(A/N: Why am I doing this? I don't know... I suppose every SH author has to do a SH4 parody... I don't own it anyway, so don't sue, 'cause I don't own it. Konami and Team Silent does. This is also to see how people to respond to this, and whether or not I'll continue it depends on that.)

Silent Hill 4: The Not-So Parody-(A Drug-Induced Hallucination)

It was one year and exactly 365 days ago that Henry Townsend moved into Room 203 of North Ashfield Heights.

Henry wasn't all that happy and he constantly found the toilet to be problematic.

Henry had hope things would get better, but sometimes things just get suck-ier as time goes on...

Like, for example, three days ago, when Henry spilt coffee on his pants in front of his neighbor, Irene.

But I'm talking about two days ago, when Henry started having this not-so-sexual-but-not-so-plain-dream that didn't end with him wetting his pants.

And one other-not-so-sexual-but-not-so-plain-thing...

Henry couldn't leave Room 203.

"Oh man... what a dream..." Henry muttered as he sat on his bed in his clothing from yesterday and the day before. And, like yesterday and the day before, Henry had that weird dream, where he was walking in a perfectly clean apartment without toilet problems... but then the apartment got all covered in tomato sauce--it couldn't have been blood, because Henry's not a violent person--and the toilet started having problems, and then words appeared on the wall reading, "Sucker!" and then he woke up.

He sighed and headed for the door, when the phone rang. "Stupid telemarketers," he said harshly before answering. "Hello?"

"Hello, sir, I'd like to speak to Henry Townshend-,"

"For the fifth time, corncup, this is Henry Townsend's residence, not 'Townshend's!"

"But sir-,"

"Up yours!" And with that, he slammed the phone down and walked away. But then it rang again. And he picked it up again. "What now?" he asked angrily.

"Help... me..."

"...Who the hell are you? Don't try to get my pity... 'cause... 'cause I'm doing your mom!"

Henry then put the phone back and left the bedroom, strolling over to the kitchen area. He was humming for a minute before seeing the front door. Like yesterday and the day before, it was chained up from the inside. Henry cursed under his breath, picked up a spare shoe he left by the door, and chucked it at the chains, but it just bounced back and smacked him in the face. He yelped in surprise and landed on the carpet, but he sprang up fast.

It was just like the last two days, in fact, it was exactly the same. Those bloody chains... his loss of all electricity... it was like his whole word had gone topsy-turvy. "I swear... I didn't know you could be high for this long, I mean, damn!" he exclaimed while turning, but suddenly something sudden happened. Writing appeared on the door in pink, with a little Chibi drawing beside it. "What the heck?" said Henry as he leaned forward to read it.

Like... don't go out, man. You're not high, and your world hasn't gone all topsy-turvy, but it HAS gone rather upside-downy... Anyway, like, don't go outside. -- Your pal, Walter :)

"Who... the fudge is Walter?" he thought aloud when he heard something fall outside the door. "Huh?" He looked out through the peephole to see Irene Galven from Room 202. She had dropped a bag of stuff and was in the process of picking it all up. 'Kind of a coincidence how she dropped her stuff in front of my room, eh?' he thought to himself.

"...I hope Frank doesn't see me with my 'questionable' bag of 'groceries'..." she said, looking around quickly while stealthily moving out of view.

"Hey, wait..." Henry murmured before looking down at a little note under the door. "She must've dropped it," he said and picked it up.

MoM, wAkE uP... I... F33l t3h... l33t... 1337ness c0MiNg uP0n m3... liek... wk3 UP!1!11!1

"Is she stupid or something? I'm not her mom." He threw the note into the trash and walked over to the window and bookshelf. He peered out at the citizens below until he spotted some chick standing nearby the subway entrance smoking something.

"Are those... narcotics, I see?" Henry felt the oh-too-familiar rush returning to him, but he tried to resist. "No... cannot... allow... relapse!" He collapsed to the floor, noticing another note wedged behind the bookshelf. "Hey, look, another memo!" Henry snatched it up and began to read...

