Silent Hill : Part 2
1 : 2 : 3
Obligatory disclaimer thingy: I suppose I should warn you that this recap will be full to the very brim with childfree references and childfree in-jokes. If you are unfamiliar with the childfree and what the term means in context there are a ton of sites out there for you to Google to your heart's content and educate yourself. Some of them even manage to get it right. If the thought of Harry Mason spending the entirety of this recap inside a grade school brutally shooting, maiming, kicking, and stomping humanoid creatures under three feet tall to the bloodthirsty cheering of yours truly upsets you, I recommend that you give this recap a miss and maybe view a few pictures of happy bunnies in a field of clover or something to calm your mind. If you are a parental unit and you ignore my warning and read on, only to find that my rampant disavowal of children offends you and you need to fire off an email telling me how I'll be shucking boiled eyeballs in Hell alongside Charles Manson and you hope my entire family gets Jungle Rot, just remember that all emails sent to firstname.lastname@example.org become the property of the site, and more importantly, property of the mailbag. (When we can update the thing - patience, Grasshopper) I know it may seem harsh, but I'm a big believer in spare the rod, spoil the moaning, gibbering zombie demon-child.
Now then, with that bit of business out of the way, for you five readers still grimly hanging on to see what wit and wisdom your evil, child-hatin', baby-skin wearing Auntie AG has to impart in this second and most anxiously awaited installment of Harry Mason's Horrible Adventures, you'll recall that last time we left Harry befuddled and slightly lost in the hallowed halls of the Midwich Elementary School, right by the handy dandy red journal save point in the infirmary. Harry's convinced that his beloved Cheryl went this way, and far be it from me to convince the man that there's nothing out there but a bunch of blood-thirsty little crotch demons who roam the halls hoping for the chance to give Harry an involuntary vasectomy with the precious little razor-sharp knives clutched in their darling little hands. Better invest in some frozen peas, Harry.
Outside the infirmary, Harry wanders around a bit as
I he tries to get his bearings. Things aren't helped with the low droning soundtrack music, but as a veteran of horror films, both classic and cheesy, I can overlook that relatively easily. Good thing, too, since right up from the infirmary is the reception area, and in the reception area are some "beat you over the goddamned head until you bleed" clues for Harry to find. No, really, they're written in blood. Spooky! They're also in the kind of disjointed, cryptic, pain-inducing poetry that mopey goth kids like to scribble in their notebooks in the hopes of seeming something other than the white-bread-and-wankst well-fed suburban kids most of them are. I know this, because as odd as it seems, I used to be one. So, in honor of my misspent youth in more ankhs and black eyeliner than was good for me, I will counter each of the following clues with a poetry rebuttal of my own.
Gold in an old man's palm.
The future hidden in his fist.
Exchange for sage's water.
Red lines in a drunk woman's palm.
Little kid schools are creepy.
That guy in the poster looks like Buster Poindexter.
"A place with songs and sound"
A silver guidepost is
untapped in lost tongues.
Awakening at the ordained order.
"A place with ranting and cursing"
Glowy green writing my guidepost
to nonsensical poetry puzzle clues.
The game designers laugh at me, the bastards.
"Darkness that brings the choking heat"
Flames render the silence,
awakening the hungry beast.
Open time's door to beckon prey.
"Darkness that brings the DTs"
My cursing fills the silence
awakening the pets to my delirium.
Why is the rum gone?
Armed with this information, Harry is now ready to go on. In the room just inside the reception area, we find a mostly pleasant waiting room just perfect for the litt'luns who patiently await their mommies and daddies to come and get them -- two couches, a coffee table, a pretty potted plant, handgun bullets, and some lovely artwork done by Hieronymus Bosch on a bad day. Harry collects the bullets, since as a parent, he's got to be responsible -- what if some child hurts themselves by finding the bullets? They could be scared for life! Besides, do you think I'm going to turn down free ammo?
|Perhaps Harry would prefer a nice Monet?
And now that Harry has seen all there is to see in the reception area, he moves on to the set of double doors that leads to the school's central courtyard. For some reason that I've never been able to figure out, the school planners thought it would be a great addition to put in a clock tower that could give Big Ben a run for its money if the wide-angle camera view shot is to be believed. Seems to me someone on the design committee was just dying to scream "I've got a great big penis!" to the world. In honor of them, and to appease my own inner grade-schooler, we will now rename the "clock tower" the "cock tower." You're welcome.
