up all over my flesh, in spite of the hot stifling air that's surrounding me. Now in complete darkness...I press on into the void.

I decide to stretch my left hand out in front of me so I don't slam my head into anything, while I palm the paneled wall with my right hand so  I don't loose my bearings.

Paneled!? What!?? Yes, the wall feels paneled. Like faux wood one would find in a house or office. The floor is also clearly tiled. How in the world is this possible? A narrow hallway? I must be (at least) 6 miles underground! Yet I walk on. As I walk, it feels as if the hallway declines slightly down, like a ramp. I walk slowly...on and on...being careful with each step. The mix of vanilla and fear is strangely intoxicating, the melancholic tinkling bells are almost beckoning me. I'm walking on for what must be three hours. Or is it three minutes or three days? Damn. I can't tell. The more I walk down this hallway, the more time seems to distort. Like, falling down that hole must have been five hours ago. Either that, or fifteen minutes ago. (You know, I'll make a mental note to figure that out later. Right after I find out who the Hell I am). Am I even making any progress? The chime-bells seem as distant as they were when I first entered this Highway to...I mean...Hallway to Hell.
The faint smell of fear is being replace with something else. What is it? What's the word? Ah yes. Desperation (with just a pinch of vanilla).

My head seems even more confused. My thoughts are harder and harder to hold together. Not to mention that time is distorting even more for me. Now it feels as if I only entered this hallway about sixty seconds ago! I panic, and my goosebumps retreat while a vicious onslaught of salty sweat-beads replace them all over my quivering naked body,

Damn! I gotta get out of here! Where is the end? Was there even a beginning? There wasn't a door at the bottom of that hole...I know there wasn't! So, how..? Is this someone's idea of a sick fucking joke!!??


***TODAY'S FORECAST: ANGER WITH SCATTERED DESPERATION! SOME VANILLA EXPECTED***


Has someone drugged me and thrown me in some fucked-up carnie fun-house or something? I now decide to run...run as fast as my ??-year old legs can carry me. I run as days (or seconds) pass before me and behind me while along side of me. I think I'll run for what ended up being only a few minutes. WHAT!?? The future is the past and the present is the future, as the temporal flow of reality becomes completely unraveled.

AAAAAAAAARRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Suddenly, out of the darkness comes an ear-piercing air-raid siren in the distance (Yet strangely loud for how far away it is!). In some unknown way, it's oddly familiar. As if I had heard it before. What the Hell is it DOING to me!? It feels like my head is splitting in two, as it wails over and over again. Next, a knife-stabbing sharp pain appears and intensifies behind my eyes before shooting up to my skull. All while a feeling of indescribable mortal terror washes over me. My knees go wear, and my legs wobble as useless as jelly.

No! I gotta get the fuck out of here! With inner energy I did not know I possessed, I force myself up, still holding on to the wall. With every step, the faux wood paneled wall begins to feel...different. At first it feels cooler and cooler, and then the fake wood begins to feel metallic. Now it feels like there's little holes in the metal. I don't even care. I'm running faster and faster. The holes in the metal feel bigger and more numerous. The floor feels harder. I should be out of breath at this point, but strangely I'm not. I now realize that I am palming a cold metal fence! The once-tiled floor, now transformed to concrete beneath my feet. The tinkling chime-bells are now twisted into the distant sounds of people crying. Mourners at a funeral...the unmistakable sound of the living crying for the dead. (Or is it the other way around?) The smell is now a mix between rotting flesh and church incense. I can't do this...it's way too...

[BANG]

My head slams into a wooden door and knocks me off my feet. I quickly get up and feel for the door. It feels like...an office door? It's definitely modern, with some sort of placard in the top center of it. There's a brass doorknob as well.
Okay, no reservations this time. I open the door, and run in quickly, not giving a shit what horror awaits me.

I step in, and the door slams shut behind me.