Through the ritual of the Unholy Sock, he created a world. This world is within, but at the same time, without our Lord's realm. Of course, if that were factual, a paradox of some sort would be created, thus causing the physical universe to collapse and implode. But that's beside the point. This world of his consists of grass, strange thingamajiggers, and more grass. A very peculiar place, and if anyone were to lose themselves in that place, well, they'd be screwed. Right up the hole. How could our Lord even allow such an abo... abo... abomi...abo...mi...na...tion, abomination, to exist? It's dreadfully important to carry lightly in that world, because... if you carry a burden too heavy... you'll be screwed. Right up the hole. Again. Brr.

"..." Henry put the note back in its place and stood up. "Gee, was everyone high when they wrote these things?" he asked himself, actually expecting an answer. He waited a bit, but no response came. "...Fine..." And then he plopped down on the sofa and sat there. And sat there. And sat there. And sat there. And sat there. And sat there. And sat there. And sat there. And sat there. And sat there. And sat there. And sat there. And sat there. And sat there. And sat there. And sat there. And sat there. And... A loud crashing noise came from the restroom.

"What the heck?" Henry unwillingly got up and walked over to the restroom door. He opened it and cocked an eyebrow up at what he saw. A fairly large hole had appeared in the wall, and tile and dust was scattered across the floor. He carefully crossed over the stuff and squinted into the darkness, before yelling like a complete fool, "Is anybody in there?" He just stared for a second before declaring, "I need a drink."

And he got one.

Henry sat at his kitchen counter, pouring himself some more White Merlot. "This sucks," he said while taking a nice long gulp. "Bloody holes appearing in my bathroom... Damn, I'm worse than I thought." He glanced at the wine bottle. "But I guess this isn't helping either... Drowning myself in the lie that I'm high and drunk won't help a thing... but it's an excuse to tell myself I'm not going crazy!" Henry laughed and slammed the wine bottle on his head, sending himself to the floor. He continued to laugh like an imbecile until someone rang his doorbell.

"...Stupid, stupid, stupid..." Henry muttered as he got up and checked it out. It was Irene.

"Hey, Henry... I think I dropped a tampon here... but I can't find it... I need it... for the party... so... do you have it?"

"I don't have a damn tampon you bimbo! Go away and let me have my drink!" he shouted, but it didn't seem like she heard.

"Hey, Henry, are you there!"

"Go away!"

"Henry!"

"Go away!"

She huffed and walked away. "Thank God," thought Henry aloud as he picked up his wine glass. "...Couldn't hurt, I guess..." He went back to the hole.

"Stupid..." He drank some more of his wine. "Well, I can only get more wine from the outside world... and considering I'm stuck inside... this may be my only way out. Stupid..." He took one last guzzle before throwing his glass to the floor and climbing in.

La...La la la! Intermission!

(Ding) Now continuing with your program.

Henry groaned as he looked up from his seat on the descending escalator. He inspected his surroundings, grimacing. "Looks like... the subway..." he said mysteriously while getting up and tripping the whole way down. He cursed extensively as he stood up. "...Stupid, stupid, stupid..." Suddenly, however, a pipe fell from the dark abyss above him and snagged him in the head. "Confounded...! Wait, a pipe!"

Henry took it in his hand and swung it around. "Awesome! Now I'm like, a badass!" he exclaimed happily. Anyway, he spotted someone standing idle at the very end of the hallway before him, so he started a steady jog towards her. "Hey, person!"

The woman turned around and flashed him a seductive smile. She was hot, but getting laid was the least of Henry's concerns. "You're that junkie I saw from the window! Hey... what's that in your hand?"

She glanced down at the cigarette she was holding and coughed. "This? Oh, I was just enjoying myself a nice, little smoke..."

"Really?" Henry craned his head to get a better look, but she put it behind her back.

"Um, yeah..."

"Got any more of that?" inquired Henry as he tried to circle around her, but she moved away.

"...Maybe. Say, what's your name?"

"Me?" Henry pointed at himself. "My name's Henry, and you?"

