Disclaimer: I do not own Silent Hill, any related locals, characters or ideologies. Those are the work of Konami and Team Silent. Give them mad props. I just write fanfiction about this stuff. There are a few original characters, though those are noticeable enough.

Warning: blood, gore, violence, language, dark themes, morbidity, sexual insinuations, etc, etc. Anything warned for on the back of a Silent Hill box and then some. M for a reason.

Author's Note: Ok, I know people at least look at this fic. Why no reviews? Tell me what you think, people. Please. It is driving me up a wall. Silent Hill V is amazing. Like, I am so addicted. It hurts. However, so much SH playing and music listening has inspired me. And now none of my other muses will work. Oh well.

CALLING ALL SOULS

Chapter XI: Snowblind

The police were at school again. Most of them were in blue informs with radios on them, their guns missing from their holsters because of the no firearms policy at school. They were interviewing people, taking down information on little pads. Heather sat at the center of the class, head slouched in her hand as she stared at the blank chalkboard. The administration was still looking for a substitute teacher to cover for Mrs. James, until they could get someone permanent hired. So, until then, the police would be interviewing all of her classes, hopefully for clues.

Heather turned her head. There was one cop in a suit, and old, ratty tweed suit, off to the side of the classroom, watching everything. He was overweight, with dark bags under his eyes. Heather stood up, leaving her bag hanging diagonally on her chair as she approached him. "You worked with Detective Dennings, didn't you?"

The man looked up, surprised. He was obviously in his own thoughts. Grumbling, the detective gave a dismissive motion with his hand, trying to concentrate on something distant. Heather leaned against the nearest desk, crossing her legs. She was wearing dark grey jeans today, with a red and black studded belt. She had a matching screened tank-top on, plus her usual bracelets and an added choker. Heather had always liked the color red.

"He saved Miss James from a guy trying to mug her once. She told me that she was walking home one night and this guy attacked her. Detective Dennings was down the street, off duty, and ran to her rescue."

Glancing over at her again, the man actually pulled out his own small pad of paper, scribbling a few things down. He seemed somewhat surprised. Whether it was over the fact that Detective Dennings and Mrs. James had a connection, or that Heather noticed a connection, she was not sure. The detective before her was a bit creepy, so Heather really didn't want to know. In fact, she wasn't even sure why she was talking to him.

"Don't tell anyone, but," His voice was so low Heather could barely hear it. She had to lean in closer and strain to make out his voice, "we've found evidence that suggests they have both run away to the same town. It's not too far from here, Silent Hill. People disappear there all the time. They were both born and raised there, and according to what we found in another case, were both planned victims for the serial killer, Alan Colefield."

Heather swallowed nervously. The serial killer which had been making everyone in the city nervous, including her father (who wasn't from Silent Hill, so he was safe, a confusing point Heather noticed)? They locked all the doors and windows at all times because of that man, or so Heather thought, and that was why Heather couldn't just walk to school or take the bus like other kids. Well, since Alan Colefield died, her father had loosened up a little, but not much…

"I've got to get back to the station. Thanks for your help." He gave a feeble wave, walking out of the room, leaving Heather alone. Though she was relieved, somewhat, she wanted to know more. The detective seemed like a fount of information Heather was eager to tap.

So much for that chance.

Rolling her eyes, Heather went back to her seat, gazing half-heartedly at the chalkboard while trying to ignore the fact that it felt like the posters and photographs around the room were staring at her.

0 0 0 0 0

Water skimmed the surface of the concrete floor, Sydney timidly coming off the last safe stair, foot sliding into the water. There was something slicking the surface, glossy in some places while looking matte in others. It reminded her of mold. That thought had her stomach churning. She tried to ignore the gritty texture of the water clinging to her ankles, to the stench of it, like turned and rotten soup. There was no other way to the doctor's office than through the male healthy ward. Or at least she hoped there would be a way.

Lifting her flashlight, she shined the wide beam down the narrow hall, watching the ray tremble just as her hands did. The air was cold enough to make her shiver, a billow of white air flowing forth from parted lips. The water felt all the more disgusting since it was warm, giving it the feel of left-over soup still on the oven. Each step made a splashing sound, followed by the compaction, a sucking noise, of all the settlement beneath.

With how silent the long stretch of corridor was, each step echoed painfully loud, noise clinging to the still air.

Worst of all was the stench. Sydney clapped a hand over her lips and nose, pinching her nostrils shut in hopes to get it out. It smelled like someone had left their milk out for a month with the lid off, so it could stink up the whole basement, and put some rotten eggs next to it. She almost gagged at just the thought of what might be causing such a stench, forcing those thoughts out of her mind. Swallowing, she also forced back the bile, the bitter taste it left on the back of her tongue.

Slowly, she continued onward, throwing the beam this way and that, letting it dance across the murky liquid's surface, up the rust and mold streaked walls, across the squared ceiling with the dead fluorescent tubes, worthless, hanging features. Sydney was glad they did not work. With all the water, she'd probably have been electrocuted already.

With that thought in mind, Sydney quickened her pace. As much as she wanted to be out of this nightmare, having the power suddenly come back on would be catastrophic. She hadn't survived this long in hell just to have it taken away in the blink of an eye.

There was a split off in the hallway ahead. The sight of her flashlight beam not illuminating a spot of the wall, its remaining enshrouded in blackness, was the first sign of a branch off. She had to go straight. There was no way but straight. Sydney held her breath, teeth grating together as she tried to make her steps quieter.

