As the hours past in the choking darkness, the creature began to recall, in broken pieces, that it was human. Or, at least, it had been, for it felt that somehow its body had been changed by the sickly power of the town into something more fitting to its deeper nature. The creature knew that it had been a girl, young and stupid, defiant of its mother's wishes although her word was God's. It- or, she, as it had then been- had been skinny and gawking, high-breasted and slant-eyed with a head of light, ruffled hair like feather-down. It had been pretty.

Not anymore.

The creature's torso was rubbed raw and thick with scabs, cold sores gathering in hardened lumps around its lips and nostrils. Stress had made its hair come out in clumps and its spine was warped from the angle at which it was held. Once, when the white visitor came into the room, it had left the door ajar so that meagre light trickled in, allowing the creature to see its reflection in the invalid cup. This had made it cry, sobbing even as the visitor poured the meat-juice down its throat. The visitor itself was no beauty; at least, in no conventional sense. Its body was, indeed, that of a lovely, curvaceous woman, but it walked clumsily, and its head was held oddly and wrapped up in rotten bandages that obscured its face. The creature guessed from its garb that it was supposed to be a nurse- a cruel irony. It looked away from the pretty legs under the short skirt and tried to remember its name. But it couldn't.

Lots of things seemed to trickle away like that, sucked away into the mist. It seemed as if all that existed was the bleak present and the ominous future, and occasionally the immediate past. The Pyramid Headed fiend had begun to visit her and afterwards it would always lie there, wracked with agonised spasms, and dwell on what had occurred. The creature had strange flash backs to history lessons it had been given as a child, the teacher walking the class around a museum and pointing out grim depictions of executioners on the walls. One of these had a caption beneath that told of a ritual death prepared for women who had sinned. They were stripped, it said, and caged like the animals their society perceived them to be, and the Executioner would perform the most grisly and public tortures upon them through the bars until putting them to death. The creature was frightened that this was the fate awaiting it, but it felt as if the sentence were already being carried out, prolonged to further the creature's torment and the Pyramid monster's relish.

For it evidently took immense pleasure out of what it did. On one occasion, it reached up with one arm as thick as a bull's flank and pulled the creature down so that it dangled pathetically upside down, its legs flailing apart. That done, the monster thrust one hand in the open flower between its thighs and violated it, kneading the black-bruised lips, and the creature had seen even from its awkward vantage point the solid black mass of a tongue protruding from under the helmet and a glob of saliva suspended on a silver strand. Another time, the beast had taken one of the creature's breasts in its fist and wrenched it so violently that for a moment it expected the tissue to tear away in its grip. Instead, it only hurt, and the creature's screams spilled where flesh and blood did not.

Often the creature wondered if it had really been so bad as to deserve the punishments being inflicted upon it, but it supposed that if this ancient Executioner saw fit to persecute it then surely it must have been wicked indeed. It knew that it had disobeyed its mother in coming to Silent Hill, the town she so vehemently hated, and perhaps that was wrong enough. Mother was sacred and holy. The church to which the creature had been dragged once a week had preached this above all over things. The Mother, Alessa, black-haired and beautiful, was just one of the many powerful matriarchal symbols the creature had come to know and worship. But what help were they to it now, in this dank prison. If it prayed, they would not listen, for it had sinned. They would turn their backs in righteous abandonment as the hulking beast heaved and thrust into it, deafen themselves to its begging words. They must be used to fallen followers fawning and beseeching; maybe even bored by them. For the creature could not imagine that nay deity with a benevolent heart could look upon a miserable wretch suffering as it did and feel no urge to aid it.

The creature understood now that it was, completely, alone. The white visitor and the Pyramid beast were all the company it had, and they were dreaded visitations indeed. It could stiffen against its bindings as the dreaded scream of the monster's blade came howling down the corridor, the somehow silent step of such a colossal beast striking it as somewhat surreal, but eerie. Its step caused some disturbance, some anticipating vibration in the air, but that was all. Just the metal-scream, and then the waiting.

How it hated the waiting,