A terrible black sky hung above him, far worse than the night in the amusement park.  This was an unearthly darkness, the kind of darkness that was not night, but pure black.  He could see clouds hang above him, rusted brown like a terrible smog.  The streets were no longer gravel, but vile red girders, rusted with old blood.  It was the same kind of flooring from the fairground, which did not help matters.  The door locked itself behind him.  There was no turning back now.
The radio also added to his problems with the faintest shivers of static in the air.  He knew monsters would be here, and for once in a good while, he felt prepared to face them, reloading his handgun to full capacity.  He still could not get over the fact that he was somehow capable of synthesizing ammunition, despite everything else he was experiencing.  The town was taunting him more than ever before.  He walked out towards Wilson Street, to face a new monster.
At first he did not see it, even with the flashlight on, because it was not a shambling atrocity like the last ones were.  This one frightened him for its altogether new appearance.  Firstly, it crawled like a spider, skittish with the speed of a desert gecko.  Secondly, it did not have a head, but a giant pair of scissors fused to its throat.  The blades stretched out from the neck, the handles apparently underneath the shoulderflesh from the way it snip-snipped the air.
It sensed for its prey, blind yet somehow able to hear or at least smell him.  The way it looked cautiously around itself, snipping like the gnashing of teeth, disturbed James even more.  He didn't dare try to imagine going toe-to-toe with such a thing using his own scissors.  He brought out his handgun.  The radio was going to alert it anyway, as he walked forwards.

The creature suddenly heard his prey come close enough, and scrabbled towards the raptor with a ravenous hissing.  James was trying to aim for the body, knowing that shooting the "head" would be pointless, but this also meant letting it come close.  The scissors snapped at the air, readily cutting towards the raptor as he quickly leapt onto the alley wall, kicking himself off of it to turn and fire a few shots at the monster's back.
It certainly wounded it, but not killed it.  This one was much more resilient than the last ones as it turned and leapt onto the raptor, slamming him into the ground.  The scissors dripped with darkened blood, drooling it onto him as it savoured the chance to cut deep into the lively scaly throat.  James however did not waste a moment in firing off his entire clip straight into the creature's abdomen, plugging it dead.
He did however have to be careful when it slumped, the blades sharp enough to cut him if they fell on him, keeping the body upright as it shivered and gurgled with a hiss.  When he was sure it was dead, he gently extricated himself from its body, before getting up and hurrying on towards the police station.  Already he could see the blue lamppost outside of it in the evil fog.
But then he saw two more of the scissor-headed creatures coming from the east.  The radio weakly whimpered, but he decided to turn it off for once, realising they could not see the light of his torch.  They were none the wiser, as he sneaked across the blood-metal pathway to quickly enter the police station.

While it wasn't a place he wanted to visit, it was nevertheless a good source of information for whatever had been occurring in the town.  The front desk was rotten with woodworm, the waiting room spoilt with tattered old seats and deadened plants in a pathetic attempt to brighten the place.  After reloading his handgun fully, with only 9 bullets left in it, he made his way through a door on the right of reception.  He could tell by the rows of cabinets that this was where the town records were, which were thankfully unlocked to allow him to browse through them all.
Names came to him from all walks of life, but none of them jumped out at him.  Delaney did not exist in the records, which both pleased and annoyed him.  He was pleased that it must have been a coincidence, and that the town was just fucking with him.  But now he had no idea what the hell to do.  But then he noted another name in the records
Campbell.  The files however were not correct, a possible error of sorting.  He would have brushed it off as such, were it not for the name of the victim on the sheet.  Delaney, Frank.
He soon found it to be much more than just that as he continued reading.

At 8:45pm on April 16th, Mr. Frank Delaney was found dead at the bottom of the stairs to his home.  Autopsy report shows that he was assaulted and thrown down the stairs, breaking his neck in the process.  Several witnesses were reported to be in the area and questioned.
Madeleine Johanssen, a neighbour of the victim who had no social contact with him.
James Robert Campbell, a bartender's assistant making deliveries in the area.
David Yardstrom, a local youth found scavenging for spare parts.
The evidence is rather little, owing to the swift sudden nature of the murder and the lack of DNA or anything conclusive.  Unfortunately, this may well become a case where gut instinct is required.  What's unusual about the crime is that nothing was stolen from his home or business, all of his associates have alibis and his records are clean.  There is nothing to suggest this was anything other than a random frenzied killing.