"What? This is my dream and you don't know my name?"

The brunet scratched his head. "You think this is a dream? This ain't no dream, girl."

"Oh? Then what is it?"

"A drug-induced hallucination," answered Henry quickly. He noted her scantly clothing, and coughed. 'Whore...'

She glared at him, taking another drag. "What are you saying, that I'm high?" He backed away, holding his hands up defensively.

"I'm not saying a thing... but that weed in your hand says a lot by itself."

"Err... good point," she said, and threw it away. "Anyway... this place is pretty scary, and... I can't seem to find the exit..." She went up real close to Henry and purred. "...If you help me, I'll... do an extra special favor for you..."

Henry grinned excitedly. "You mean like paying my rent? Or buying my chocolate milk?"

"Uh... yeah!" She turned away. "Anyway, my name's Cynthia... so, let's get going."

"...Whatever."

So, they walked in silence... partially. Cynthia asked Henry about his sexuality, favorite color, and the country of Canada. Henry asked her about her weed, her weed, and her fees for her weed, so it was a fair exchange. When they reached the restrooms, however, Cynthia started to gag. "Ugh... can we stop here, Henry...? I feel like I'm going to be sick..."

"Feel? You've looked it the whole way." She ignored him and shuffled into the Women's restroom. Henry sighed and plopped himself against the wall.

'Stupid whore,' he thought. 'Not my fault she's doing that shit. I'm clean.' He noticed the Men's restroom door open just a bit. He stared at the crack for a second, leaning back to try and get a better look. "Anyone in there?" he called, but there was no answer. Instead, a grotesque dog-looking animal covered in green sludge flew out and landed on the floor before him, a pool of crimson blood gathering around its smelly corpse.

"What the…" he muttered when two more creatures hobbled out of the restroom an up to the dead one. They sniffed at it, and then screeched horribly and began jamming their unnaturally long tongue into the body, sucking out its blood and bodily fluids. Henry figured its urine as well.

"God… you things are sick… or maybe I just drank too much earlier…" Carefully he stepped around them and crept up to the Women's door. "Hey, Cynthia, you done yet? There are these weird dog-cat things out here… and… I'm pretty scared." There wasn't an answer. Except maybe for a growl.

He glanced back and saw the two dogs done with their feast, and looking for seconds. "Oh shit…" Henry clawed at the door, screaming bloody murder. "Cynthia let me in, let-me-in-let-me-in-let-me-in! They're going to freakin' eat me!" The door still didn't open. Henry continued to disregard the doorknob and watched as the dogs circled him, growling and baring their fangs at him all the while. Then he remembered the steel pipe.

'Oh yeah! I can use the pipe!' He pulled the pipe out of his pants(:3) and waved it at the dogs tauntingly before flinging it down the hall. "Go fetch the pipe, doggies, go on, go get it!" The dogs yipped happily and went after the pipe and Henry used this as his chance to get into the restroom, which he did. "Cynthia, you in here? I can… I can smell the dope! You must be in here!" He snooped around and found no dope and no Cynthia. While Henry was internally cursing his luck, he saw a giant hole in the wall. "Whoa, a hole! I'd best go into it, and then out of it(:3) at my room!" So he did.

La… la-la-la… Intermission!

(Ding) Now continuing with your program.

Henry woke up with the intense desire to smoke a joint, but he put it off and got out of bed. He couldn't be so easily swayed. "That damn whore," he muttered. "She goes and starts getting my itch on… doesn't she know how easy a relapse can be triggered?" He groaned and rubbed his forehead. "…Wait a minute, though, I really am back in my apartment! Weird… shouldn't I be in the bathroom…? Or maybe… I really was in her dream… No, that's just stupid. Why the hell could even think of something like that?"

He went to the living room and saw something odd; the drawer resting against the wall was upturned. "Who the hell messed with my drawer? Was it you, Francisco?" Forgetting who Francisco was for the moment, Henry walked over to the piece of furniture to adjust it, but while he was moving it he discovered something behind it. A giant rift in the wall. And there was a small peephole in the center of it. "Someone got pretty crazy with their spoon…" he said to himself while hunkering down to examine the hole and the short message that was carved into the wall beside it.

