Archive of Our Own ^beta

Once you enter Silent Hill there is no turning back. And you are a horrible goose.

"Honk?" the goose honked. Its fellow goose was gone. They'd come together, as they were wont to do, to have a good time in the village. To see what was going on with the citizens of the village. To get more treasures for their little lair. But now its fellow goose was not there. And the mist was suddenly much thicker. It had gone beyond mist, in fact, to a thick fog. The goose could not make out the ends of the street, let alone where its fellow goose had gotten to. It would have to rely on sound and a memory of the well-trodden path it and its fellow goose had made through the village on their countless adventures.

"Honk," the goose honked decisively, and it turned to go to its fellow goose's favourite spot, the tidy neighbour's garden where you could get a ribbon if you were a particularly clever goose (which both geese were).

There weren't a lot of people around, which meant no one was going to try to shoo the goose, which it had mixed feelings about. It LIKED being shooed, because it meant that its fellow goose could get work done while everyone was focused on it. A goose thought pinged in its little goose head that shooing would be detrimental right now without its fellow goose to run interference for it. The lack of villagers, the goose realized, was to its advantage right now. This also meant it could waddle without having to deal with petulant humans. Although where were they? They usually infested the place.

It stopped by construction beside the shops. No one there. Lots of tools. A radio playing some sort of human talking scratchily. A yellow hardhat. A bandana. The goose looked at these items, thinking to itself, thinking deep goose thoughts.

Then it stole the radio and waddled quickly away from the construction site in case a human showed up. Victory!

The radio went silent after some frantic waddling, which suited the goose. It hadn't much liked the sound of the human on it. Unpleasant. Not melodious, not like the noble goose. It would have honked to demonstrate, but its beak was full of (miniature) radio.

The tidy neighbour's yard was up ahead. The goose suddenly felt very silly as it peeked inside, remembering it was the MESSY neighbour who had the coveted ribbon. With a rueful huff, it turned to go break into the proper yard to see if its fellow goose was already inside.

"*HISSSSSSSSS*" went the radio. The goose dropped it with an aggrieved honk. That was worse than the human that had been on there earlier. It pecked the radio too, to make sure it knew how the goose felt.

A thumping, shambling of feet from behind. The goose looked up from its pecking and saw them. Unnatural creatures, twisted monsters, they looked like parodies of the villagers that lived in the village. But they had no noses on their blank faces, and the goose did not like that.

One lunged for the goose.

The goose lunged back.

Goose vs shambling horror, with the soundtrack of the radio hissing and spitting at nothing and the goose honking and hissing at horrors. The attempted ambush became an attempted retreat. The goose chased them, pecking at their heels, then turned and cut off the escape of another one. But the goose was but one goose and they were many shambling horrors and eventually the goose was left with no targets and the radio was silent again.

"Honk?" asked the goose to the world. "Honk?" No answer. It picked up its prize, the radio, now that it was behaving again and waddled to break into the messy neighbour's yard.

Well, its fellow goose MUST have been there. The decorations of the yard were smashed and red paint had been spattered on everything. But the fellow goose was gone already, which meant that the goose had to continue its search.

The next logical spot was the pub. Good for dropped breadcrumbs and stolen knives. Its fellow goose LOVED the knives. They'd actually begun their own private collection alongside the shared collection. The goose understood, it had kept the golden bells for itself.

"--end times--" muttered the radio as the goose waddled to its new destination. "--plague pit--" added the radio as the goose flapped up onto an overturned car to look around for a moment to survey the village. The goose gave it up as a waste of time; the fog was just too thick to really enjoy the view. It hopped down again as the radio mumbled "--the queen urges--".

It did wish the radio would shut up, but humans never did, really.

The goose noted to itself, without much interest, that the windows of the buildings it was passing were broken. It didn't remember doing that. It didn't remember doing anything that would have left those scratches on the doorways either.

It would like to break a window, so the goose put that on the mental to-do list. It always accomplished its goals. Always.

It paused for a moment to observe the smashed glasses on the road in front of it. They looked familiar. What they were doing in the middle of the road was any goose's guess, but the goose was pretty sure it hadn't done it. Which was, of course, proof its fellow goose had been this way. It looked at the broken blue frames a moment more, then continued on its way.

Halfway down the street, it realized why the smashed, abandoned glasses were familiar. They belonged to that little human it liked to chase. Definitely the work of its fellow goose.

Finally arriving at the pub, the goose began its search. It put the radio down first, then dropped its head back and let out an enormous: "HONK!"

"*HISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS*" went the radio. The goose disdained it, not even bothering to peck this time.

"Honk! Honk!" it honked, announcing itself to its fellow goose, who was either here or some OTHER place and the goose was determined to look for its fellow goose until it found it.

The door burst open. By burst, it didn't open suddenly, it shattered into wood splinters and glass shards. Something that looked like the publican, but with four arms and a lot of red, burst out and went for the goose.

The goose decided to run. Unfortunately it was a goose and not particularly fast.

The publican grabbed at it with all four arms. The goose kept to under the tables, diving from one to the other. Barely a step ahead of the publican-creature, the goose scampered and flapped and angrily honked.

With one last triumphant honk, it leapt into the air to escape over the fence when twisted hands seized it midair. What came out of the goose's beak was barely a honk, laced with pain.

The publican-creature was saying something. Something a human says. The goose didn't understand. Its sight was going black.

The publican-creature opened its mouth. And then -- it let out a bloodied scream and dropped the goose. The goose landed with a thump and shook its feathers quickly to right itself. Behind the publican-creature, wielding a stolen knife now with the publican-creature's blood on it, was the fellow goose. It nodded to the first goose, who nodded back.

They ran.

Eventually in their little forest grove, they looked over their treasures. A new knife. And a new radio, stolen for the last time in the escaping fray.

It had been a good day for the geese. They would have to go back tomorrow.