He had to admit that he had forgotten most of the incident itself, or at least tried to.  But now he was confused as to why the town was bringing it up all of a sudden.  It wasn't that important to him, even if Sarah thought differently.  He still remembered the whole thing.  Soon he heard voices from the other side of the reception desk.
Two ghostly images faded into existence, one coloured grey and the other a fainter brown.  It was himself as a teenager, with Sarah standing before him with furious eyes.
	"What the fuck were you thinking up there!?"
	"Wh-what are you talking about?"
	"You damn well know what I'm talking about kid, you KNOW what happened to Delaney!"
	"Why do you care so much about him!?  What about me!?"
	"I don't care about him jackass, I care about the other guy that YOU practically sentenced to jail because you conveniently didn't mention what you did!"
	"B-but if I told them what happened I could have gone to jail!  I didn't mean it Sarah, I swear to god I didn't!  Why won't you believe me!?"
He had replayed this conversation before, back when on trial under the eyes of his master Sir Glenn.  But now he saw it acted out before him, through the ghosts of his own mind.  He even lied to himself through his memory.  He didn't care about going to jail so much as his real reason.
	"Because I know you James.  I know what you did to that guy.  Whatever happened that night, you caused his death, and YOU should pay, not some other kid!"
	"But he's a punk like me, who cares!?!"
	"Exactly.  But he was just a kid who happened to be in the area who robbed the guy's body, but he had nothing to do with killing him...but you...you did something.  Why should that kid have to go to jail, and not you?  I told you I would cover for you only once.  I meant that."
	"But...y-you're supposed to look after me, I thought you'd-"
	"I didn't sign any papers for you kid, I do it because I care.  I don't want you turning into every single other punk kid your age who gets away with crimes on people who DON'T deserve it, especially when you do it out of spite and rage!"
	"FUCK YOU!  YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED, HE WAS AN ASSHOLE!"
	"For WHAT!?!"

He made himself silent, both in memory and in the present.  He could never tell her.  His fear had paralysed him.  He expected her to hit him, to berate him.  But not what came next.  Something much worse.
	"...I knew it."
	"Wh-what?"
	"I thought you'd have grown up by now...but you're just the same selfish little boy who tried to rob me...a stupid kid who thinks he can fight anyone and no matter what, that people would sympathise."
	"B-but I...I-i was trying to-"
	"Shut up.  I'm glad you're not my son."
	"Wh-what?!"
	"Cuz if you were, I don't think I could live with the fact that you're a cowardly little bitch.  I'm ashamed of you."
Tears sprang to his eyes once again.  The rage of betrayal he could never bring up against her.  The shock for hearing those terrible words that he would never imagine her saying.  He could take disappointment.  But not shame.  But he knew it was better than the other outcome.
	"But...S-s-sarah-"
	"Why don't you go back to London and die on the streets like you should have?  This city has enough people like you, just another pathetic little shit who'd rather save his own measly little skin instead of doing what's right."
	"Because..."  His present self finished the words he could never tell her.  "Because you're all I have left.  I...I didn't want you to turn into a monster."
Despite what he said, the memory of Sarah didn't hear him.  He knew the reason Delaney had been murdered.  It was all coming back slowly.  But he thought it had all been resolved.  Why was the town dragging it out of him?  He had even explained it all to her and she made amends for it.  Why tease him with such?
With his mind in disarray, he wiped the tears from his eyes and put the file back into his own folder.  Then he noted something else inside it.  A note.