The clock housed in this preternaturally penisy tower has stopped at 10:00, according to the little blurb I now see. There is a door leading to the center of the cock tower, but it is locked at present. On the sides of the cock tower there are two indentations visible, one marked with a golden plaque that says "A Golden Sun", and one with a silver plaque that says "A Silver Moon." This is important. And haunting. Like slivers of broken glass shattered from a dark mirror into the filthy, broken recesses of my tortured soul. Oh, woe, the pain that my senior thesis has inflicted upon me. Will I ever realize that nothing on this torn, stained, and shattered cesspool we call Earth is as important as getting away from this rancid, vapid house and going to the half-off sale at Hot Topic? In other words, kids, it's time for me to re-read one of those little poetry thingies for a clue to getting into the cock tower. I'm sure we'll find out more about it in the other parts of the school, so let's move on.
Harry doesn't get too far from the cock tower before the handy radio starts crackling out static. Already accustomed to zombified family pets and flying man-bird things, imagine Harry's shock and horror when the otherworldly creature lurching towards him with malice looks for all the world like an adorable little chyyyuulllddd. Harry, would you be so cold, so cruel, so heartless as to perform an after-the-fact abortion on a misguided little tyke who only wants to cut off your feet and eat them? He's only a baby, after all!
Harry could, Harry would, and Harry is. The little crumb-cruncher gets in a sucker-stab to the knees while Harry wrestles with his conscience, but in the end, the person holding the controller gets the final say, and Jiminy Cricket I'm not. Blammo! And have a couple more while you're down, you demonic little shit. The last thing I want is some utburd getting back up from a .38 caliber handshake.
Once the dastardly deed is done and Baby Stabbykins is no more, the soundtrack music changes to something ominous and faintly reminiscent of Jason's theme from the "Friday the 13th" films as if to underscore the gravity of what Harry's just done. Don't worry, my brave Mr. Mason. By the time you and I have finished our business in Midwich Elementary School, you'll be well accustomed to watching the sprogs splatter in the hallway. In fact, no sooner does Harry get inside the doors at the other end of the courtyard than Baby Stabbykin's brothers approach with a moan, hot for vengeance and stabbity retribution. Sorry, kidlets. Never bring a knife to a gun fight.
With his first tastes of infanticide under his belt, Harry roams the halls searching classrooms for whatever it is he's looking for. Along the way he stops off for a few health drinks, more bullets and must battle his way through more angry snotlings hot on his heels and thirsty for blood. Stopping off in the second floor boy's bathroom earns Harry (and me) one of the little "surprises" the Silent Hill game designers so love to throw in for their players. I have to admit, they are pretty damned effective if you're not ready for them. In my first play-through of the game I thought I'd be all cool and play with the lights out, like everyone said to do. That was fine until the first time I came in this damned bathroom. After that, I kept the goddamned lights on and my Auron body pillow firmly by my side, just in case I got scared again.
Inside the locker room there's another surprise. One of the lockers is rattling. Now, if I were Harry Mason, thrown into a shadowy netherworld where my darling daughter had toddled off to an uncertain fate in a school populated with armed child-zombies, would I be so quick to loose whatever demonic presence lies in wait in this rattling locker? I would not. However, Harry, as we have learned, is remarkably stupid when it comes to these things, and he heads over to the latch-shaking locker without a second's hesitation. Perhaps he hopes that with his blocky ass and trim physique he's won a not-well-known weightlifting competition elsewhere and phone numbers from hot guys and girls are overflowing the locker, hammering on the walls in their desire to be read by him. Throwing all caution to the winds, Harry opens the locker to find -- a cat, alive and seemingly unharmed. A cat that looks remarkably like my cat Ed. See, Harry, what did I tell you? You've unleashed a veritable demon from hell! Fetch the Pounce treats if you hope to live to see another day, human, the cat seems to say, before flouncing off to wherever it is evil demon kitties go. In Ed's case, it's usually in the knee space just under my husband's desk.