Blast! This damned plastic spork is useless! I spent hours trying to carve through the wall to escape—and in the vain attempt to end up in Irene's bedroom(What can I say, I like younger women)—but it was just too thick. That stupid freak Walter had to make the walls thick too, the bastard. I'll make him pay, you can be sure of that. Hell, I don't even know why I'm carving this into the wall anyway, but I like to think that I'm spiting him. It's a shame I couldn't alert Irene though; she's in just as much danger as I am.

'Again with that Walter guy,' Henry thought when he saw a handgun sticking out of the drawer. He frowned at it and then the phone began to ring. Groaning, he went and answered it.

"You damn telemarketers, how many times do I have to tell you-,"

"Henry, it's me Cynthia, where are you?"

"Where am I? Tch. Where the hell were you, biotch? And what's your problem, anyway, taunting me with that dope in the bathroom?"

"Dope in the bathroom? Henry, I wasn't doing any dope in the bathroom."

"Don't tell me lies!" Henry screamed into the phone, and Cynthia sighed.

"Whatever, just get your ass back over here. There's some weird shit going down."

"Tell me something I don't know." He pulled away from the receiver but then leaned back in. "Biotch." And then he put it down. "I should go get that gun; who knows if those dogs will want the real thing next time…" So, he acquired the handgun and then crawled back through the hole.

La…la la la! Intermission.

(Ding) Now continuing with your program.

The second Henry climbed out of the hole in the Women's restroom he saw a giant dummy of Cynthia hanging off of the stall closest to him. Around its neck was a coin. "Hey, I can use that for the turnstiles!" Henry took it, stuffed it in his pants, and then walked out and into the turnstile area.

"Great, this will only work for the Lynch Street Line… Wait a minute, lynch? Are we hanging people here?" As Henry was pondering this another dog crept up behind him and sank its teeth into his ankle. Henry cried out and kicked it away with his other foot. "You son of a…!" Henry shot it a couple of times and the dog fell on its side, wounded. As it was writhing on the floor in agony Henry approached it and stuck his tongue out at it.

"How do you like that, huh, HUH? You're not getting this shit today," he said while gesturing at his crotch. "Oh yeah, vote for Pedro… bitoch!" he said before stomping on the dog's groin as hard as he could. The dog died instantly, and when Henry lifted his foot he saw a mess of green slime covering the bottom of his shoe. "Euch, gross!" he exclaimed. He wiped it off as best he could with his sleeve and then proceeded through the turnstiles and down the stairs toward the subway platform below.

When he got there, he saw Cynthia sitting on a bench and smoking a cigarette. Her legs and arms were crossed, and when she dragged she blew the smoke in Henry's direction as he came towards her. "Where'd you get that?" he demanded. "Give me some."

"Sorry, I only found enough for me," she said slyly. "Besides, you left me here, so now you'll pay the price."

"Whatever." Henry sat beside her and snorted. "What are you doing?"

"Watching that ghost thing trying to get out of the subway car." Henry squinted and saw a white corpse wearing a beanie and casual clothing floating against the door of the car. It was reaching for them, but the door blocked it.

"Wow, what a dumbass," Henry commented, and Cynthia nodded.

"I know. Hey, let's get out of here."

"Whatever." They stood up and tried the door to the next platform, but it was locked from the other side. Henry sighed exasperatedly and looked around for an alternate route out of the subway. "It seems like we'll have to go through the subway cars to get to the other side," he told her.

"But that ghost is in there!" she protested. "It'll get us!"

"Don't be stupid, Cynthia," he said. "It wants your weed, obviously. If you give it to me"—he motioned at himself—"it'll leave you alone." He flashed her a grin, and she exhaled more smoke in his face.

"Better luck next time, bud." She entered the nearest subway car and Henry flicked her off before following her. Inside, the car was a mess. Newspapers and debris were scattered everywhere, and the car was damaged extensively. They stepped around the flotsam and went through the door into the next car, and continued this for awhile; the subway cars were all linked in some type of hellish labyrinth.