	We need to talk, meet me at the Green Lion up Simmons Street
	Paul

	"Paul?  ...wait...the anteater guy?  The hell does he want with me?"
With nowhere else to go, he decided to take the offer, and headed back out of the police station.  The town was still warped into its nightmarish facade, the scissor-headed beasts still hunting for their prey.  They didn't even recognise each other, sometimes attacking their fellow monsters with sheer rage, a violent maniacal assault of stabs and cuts.
Heh...shear rage.  Yeah, that's a good name for them.
He let the creatures be, knowing he needed to save his handgun ammo until he could "make" more later, as well as the fact his rifle was too slow to handle them.  Simmons Street, according to the roadsigns that strangely still existed in this otherworld, was to the east of the station.  He hoped the directions were meant to be taken literally, heading north.  He expected the Green Lion to be a pub of some sort.  The closest he saw to it, was the Antique Green Lion, a tiny store nestled next to the mall.
	"An antique shop?  Seriously?"
He shrugged and headed inside, the creaky wooden green door opening easily for him as he headed down a flight of stairs.  The antique store was most definitely antique, or rather cluttered with useless junk.  Fine china plates, a grandfather clock that ticked no more, various miscellaneous toys and old gadgets which he didn't recognise, all of them were piled around the place in a seemingly random order.
He turned on the radio to scan the area.  No static.  He turned it off again as he confidently called out:
	"Hello?!  Paul?!  I got your message!"
	"James?"

It was definitely Paul from the bar, that smooth yet rough southern drawl calling out from somewhere.
	"Where you at, Paul?"
	"Behind the grandfather clock, you gotta push it aside, there's a door behind it!"
	"Kay!"
Looking over the ornate timepiece, he noted it had been moved recently owing to the scars upon the floor, slowly pushing it to one side.  A door laid behind it, through a rather bizarre crack in the wall.  James had never seen a door within a crack, but it was big enough a gap for him to squeeze through and open it.  He wondered how Paul managed to do it, being a bigger guy than he was.
The back room was far different than the front of the antique store.  Whereas the front had been cluttered piles in a grey drab room, the back was an immaculately tidy sinister room.  A single small altar, with a strange sign upon the wall behind a candelabra.  James recognised it to be some sort of twisted menorah, redesigned for some unholy purpose.
The main feature however was Paul, standing in front of the altar.  James gazed upon his long slender-furred nose, his clothes still that of the bar, but the candlelight made him appear somehow different.
	"Glad ya got my message."
	"Wh-what is this place?  What's that altar for?"
	"Juuuust a li'l local custom is all.  See, you not bein' from around here, there's a few things you should know about Silent Hill."
	"Uhh...okay?"
	"I told you a li'l about the cult an' the police an' all that?"
	"Uh huh?"
	"Well...there's part of their legacy right there."
He sweeped his hand to behind him at the altar.  James had already guessed, but he decided to keep polite, unnerved by Paul's presence.
	"Right...what exactly was their deal?"
	"The revival of the old gods.  Lotta people think they left this place.  Truth is, they haven't.  Haventcha felt them all around you?  Guiding you?  Ever found strange li'l messages around the place, as if the town isself were...leading you on?"
	"Y-yeah!  Ever since I got here!"
	"Well...that's the old gods right there.  And boy, you show a lot of promise lemme tell you that."
	"What?"
	"I see it in yer eyes.  That anger in you...that power to swallow yer fear an' revive a deep anger inside you.  That's the exact kinda quality we need in this town."
	"Well, I uh...appreciate it but I'm not stayin-"
	"Just hold on now."
He put out a thick clawed hand politely, gently pulling out a strangely crooked short sword.  The way it ebbed along the edge like a stream was disturbing in the shimmering candlelight.  He handed it to James, handle first.
	"What's this?"
	"A li'l practice run.  See, we need some new blood in this town, just to keep it going.  Lotta people left, not so popular anymore...so we gotta try somethin' new.  I live here after all, I know what this town really needs."
	"And that is?"
	"New blood.  Go on, take it."