No matter what, she couldn't turn off her flashlight. That was plunge her into utter darkness. There was no change of any other kind of illumination, and she was still not sure if they could navigate on sound alone. She was slow moving and noisy, so if they could… Sydney pressed her free hand over her chest, feeling the rapid beat of her heart on her palm, through her yellow sweater.

Slinging her pack around, Sydney fumbled through it, poking her finger on the tip of the knife. Cursing, almost dropping the flashlight, she finally managed to pull the knife out, clutching it close to her, starting forward again. That split in the hallway was getting closer, so much closer. She just had to go straight. The door on the other side, leading up to the men's ward, was not that far off. Just a little farther…

A loud splash came from her right. Sydney froze staring straight forward, eyes wide. She didn't dare to breathe, to move, anything. It was silent. The water stilled, murky surface becoming like tarnished but smooth glass. Slowly, carefully, she turned her head to the side, big eyes gazing into that side corridor.

There was nothing but still water.

Letting out a shaky sigh, she slid one foot forward. She stopped, shifting her weight forward, sliding the other foot, keeping as quiet as possible. Shifting her weight again, she pushed her other foot forward across the sludge encrusted floor, feeling something sharp brush the top of her food.

Stilling, she shined her light straight downwards.

There were four long strips of metal, like distorted fingers, right above where her foot was. She traced those back, to where they connected, bands of metal holding them together. Hooks held them into… skin. The flesh was mottled and swollen with moisture, looking long dead. She sucked in a breath through her nostrils, the putrid stench of decay catching in her nose.

It wasn't moving. She was afraid to move the light. All she could see right now were the metal claw-hands and a pale, disfigured arm reaching out from the murky depths. As much as she wanted to know what the arm was attached to, or if it was even attached to something, the fact that it might be asleep was too real a possibility to ignore. And if it woke up… those metal strips looked sharp enough to sever her foot, or at least get really close.

She couldn't risk it.

Holding her breath, she slid her foot backwards, edging around the claw, not daring even to let the air out of her lungs as she moved slowly past it. She kept her flashlight beam pointed before her, eyes wide, unfocused. Carefully, she went around the claw, continuing down the hallway. She could see the doorway not too far ahead. It was right there, so close, her flashlight beam growing larger and larger on it the closer she got.

Ripples traveled across the water, coming from behind her. Sydney paused, looking down, watching. There were more ripples, not from her now deathly-still body. Turning, she pointed the beam down.

The water erupted into chaos, metal claw-fingers exploding into the air, reaching for her in a flash. Sydney dropped the flashlight, it's landing with a loud splash, flickering and going out. Spinning, almost falling, she scrambled through the blackness, fumbling with the door. Its hinges were rusty, refusing to budge. With a cry, she slammed into the door, pulling back, pushing into it again when it finally budged, slowly creaking open.

Slipping in through the small gap, she slammed the door shut behind it, sagging back into the metal barrier with a shaking groan.

0 0 0 0 0

With a click, drag, click, drag, another nurse lumbered past the door, paying no attention to the one within the cell. Anna leaned against the wall, cheek resting on the degraded padding. There were no other sounds in the hall. The room was silent as well. That man, with the card, he was gone now. He had no doubt been able to make it out of the institution without any issues, any hindrance.

That was just the aura about him, anyway. If she could feel it, she was sure the creatures could too.

Sighing, she looked up at the door, dark eyes locking on the little window on its front. For a little while, the hallway had been noisy, after that girl's passing. Things had settled down. The cages were not so rattled.

Anna just hoped she was alright. She had been itching to get out of this cell for a while now.

0 0 0 0 0

His dreams were filled with Alessa. They were not pleasant dreams. Her body was broken and burned, bandages soaked with puss and blood, which would not stop, no matter how many times they freshened her wrappings. That was how Alessa had grown up, suffering, ever since that fire.

And in every dream, he lost her. She would vanish and he could not find her, and frantically he would search, every time to no avail.

Aleister woke with a jolt, sitting upright in his bed, breathing hard. A thin glaze of sweat was on his skin. Trembling, he sank back down onto the firm mattress, head hitting the pressed, old pillow. Though this was his room, his apartment, had been for years, it still felt like he was sleeping in an unfamiliar place, which his body, his mind, was loathe to allow. His best rest always occurred in the hospital room, or sometimes in the chapel room where Alessa sometimes stayed as well.

Her presence still lingered on the air there.

Slowly, the fog cleared from his eyes and mind, leaving his thoughts crisp and clear, ready to deal with the hell outside the safe haven of his apartment. His head lulled to the side, black hair pooling about his face, obscuring his eyes for a moment. Quickly, Aleister brushed the strands back, squinting his eyes at the clock.

It was early, before 5 am. Right on the hour, service would start in the chapel. Aleister did not want to take Mark there. Not yet. There was too much else he needed to do first, and with Mark's skills as a detective, he might even be able to locate the others he required for the ritual. Everything had to be perfect, and Aleister planned on using every resource he had to insure that.

Pulling on a robe, wrapping his arms around his torso, he went out into the living room, only to see that Mark was already awake. He was sitting, facing the bookshelf. Aleister could only see the back of his head, golden blocks mussed up by sleeping on them while they were still damp. Not that anyone would see him. Anyone but Aleister, at least.

Almost everyone else had left or changed by now.

"I want to go to the police station."

The voice was quiet, distant sounding. Aleister paused outside of the bathroom, hand hovering over the handle. Even though Mark had just showered the night before, he still looked like he had been through hell. There were still dark shadows beneath his eyes, which were bloodshot. His skin was grey in an ashen sort of way, showing through his golden tan. His hands were shaking.

Aleister turned away, going quietly into the bathroom.

The police station would be their next destination. He could probably unearth some much needed information while they were there, too.