Categories > Games > Silent Hill
Warning: /Major spoilers regarding Pyramid Head ahoy/.
The door to Room 307 is swollen with mildew, and the brown paint covering it looks like leprotic skin peeling off a rotted corpse. The door screeches loudly with every harsh tug on the knob, the sound echoing down the abandoned hallways of the Woodside Apartments. Finally, with a shuddering jolt, the door swings away, free from its frame.
Slowly, lightly, James takes four cautious steps until he is standing in the northeast corner of the living room.
What he sees there makes his heart skip one...two...three beats, now.
He imagines that if he were to reach out and touch the surface of the heavy, corroded iron - dragging his hand along at a downward angle - it would come back sticky with half-dried blood. The helmet stands like a dilapidated monolith in the center of the room, but its ominous presence is nothing compared to that of the tall figure crouched next to it, its legs folded like a spider's, arms crossed atop its knees. A strip of dull light coming in from the outside courtyard illuminates its left forearm, making its pale, decaying flesh glow a blinding white.
It makes a low noise, the resounding peal of a metal beam struck below ground, and he looks up. Its neck is bent forever forward, the helmet having warped its spine. And as it moves, its eyes coming out of shadow, the face that stares back is his own.
The door to Room 307 is swollen with mildew, and the brown paint covering it looks like leprotic skin peeling off a rotted corpse. The door screeches loudly with every harsh tug on the knob, the sound echoing down the abandoned hallways of the Woodside Apartments. Finally, with a shuddering jolt, the door swings away, free from its frame.
Slowly, lightly, James takes four cautious steps until he is standing in the northeast corner of the living room.
What he sees there makes his heart skip one...two...three beats, now.
He imagines that if he were to reach out and touch the surface of the heavy, corroded iron - dragging his hand along at a downward angle - it would come back sticky with half-dried blood. The helmet stands like a dilapidated monolith in the center of the room, but its ominous presence is nothing compared to that of the tall figure crouched next to it, its legs folded like a spider's, arms crossed atop its knees. A strip of dull light coming in from the outside courtyard illuminates its left forearm, making its pale, decaying flesh glow a blinding white.
It makes a low noise, the resounding peal of a metal beam struck below ground, and he looks up. Its neck is bent forever forward, the helmet having warped its spine. And as it moves, its eyes coming out of shadow, the face that stares back is his own.
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