Soon they came upon another ghost-like-being wearing a black dress, and it was busy trying to open up this weird-looking, colorful box. Its hand was seemingly stuck in the opening of the box. "How stupid are these things?" Henry asked her as he walked over to it and flipped a switch protruding from the side of the box. It opened instantly, and the ghost's hand was freed.

"Damn it, Henry!" Cynthia said while slapping her forehead with her palm.

"What?" Henry inquired stupidly, and then he snatched up the coin that was in the box. "Wow, look at this coin. It's covered in some brown stuff." The ghost hissed and tackled him to the floor, trying to bite into his jaw. "Cynthia, get this thing off me!"

"Why should I?" she said while dragging. "It's not my fault you're so stupid."

"You whore!" Henry shouted as he pushed the zombie off and bolted into the next car, shutting the door behind him. He turned back and watched the shocked Cynthia with sick glee as the ghost came upon her. "How do you like that, biotch?" Henry taunted from behind the door. "How are you going to get out of this one, huh? You need my help, don't you, don't you? How about you give me your weed and I'll consider saving you!"

Cynthia gave him the finger and then kicked the ghost in the groin, and surprisingly it went down. Henry's brow went up at this—the ghost was seemingly a female—and then Cynthia broke the door down with another kick, and Henry jumped back. "You jerk," she said. "I could've died."

"Hey, how about you show some more gratitude," Henry responded. "I got bit in the ankle coming back for you, so I deserve something, you know? Like your weed."

"I don't think so."

"Why does looking at you—hell, even hearing you—have to piss me off so much?" Henry asked.

Cynthia flicked him off again and went on her way out of the subway car maze. Henry did the same to her while her back was to him and then examined the coin he found in the box. He shrugged and put it in his pants; he figured it might come in handy later.

Cynthia was waiting for him outside on the next platform, and they started for the nearest door when a dog ran out from around the corner and came at them. "Hey, look who's back," Henry said as Cynthia took this opportunity to slip through the door. "I killed your mate, you sick freak, and you're next!" He unloaded four rounds on it as it ran towards him, popping one into each of its legs with supreme accuracy. "Ha, I'm such a badass!" Henry exclaimed while kissing the barrel of the gun and walking over to the creature. "Maybe this'll teach you." He prepared to stomp on its genitals as he had done with the other, but a pack of four more dogs appeared and ran for him. Henry's eyes widened in surprise and he darted through the door, leaving the newcomers to feast on their fallen comrade instead of him.

"That was a close one," Henry muttered as he inspected the small room he was in now. There was hole in the wall like in the Women's restroom, and a red light in the ceiling's corner cast a horrid glow over its surroundings. Cynthia was nowhere to be found.

"That stupid wench just keeps on going wherever she wants," Henry complained to no one in particular. "She better not have gone through the hole… Oh man, but what if she did?" Henry sighed in silent fury and climbed into it.

La… la-la-la… Intermission.

(Ding) Now continuing with your program.

"Cynthia, are you here?" Henry called as he woke up in his bed again. She wasn't in his bedroom at least, and he thanked whatever gods there were for that. He crossed over to his living room and didn't see her, and he checked the laundry room for good measure. He saw the hole and a thought crossed his mind. 'Wait a minute, if I look through there I can look into Irene's bedroom… Sweet!' He crouched down and peeked into the peephole, and he saw Irene sitting on the bed, a broom in her hand and a duster in the other.

"What was I going to do with these again?" she asked herself dumbly.

"Something kinky, I hope," Henry mumbled under his breath, but Irene seemed to hear it.

"Huh?"

Henry immediately stood and zipped away to the door. The radio turned on by itself as he did so. "Are you worried about impressing your friends at parties?" questioned the voice. "If so, worry no longer! Show them who's the top dog with our new-," The radio shifted back to the white noise it emitted most of the time, and Henry shut if off.

