Categories > Games > Silent Hill > The Music Man
Josh woke with a jerking start, lips parted and emitting an outcry of shock, back arching against hard, metal grated flooring as his head and knees bent towards each other at his middle. His elbows locked and supported his torso, keeping himself raised above the ground as his eyes came into focus. There was a blaring in his ears and his eyes were blurred and he raised a hand to rub at his eyelids as they gingerly closed over glazed pools of auburn. He let out a painful groan in a scratchy voice, “Ahh… What happened…?”
Sitting up more, he hung from his spine over his legs, knees bent towards the sky and hands rubbing over his face. “…What… is going on…”
A musical number filled his ears, a playful one, though something about it was off. As it started playing, a breeze-like sensation swept over his face and neck, causing his curls to sway and his body to resist some type of movement. It took him a moment to realize the ground he was laying upon was rotating, counterclockwise at that, upon an axis. Around him were horses, plastic horses with living airs about them as massive hooks from an upper platform impaled and replaced their spines, holding their stiff bodies above the floor.
Looking up and around him as his eyes were finally focused, Josh’s breath hitched, a putrid stench entering his nose and causing his nostrils to flare. Covering his nose and mouth with a hand, Josh stumbled to his feet, groaning behind his palm. Lowering his hand, he looked around, straightening his glasses as his eyes took in what was before him. “Where am I…?” he whispered to himself as he turned, “…Is this… some kind of carnival ride…?” It was a carousel, but what kind of carousel that held such a grotesque look about it existed?
Around the carousel was a wall, circular and well-fitting the circumference of the ride as it spun. He looked up at the upper disc before his eyes travelled to the wall, “…We’re spinning… But…” He squinted his eyes. “…It looks like we’re going up…” He blinked. We?
Spotted over the walls that surrounded him were doors, some encrusted black with dirt and grunge; others cleanly white with dark brownish rust engulfing their frames. Looking around him, Josh backed up towards the central axis, eyes going down to the metal grated disc below him, the sound of his shoes clunking against the bitterly-strong iron below sounding amid the ghostly carousel music. “…This has to be some kind of dream…” he whispered to himself before looking up, “…But when am I going to wake up…?”
He was startled then by the sound of a loud clatter on the opposite side of the spinning ride. Nervously, his head turned towards the point of origin of the sound, cautious and not exactly fluid as far as stealth was concerned as he moved to see what it was. He bumped clumsily against the horses nearest him, causing them to trash their front legs and make guttural whinnies.
He backed away from them with a painful wince, the tortured cries of the hateful beasts tugging his ever-sensitive heart strings. Carefully, he moved over the floor, between the lines of horses on the inner and outer extremities of the carousel, to find a handgun.
Upon seeing the shining metal on the ground, he stopped short in his tracks, shock filling his eyes and fear coursing through his veins. Carefully, he eased himself forward and leaned down, his hand gingerly reaching forward to rest his fingertips over the smooth, cold metal. “…What’s this doing here…?” he whispered as he gently took the gun in his hand, holding it fittingly in the core of his palm. Near where the gun previously rested lay a piece of blue fabric. Over the surface was embroidered: Cybil.
“Cybil…?” he read aloud in a hushed, whispered voice as he picked up the torn piece of cloth gently up in his fingers as he rose to his feet, “…Who’s Cybil…?”
Upon uttering that single inquire, the carousel came to a violently screeching halt, causing Josh to fly forward and drop harshly onto his knees with a thud. His hands caught himself, scraping the skin a bit of his palm and the curved, gripping fingers on the gun. He winced, furrowing his brows as the carousel came to a screeching halt. When it finally stopped, Josh slowly, carefully, creaked open his eyes.
The grated metal under which the gun and cloth resided was stained brightly a deep, dark crimson. The spot had a massive diameter, splattered like a giant droplet from the sightless heavens above and making one hell of a mess. From the splatter was a thick line, almost as if a bloodied corpse had been dragged from the spot to another area. Standing up slowly, gun in hand with cloth now slipped gently into his pants pocket; Josh’s eyes followed the trail of blood, never leaving the smeared scarlet. Rather than backing away gasping in terror—like he probably would have done in any other situation—he followed it just as his eyes did once before.
His sneakers made stale sounds over the metal, dry and hollow with each step he took as he stepped off the carousel and followed the trail of blood through a stale hallway, branching off from the cylindrical container in which the carnival ride was trapped. The hall was long and seemed almost to be moving away from him with every step, the door moving slow enough to seem like it was moving away but also still allowing space to be closed between them. His eyes strayed up from the smearing scarlet over the hard cold concrete to the door at the end of the tunnel.
After a while of walking, Josh stopped before the slab of thin concrete before him. The door itself was rather clean other than the usual concrete debris and the thick, dark brown frame around it. Upon the door was etched: THE ROAD TO PARADISE IS PAINTED WITH BLOOD. Josh squint his eyes as he read the awful messy writing. “Where have I seen this before…?” he whispered softly, raising his free hand and running his fingertips gingerly over the rough etchings. With a shaky breath, Josh lowered his hand and grabbed onto the door knob, a long, rusty handle, and cranked it down, the mechanisms inside seeming to crack and break as he turned it. Pulling the door open caused it to moan painfully about its hinges and Josh took a deep breath before stepping through the doorway into a cloudy world.