James took the dagger politely, the serpentine blade a good 10 inches long, snaking from a black handle.
	"What do I do with this?"
	"All you gotta is look over there."
Paul pointed towards a hole in the wall.  A perfect slit for the dagger.  He wasn't sure what, but he had a very bad feeling about the whole affair.  He needed to ask:
	"What's through there?"
	"The new blood.  The exit for all this town's troubles.  Go ahead, shove it in."
	"Why don't you do it?"
	"Consider this a solid.  I did you a solid...now you do me a solid.  That's the way things work."
	"...w-well I...you couldn't think of something better-"
	"Don't."
The anteater snarled slightly with fierce eyes at the raptor.  A stern authoritative glare that made him cower slightly.  He slowly walked towards the hole in the wall, carefully pushing it in.  He only got about 2 inches in before he heard a muffled yell from the other side.  He quickly pulled the blade back.
	"Someone's there!"
	"Course it is, the hell you think I meant by new blood?"
	"Wh-wh-woah, woah, I'm not gonna just stab a guy in the back!"
	"Oh?  Really?"
Paul's tone was in disbelief at the words coming out of James.
	"REALLY?  After all the blood on yer claws, THIS is the one time you say no?  The one time you coulda done something with yer life?"
	"Wh-what the hell do you know?!"
	"I know everything James.  I know allll about this town and whut it's done to you.  You musta had a rough time, an' you can't hide that from yer face boy."
Now James was scared, the dagger shaky in his hand as the bartender berated him coolly.
	"Don't try to be all pious on me, yer a killer.  A real Jack the Ripper.  You killed plenty of fine people in your life-"
	"Bullshit!  Most of them were monsters, I only killed like, what four ACTUAL people?!"
	"Hah!  Whut did you kill here then?"
	"Wha-monsters of course!  Haven't you fucking seen them out there!?  Scrabbling and walking around like zombies?!"
	"...monsters?  Really?  Hhhha ha ha ha...they look like monsters to you?"
	"Wh-what?"
	"They look like monsters to you huh?  I never seen 'em, an' I bet you that nobody else seen 'em either, not you, not that cop, nobody."
	"Wait what cop?!"
	"Lemme ask you sumthin'...what do you see right now?"

Paul walked closer with a cruel smile upon his long snout.  James gulped dryly with growing unease.
	"I...I see you.  The altar behind you."
	"And whut do I look like?  Feel my hand."
He grabbed James' unarmed hand and squeezed it tightly, chuckling lowly.
	"How's my hand feel?  Warm?  Cold?  ...flesh?  Or sumthin' else?"
	"Wh-get off!"
He snatched his hand back, pulling away as he looked towards the slit, trying to wonder what the hell Paul was talking about.
	"All I'm saying is that you can't trust nothin' with yer eyes in this town.  Only reason you can trust me, is that I'm actually talkin' to you.  Now whut do you think is on the other side of that hole?  Sumthin' human?  Or sumthin' else?"
	"I...y-you got a point."
	"Then do it.  Push that blade in.  Feed the town an offering, an' you can finally leave."
	"Really?"
	"Mmhmm.  Go on."
James walked back up to the slit, with Paul beside him, smiling at the raptor.  He wasn't sure about all this, but it could well be a monster he had found and tied up.  Was it?  Paul's words had made no sense to him, and he tried to push the blade inside again, just enough to sharply jab the skin.  Another groan of pain came from the other side, one he was certain did not come from a monster.  He pulled back slightly, still uncertain.  Then he saw something on the dagger when he pulled it back.
A piece of a black suit.  A very fine suit.  His fears of what he was about to commit ran through his body hard, as he realised who could possibly be on the other side of the wall.  It was definitely not a monster.  James however grinned deviously, making Paul do the same.
	"You want your sacrifice?"
	"Mmmhmmm."
He quickly pulled back and sliced the dagger straight for Paul's throat, slashing across his nose as he fell back with a grunt of pain, blood dripping hard as he curled his clawed fists into furious insult.
	"You backstabbin' little punk."
Paul charged towards James, but he wasn't intimidated by an unarmed bartender.  Waiting for the right moment, he sidestepped to the left before stabbing straight for his chest, shanking him repeatedly with one hand while slashing him violently in the face with the other.  It was a messy uncoordinated assault, but it was enough to make Paul roar and choke with blood loss, one eye scratched out as the serpentine dagger slithered between his ribcage again and again.
The anteater shivered with a choking gurgle, blood running out of him hotly onto the floor in copious volume.  Within seconds, puddles thicker than paint began to form as he tried to lie down, trying to recover.  James gave him no opportunity, standing before him before sending him backwards with a booting kick to the face.
	"Last orders, bitch."
Paul stumbled backwards before hitting hard against the altar, falling with an agonising groan before lying on his side, wheezing desperately.  He clawed out at the air, panting with a shaky eye.
	"You...n-never...leave.  Lord of...dead...take me."
	"Shut the fuck up, you wanna see me kill someone?  Here, watch me."