"Damn radio. You turn on at the worst possible moments." Henry turned away and saw a red sheet of paper stuck under the crack of his front door, and he picked it up. "What the hell is this?" He started to read it…

…I'll be honest with you, I can take the chains off. There's a set of these massive pliers in the laundry room, but I decided it would take the fun out of it all so I'm not going to bother. Really, this has to be a practical joke, anyway.

I think it may have something to do with what I've been investigating, though. You see, there was this crazy crackpot named Walter something-or-another, and he just started killing random people out-of-the-blue. His roommate in college said he was probably too stoned to realize what he was doing, and he also told me the guy was constantly on a fix.

What he was smoking is beyond me, but he killed ten people in the span of ten days. I know what you're probably thinking, "A kill-a-day keeps the cops-a-away," but that doesn't make any sense. You know what I mean.

The guy even wrote his name on his victims with a purple gel pen. The first ten victims were marked with a number too, for example, the first was "121", and that's stupid but he wrote that. 121? WTF, dude.

I've written enough for today, though. I'm going to go visit the guy's grave, since he supposedly killed himself with a spoon. I know, go figure. Anyway, the only way to get out is to climb out the window, so I should go deal with that. TTFN.—Joe S.

"Pliers?" Henry left the memo on the coffee table and went to check. He scoured the entire room, yet found no pliers. However, his laundry was done, so Henry took care of that and then decided to go back through the hole and take care of his business with Cynthia.

La… la la la! Intermission.

(Ding) Now continuing with your program.

Once back at the subway Henry descended the ladder that was situated at the back of the room. He touched down on a wooden walkway of sorts, and below that the floor had degenerated into red, pulsing flesh. Henry bent down to poke it quickly. "It's all slick…" he mused as the two ghosts from before crawled out of the wall and into the corridor. Henry faced them. "Hey, how you guys doing?" The ghosts floated toward him with their arms outstretched and gnawing at the air.

"Hey, I don't have your weed," Henry said, tensing. But then he recalled how Cynthia had blown the stuff in his face that couple of times, and he shook his head. 'That stupid woman! She'll pay!' Henry smirked at the ghosts and laughed. "So sorry, guys, but I can't stay for a chat!" He ran past them and then down a set of steps to another door. Stealing a glance at the ghosts as they chased him he opened the door and found himself on another platform. The whole place was covered in rust and blood—Henry would continue to believe it was ketchup—like in his dream. He ran down the platform, mindful of the ghosts and their gravity-defiant ways. He passed by a vending machine and took the box of handgun ammunition that lay on it. He saw a subway car on the tracks to his right, and just as he was about to go and explore it an intercom sounded from above him.

"Testing, testing one, two, three… Okay, Henry, you there?"

"Cynthia, you damned bimbo!" Henry shouted to the ceiling, but she of course couldn't hear him.

"Henry, I found the exit, so if you want the weed come to the turnstile. You should hurry, too. This creepy guy's been following me and I think he wants it, but I won't give it to him… Hey, there he is! What are you doing here? Wait—Get that sock away from me! Hen-," Her voice faded into static, and Henry sighed.

"That girl can't stay out of trouble, can she?" He shook his head tiredly and saw a pair of escalators nearby. 'I can use those to get to the turnstiles,' he thought. From the subway car several dogs bounded towards him, and the ghosts were catching up. "Wonderful!" Henry exclaimed sarcastically before running like hell to the escalators. When he landed on them he turned back and mocked the things by sticking his tongue out at them. "Couldn't catch me, could you? Ha, you can't catch a badass! I'm still clean! You can't tempt me! I'll-," An arm lashed out at him and knocked him down the steps. His head was as sore as a mongoose, and he saw a human torso extending out of the fleshy walls, flailing their arms wildly. Henry gritted his teeth and loaded his pistol.

He unloaded several rounds into the monster, and when it was subdued it sank back into the wall, dead. Henry made a nasty hand gesture at the space and ran up the escalator, narrowly avoiding more of the creatures as they popped out at him. The escalator went up for who-knows-how-long, and when Henry was busy popping a bullet into a Wall Man's head the ride stopped and he tripped over into the room.