I'm standing in a cozy office. The first thing I notice is an antique oak desk with a brass lamp sitting on top of it, saturating the inviting room with a soft, comforting glow. On the wall, there are various degrees and diplomas, a dime-store Currier and Ives knock-off paintings, not to mention that horribly pedantic painting of the dogs playing poker. Opposite of the desk is a black leather chair with a matching couch.

A psychiatrist's office? Am I really miles underground? Or....?

"I'm afraid your a bit early for your appointment. Please...step back in the waiting room and I will help you through your problem shortly.", said the kind, soft-spoken voice behind me.

I spin around quick, but before I could see who was speaking, the air-raid siren wailed once again, forcing my eyes shut. The siren was much closer this time and dug deep into my brain. The world begins to fade from me, and I'm trying to fight it as I scream....

...I scream...

...I scream as I wake up in my bed with a start. "Your cracking up, Donnie Culpa", I say to myself, as I wake from my strange nightmare. I sit up in my bed, still in that weird realm between dreams and reality. My alpha brainwaves still lingering around my head. "That dream was FUCKED up!" I recall, as I rub my eyes. "No surprise though, I guess."
Things have been weird lately. Weirder than anything else I experienced in my 18 years on this planet.
I slowly left the comforting warmth of my twin bed and pondered all the craziness that's been going on lately. As I made my way to my closet and began getting dressed, I tried recalling the dream I just had, but it was already fading rapidly into the lost memories of my subconscious, sinking into those forgotten depths that dreams go, just beyond recall. 'Something about an....office? A lawyers office? Doctors? People crying. And...I think there was a hole', I tried remembering. 'but it's gone now.' I totally lost my grip of the dream, and every aspect of it vanished.

Well...almost every aspect.

There was one thing about the dream that I wanted to forget, and ironically it was the one thing that I couldn't stop thinking about: That awful siren. I remember it with frightening clarity. Even thinking about it now, after the fact, made me apprehensive and hurt my head. As I finished getting dressed, I shivered. "And", I recalled...

..."I swear I heard it for a split second after waking."

I walked out to the living room, which stood deathly quiet on this foggy April morning. The ghostly fog diffused the rising sunlight that peered weakly though the white Venetian blinds in such a way that gave my living room an ethereal, otherworldly ambiance. The main hues surrounding me were white and black. My mother's ultra post-modern decor further intensified the dreamlike quality of my surroundings (although this was painfully real).
I ignored the kitchen, knowing full well that my mother wouldn't be in there today to greet me, in her usual spot near the Mr. Coffee. "She always refused to upgrade to a Kurieg", I said, as I stared in the kitchen, longingly. I changed my mind and went into the kitchen after all. I grabbed a filter in the overhead cabinet, and filled it with Maxwell House. As I made my coffee, I pulled a fresh Newport 100 out of it's little cardboard coffin and lit it on the gas stove. 'Hell, it's not like there's anyone here to tell me not to smoke in the house', I reasoned.
While waiting for my coffee to brew, I daydreamed. 'It's hard to believe that only three days ago, my mom was doting around the kitchen, cooking us breakfast....


"Buongiorno, il mio dolce bambino!"
"Yeah...morning mama"
"Hai dormito bene"
"Yeah, I guess. Got an Algebra test today though."
"Awww....cry me a river, why don't you? I wish I had the problems of a ragazzino. Studia"?
"Si, mama! Sempre!"
"Just making sure. You so smart, Donnie. Never waste that, hai capito?"
"I know mama"
"Bene! So, what are your plans after school?"
"Picnic with Andrew at Rosewater Park. I told you lastnight, ricordi?
"...Now I do."


When my coffee was done, I took it, and my cigarette to the living room and stared out of the window. Neely Street looked so lonely on yet another foggy morning. Through the fog, large flakes of snow fell gently down, melting on the warm April ground.
"Snowing...in mid April. On top of everything else", I sighed. "Three days ago. That's when this all started. Three days ago...when everyone in town vanished"

I shivered as a tear rolled down my cheek. "Something very strange happened", I lamented. "Something is wrong in Silent Hill"


(End Prologue)