He stabbed the dagger straight down into Paul's skull, ending his life with a single plunge to the hilt.  10 inches of wavy steel buried in his brain, his final gurgling chokes weakening as his eye rolled back into his head.
James sighed heavily, relieved he was able to not commit such an act upon a possibly innocent person.  He wasn't sure now of how to free him from the other side of the wall.  Then an idea came to him.  He went to the wall and shouted through the slit:
	"HEY!  Can you hear me over there?!"
	"NNNGH?"
	"You there, can you hear me?  I dealt with that guy who tried to kill ya!"
	"Mmngh?!  Mmm...Hnnm!"
	"Listen, I wanna get you out of here but I dunno how to get through there.  Can you move your hands?"
	"Mmmhh."
	"That a yes or no?"
	"Mmmhh, mm-mmhh!"
	"...shit okay, moan once for yes and twice for no, okay?"
	"Mmmhh."
	"Okay, are your hands behind you?"
	"Mmhhh!"
	"Great!  Can you move them to where you were getting poked in the back?  I'll try and cut through the ropes, okay?"
	"Mmmhh!"
Taking the dagger from Paul's corpse, he quickly cleaned it with the altar's cloth and hurried over to the slit, seeing some movement but not sure.
	"Okay, you're gonna have to trust me.  I'm gonna poke you very carefully in the back.  Wherever I poke you, you put your hands there and I'll see if I can cut you free, okay?"
	"Mmmhh."
	"Okay."
He carefully did the same as before, much more carefully than before until he heard the groan of discomfort from the stranger.  Pulling his blade back, he waited until the shuffling of hands was made, before sliding it carefully back.  Soon he felt something rub against the dagger, a creaky sound coming faintly from the other side.
	"Am I hurting you?"
	"Mm-mmgh."
	"Okay, I think I got the rope.  Can you feel me cutting the rope?"
	"Mmmhh!"
Success came to him at last as James sawed through the bindings on the stranger's hands, hearing the restraints snap one by one until he was cutting at thin air.  He pulled the dagger back and discarded it immediately.
	"You alright there?!"
	"Yeah."
A familiar cool-handed voice came from the other side.  James was sure he heard it before, but he wasn't entirely certain without a face.
	"Whoever you are, I owe you one."
	"Believe me," replied James.  "You don't.  Take care of yourself man."
	"You too stranger."
Feeling rejuvenated by his rescue operation, with strengthened mentality out of his goodwill, he stepped back through to the antique store itself.  Something however was out of place.  He wasn't sure what, but he could just feel it.  Then he noticed it, quickly to his right.  On an ornate desk, a strangely familiar one to him, was a tape recorder.  The way it stood, shining in a light seemingly from nowhere, it tempted him to come closer, like the spindle of a sewing wheel.
He didn't even need to turn it on however, when it suddenly flickered itself on the moment he stepped closer to it.

	"Yanno what I do to pricks like you?"
	"N-N-NO!  PLEASE GOD NO!"
The sound of a lighter clicking was accompanied by the tiny crackling of flames.  A voice struggled and panicked, restrained somehow as the sounds of rope and wood creaked against each other.  The fire started to spread and crackle more strongly, elicitng agonising screams from the male.  The wood banged harder as he screamed louder, writhing hard.
James was terrified, not because of his imagination running wild with the scene, but because he recognised those voices.  The other tape recorder, from Brookhaven.  The familiar female voice spoke in a mocking tone:
	"What's the matter?  I thought you loved sticking yer dick into something tight an' warm."
That same phrase came back to haunt him, somehow sending chills down his spine.  He had no idea what to think, shuddering horribly as the anguished cries continued.  The sound of a door opening was soon heard, and a new third voice came to make James' heart stop.  It was his own voice, younger somehow.
	"W-wh-what the hell's going on-"
	"HELP ME, OH JESUS CHRIST HELP ME!"
	"SHUT UP!"
A heavy metallic smack onto bone shut the male up, before the woman roared:
	"James, get back upstairs!"
	"Wh-what are you doing to him!?!"
	"I'm punishing him, what the hell do you think?!"
	"B-but what did he do?"
	"N-NOTHING, PLEASE HELP ME!"
	"I SAID SHUT UP!"
A violently loud click rang out from the tape.  James knew that sound all too well.  The hammer of a gun, a revolver to be precise, being pulled back.  The man started to weep, the pain finally getting to him as he allowed the fire to burn unabated.  Both the younger and older James were terrified now.  The female's next words were laced with venom.
	"He said it's nothin'...is it?  You call fuckin' a seven-year-old girl nothing?  DO YA!?"
	"N-N-NO!  A-AAAAGH!"
	"Damn right...and I'm gonna make sure you see justice."
	"F-FINE PLEASE S-STOP, I'LL GO TO PRISON, I'LL GO TO THE CHAIR, J-JUST PLEASE-"
	"NO!  Don't you understand you little kiddyfucker?  I'M the law around here.  Whatever I say, goes.  And when I say you go...then you go.  But not yet."
	"A-a-aaaa...oh GOD!"
	"Hurts doesn't it?  I bet it does...feels like a sexual disease or somethin' eating away at yer dick huh?  S'what you deserve you fuckin' piece of scum-"
	"STOP IT SARAH!"