"Finally!" he said, and ignored the beanie ghost as it struggled out of the wall. Henry skipped up the stairs and out onto the other side of the King Street Line turnstiles. Littering the floor were various items, such as some lipstick and some cash, which Henry picked up without any thought. He didn't bother to think what may have happened as he turned to the door and found a plaque on it. The metal was colored mauve and some stuff was scribbled on it. In its center was a title, reading: TEMPTER

"Tempter?" Henry shrugged and stuffed the placard into his pants before opening the door and blinking at what was inside. "Ketchup" was everywhere, and in middle of the mess of papers and other things on the floor was Cynthia. Deep stab wounds were all over her body, and she glanced at Henry out of the corner of her eye with extreme hatred.

"What… the hell did you do this time?" Henry asked her while kneeling down next to her. "Anyway, I came, so where's my weed?"

"Here's your damn weed," she spat, and with the last of her strength dropped the cigarette in her mouth and swallowed with the greatest look of triumph on her face. Henry's brow furrowed with anger and he clamped his hands around her throat and shook her violently.

"You stupid fool!" he yelled. "Look what you've done! I won't be able to have it now!"

"That was the point," she replied tersely through the fit of coughing brought on by Henry's strangling of her. He let her head fall and stood up. "This was a pretty crappy dream…" she mumbled, and Henry gaped.

"You still think this is a dream? Cynthia, you're dying!" He stared at her for a moment. "…But there's till time! Sit up, I'm going to get that weed out of you yet!"

She laughed and then fell silent, her body stilling. Henry glared at her corpse. As he eyed her he noticed something written on the top of her left breast. He squinted a it and made it out: 1621. "What the hell does that mean? Eh, while I'm still here I might as well look for some more alcohol…" He exited the office and heard someone cursing below him. He descended the steps and spotted a man in a long, navy coat and khakis messing around with a vending machine. His long blond hair was tousled and disarrayed.

"Need some help?" Henry asked politely as the stranger turned to him. Covering his left hand was a sock with two black beads sewed into it as eyes. The man giggled.

"Oh yeah, Mr. Sock wants a soda, but I don't have any money, so I was trying to break it open."

"I have something right here," Henry told him, removing the coin from his pants. He inserted it and a can of cola swooped downward into the receiving tray. Something else came with it, and Henry took it and saw that it was a key. The tag attached to it said: Murder Scene Key lol

"Whatever." As he put in his pocket the man poured the soda over the sock.

"Do you like that, Mr. Sock? Is it good enough?" The man raised his hand closer to his head and he said, in a menacing tone, "Why yes, it was…"

"Why do you talk to yourself?" Henry inquired.

"I'm not talking to myself. I'm talking to Mr. Sock."

Henry shrugged. "Whatever. I'll see you around." He turned to leave through the hole, but the man hailed him.

"Thanks."

"…What? Oh, yeah, well, you're welcome." Henry left into the hole, and the man peered at the spot quizzically.

La… la. Intermission.

(Ding) Now continuing with your program.

Henry tumbled out of bed and heard sirens from outside. He ventured over to the window and witnessed an ambulance by the subway entrance. '…Is it Cynthia?' he wondered while leaving the room. The radio was on.

"Hey, dude, she has some funky numbers on her boob."

"Yeah, I saw them. Reminds me of that guy, Walter… something, a few years back. He would write numbers on his victims too."

"You think this is a copycat?"

"Maybe. There was one before, too, but we smoked his ass down by the tavern. I guess someone else took a liking to Mr. Walter's work, eh…?"

The radio went off, and Henry yawned. "Oh man, I need a nap… That whole thing was pointless; I didn't get any booze or dope out of it." He was about to lay down on the sofa when another crash came from the restroom. Groaning with annoyance Henry went to check. The hole had gotten larger, and rounder.

"...I don't think I'm still high… Well, might as well check it out," he said, and then reluctantly crawled into it…

To be continued…