Sitting up more, he hung from his spine over his legs, knees bent towards the sky and hands rubbing over his face. “…What… is going on…”
A musical number filled his ears, a playful one, though something about it was off. As it started playing, a breeze-like sensation swept over his face and neck, causing his curls to sway and his body to resist some type of movement. It took him a moment to realize the ground he was laying upon was rotating, counterclockwise at that, upon an axis. Around him were horses, plastic horses with living airs about them as massive hooks from an upper platform impaled and replaced their spines, holding their stiff bodies above the floor.
Looking up and around him as his eyes were finally focused, Josh’s breath hitched, a putrid stench entering his nose and causing his nostrils to flare. Covering his nose and mouth with a hand, Josh stumbled to his feet, groaning behind his palm. Lowering his hand, he looked around, straightening his glasses as his eyes took in what was before him. “Where am I…?” he whispered to himself as he turned, “…Is this… some kind of carnival ride…?” It was a carousel, but what kind of carousel that held such a grotesque look about it existed?
Around the carousel was a wall, circular and well-fitting the circumference of the ride as it spun. He looked up at the upper disc before his eyes travelled to the wall, “…We’re spinning… But…” He squinted his eyes. “…It looks like we’re going up…” He blinked. We?
Spotted over the walls that surrounded him were doors, some encrusted black with dirt and grunge; others cleanly white with dark brownish rust engulfing their frames. Looking around him, Josh backed up towards the central axis, eyes going down to the metal grated disc below him, the sound of his shoes clunking against the bitterly-strong iron below sounding amid the ghostly carousel music. “…This has to be some kind of dream…” he whispered to himself before looking up, “…But when am I going to wake up…?”
He was startled then by the sound of a loud clatter on the opposite side of the spinning ride. Nervously, his head turned towards the point of origin of the sound, cautious and not exactly fluid as far as stealth was concerned as he moved to see what it was. He bumped clumsily against the horses nearest him, causing them to trash their front legs and make guttural whinnies.
He backed away from them with a painful wince, the tortured cries of the hateful beasts tugging his ever-sensitive heart strings. Carefully, he moved over the floor, between the lines of horses on the inner and outer extremities of the carousel, to find a handgun.
Upon seeing the shining metal on the ground, he stopped short in his tracks, shock filling his eyes and fear coursing through his veins. Carefully, he eased himself forward and leaned down, his hand gingerly reaching forward to rest his fingertips over the smooth, cold metal. “…What’s this doing here…?” he whispered as he gently took the gun in his hand, holding it fittingly in the core of his palm. Near where the gun previously rested lay a piece of blue fabric. Over the surface was embroidered: Cybil.
“Cybil…?” he read aloud in a hushed, whispered voice as he picked up the torn piece of cloth gently up in his fingers as he rose to his feet, “…Who’s Cybil…?”
Upon uttering that single inquire, the carousel came to a violently screeching halt, causing Josh to fly forward and drop harshly onto his knees with a thud. His hands caught himself, scraping the skin a bit of his palm and the curved, gripping fingers on the gun. He winced, furrowing his brows as the carousel came to a screeching halt. When it finally stopped, Josh slowly, carefully, creaked open his eyes.
The grated metal under which the gun and cloth resided was stained brightly a deep, dark crimson. The spot had a massive diameter, splattered like a giant droplet from the sightless heavens above and making one hell of a mess. From the splatter was a thick line, almost as if a bloodied corpse had been dragged from the spot to another area. Standing up slowly, gun in hand with cloth now slipped gently into his pants pocket; Josh’s eyes followed the trail of blood, never leaving the smeared scarlet. Rather than backing away gasping in terror—like he probably would have done in any other situation—he followed it just as his eyes did once before.
His sneakers made stale sounds over the metal, dry and hollow with each step he took as he stepped off the carousel and followed the trail of blood through a stale hallway, branching off from the cylindrical container in which the carnival ride was trapped. The hall was long and seemed almost to be moving away from him with every step, the door moving slow enough to seem like it was moving away but also still allowing space to be closed between them. His eyes strayed up from the smearing scarlet over the hard cold concrete to the door at the end of the tunnel.
After a while of walking, Josh stopped before the slab of thin concrete before him. The door itself was rather clean other than the usual concrete debris and the thick, dark brown frame around it. Upon the door was etched: THE ROAD TO PARADISE IS PAINTED WITH BLOOD. Josh squint his eyes as he read the awful messy writing. “Where have I seen this before…?” he whispered softly, raising his free hand and running his fingertips gingerly over the rough etchings. With a shaky breath, Josh lowered his hand and grabbed onto the door knob, a long, rusty handle, and cranked it down, the mechanisms inside seeming to crack and break as he turned it. Pulling the door open caused it to moan painfully about its hinges and Josh took a deep breath before stepping through the doorway into a cloudy world.
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