The older James would have said it, if not for his younger interjecting a second earlier.  This wasn't the firm but loving Sarah they knew.  This was the other Sarah.  The one he would do anything to never see again.  He had tried to keep her hidden in his memory for so long.  Now the town was playing it out before him.  
	"What?"
	"S-stop it, let him go to jail okay?!  Th-this is...sick!"
	"SICK!?  You callin' ME sick?!"
The sounds of rushing footsteps and a struggle came from the tape.  He could hear his younger self whimper and cry out above Sarah's heavier breaths, before the door was slammed against something.
	"You want him to live?"
	"N-n-no!  N-no w-why would I-"
	"Then shut up an' lissen.  I...am the law here.  You obey me.  My customers obey me.  And all the little punks I send out to do my li'l errands obey me.  This is my duty to the city, to get rid of fuckers like him.  You know how long a child abuser can sit on death row, wasting air and food?"
	"N-no?"
	"Too long."
	"B-but y-you're torturing him!  Th-this isn't you!"
	"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU KNOW ABOUT ME KID?!?!"
	"N-NOTHING!"
	"Damn right.  Lemme get one thing straight."
The whimpering sobs of the pedophile could be heard faintly in the background, as the tape seemed to move closer towards Sarah and James, close enough to hear her snarling murmur.
	"If you EVER disobey me or try to tell me otherwise about what these kind of people deserve...I will kill you."
	"...b-but-"
The gun suddenly fired off, shot in another direction.  The man screamed in renewed agony, and James screamed with him, shivering and sniffling as Sarah said:
	"I'm not fuckin' kidding!  You're too old to be a kid anymore, you know that?"
	"B-b-but...S-sarah!"
	"DON'T you dare.  Right now at yer age, yer just another punk who I took off the streets.  Now..."
Another click of the hammer, pointed either at him or somewhere else.
	"You just run back upstairs, do whatever you want, and tell NOBODY about this...or I'll make you wish you'd never been born."
The tape cut off there and then.  All James could do was sit and weep into his knees.  He didn't want to remember what she did.  All the times he remembered with Sarah, all the laughs and love he had shared with her, fell in an instant within this memory.  He knew she had a great hatred for child abusers, and that was understandable.  But the lengths she went to, it terrified him.  Whenever she found one, it was the worst night for him, to see her wrapped within a fog of her own hate-filled grief.

But something was off about the memory.  He didn't remember Sarah saying something so terrible...that final line.  She would never say such a thing, even when he was being honest to himself about it, he never remembered her threatening him so terribly.  Was that his own fear's addendum?  Or was it the part of her he was trying to erase from his memory?
He examined the tape recorder, seeing a sticker at the bottom of it half-torn off.  The only word he could make out was SUN.  Confused and suddenly thrown back down nearer to the pits of despair, he stepped out of the store and back onto the streets.  The town however had a special trick up its sleeve, in the form of an earth-shattering roar.  His spirit immediately drained itself within that very moment.  The quaking of footsteps also did not help matters.
	"Oh...mother...fucker."
He could hear it coming up from the direction of Sagan Street, and realised that he was at a dead end near the Antique Green Lion.  The mall was closed so he had no other option but to head south directly, running down Simmons Street desperately.  The monster also attracted the attention of the Shear Rages, their scissors clacking along the ground as they at first approached the noise, before heading the other way in fear.
A monster able to scare other monsters.  Now James really was terrified.  The pounding of boulder-sized feet made them too much of a distraction for the blind creatures to even think of attacking, as he found himself near a store.  The Cafe Sun.  Strangely, it was open.  He remembered what the tape recorder had upon it.  He wasn't going to miss this chance to hide, and quickly dove inside to evade the Feral.