Silenthill - Tumblr Posts
Day 29 of #inktober2022 is #uhoh Title: “It Okay… it’s just a Dream” Another artwork about my family but this time it about my cat, and how I imagine how he see me and his family around him. I drew him as Henry Townshead from silent hill and the family as those monsters from the series. Since my dad do surprise him by hugging him like how a grandpa does almost like pyramid head. Hope you guys enjoy my artwork today. #inktober #inkart #inkaddict #halloween #inkartist #2022 #drawlloween #drawlloween2022 #drawthisinyourstyle #drawtober #drawtober2022 #illustration #illustrator #artto #srt #art #artistsoninstagram #artistsupport #silenthill #cat #monster https://www.instagram.com/p/CkUfVqmtc6I/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
Day 29 of #inktober2022 is #uhoh Title: “It Okay… it’s just a Dream” Another artwork about my family but this time it about my cat, and how I imagine how he see me and his family around him. I drew him as Henry Townshead from silent hill and the family as those monsters from the series. Since my dad do surprise him by hugging him like how a grandpa does almost like pyramid head. Hope you guys enjoy my artwork today. #inktober #inkart #inkaddict #halloween #inkartist #2022 #drawlloween #drawlloween2022 #drawthisinyourstyle #drawtober #drawtober2022 #illustration #illustrator #artto #srt #art #artistsoninstagram #artistsupport #silenthill #cat #monster https://www.instagram.com/p/CkUfVqmtc6I/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
The Silent Hill Shaina Tranquilino October 15, 2024
The sun was sinking low, casting long shadows over the dense forest that surrounded the base of Silent Hill. Few locals dared to walk the trail that circled its base at dusk, for as long as anyone could remember, whispers echoed from the hilltop during the dying light. They weren't loud, but clear enough to unnerve even the boldest soul. "Turn back," they would say, in voices that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere.
Ben had heard the stories but dismissed them as nothing more than local superstition. He wasn’t from the small town that bordered the forest; he was an outsider, a hiker passing through, seeking solitude and challenge. He enjoyed proving myths wrong, finding in them only the fragile remnants of human fear. So, when the old man at the tavern had warned him about Silent Hill, he only laughed.
“Don’t ignore the whispers,” the old man had said. His voice had trembled in a way that made Ben almost uncomfortable. Almost.
“I’ll be fine,” Ben had responded with a grin, waving off the advice like he had heard it a thousand times.
Now, on the trail that wound around Silent Hill, dusk crept in like a slow-moving fog, draping the forest in muted colours. Ben's boots crunched on the gravel path, each step a lonely sound in the growing silence. The air grew cooler, heavier, and the wind rustled the leaves in a way that seemed offbeat, unnatural.
As he rounded a bend in the trail, the first whisper reached him.
"Turn back."
Ben froze mid-step. It had been soft, barely a breath, yet unmistakable. He looked around, eyes scanning the dense trees. There was no one. The forest was still.
He scoffed, shaking off the unease that tickled the back of his neck. Probably the wind, he thought, moving forward with renewed determination. But a few steps later, it came again, a little louder this time.
"Turn back."
He stopped again, his heartbeat quickening. The voice sounded close—too close—but still, there was no sign of anyone around. The trail was empty, the woods quiet. Ben frowned and continued walking, though his pace had slowed, his senses now heightened.
Then, more voices joined.
"Turn back," they whispered in unison, like a chorus carried on the wind.
He stopped cold. The whispers were no longer distant or vague; they seemed to come from the ground beneath his feet, from the trees themselves. His pulse pounded in his ears, and despite himself, a cold sweat began to form on his brow.
"Turn back," they repeated, insistent, urgent.
Ben spun around, expecting to see someone—a prank, perhaps, kids trying to scare him—but there was nothing, only the fading light of dusk and the looming presence of Silent Hill.
But he wasn’t the type to turn back. He pressed on, forcing his legs to move, though the unease crawled up his spine like icy fingers. His breath came in shorter bursts now, as if the very air had thickened with the weight of those disembodied voices.
The whispers grew louder, overlapping one another, coming from every direction.
"Turn back… Turn back… TURN BACK!"
He stumbled, his foot catching on a root, and for the first time, fear licked at his thoughts. His bravado cracked. He looked up at the hill, its silhouette darker than the encroaching night, an unnatural shadow blotting out the fading sky. It was then he saw it—movement, just at the top. A figure, standing still, watching him.
No. Not watching. Waiting.
The whispers stopped all at once, replaced by a thick, heavy silence that pressed on his eardrums, muting the world around him. Ben’s mouth went dry. He couldn’t move, couldn’t tear his eyes away from the figure that seemed to glide down the hill without moving its legs. It was tall, impossibly tall, its limbs thin and elongated, too long to be human. As it drew closer, Ben saw that its face—or what should have been its face—was a void, a featureless blackness that sucked in the last of the light.
The thing extended one of its arms, the limb bending unnaturally, almost serpentine. It pointed directly at him.
Suddenly, the whispers returned, but now they weren’t warnings. They were something else.
“He didn't listen,” they said in a soft, mournful chant. “He didn’t listen... He didn’t listen…”
Ben’s legs moved, but not by his will. He found himself walking, no, running—away from the hill, back toward town, his heart hammering wildly in his chest. The thing didn’t follow, but its presence lingered, a suffocating weight pressing down on his every breath.
By the time he reached the town’s edge, the sun had vanished completely, and the whispers had faded into the night. He stumbled back into the tavern, breathless, drenched in sweat, but alive.
The old man was still there, sitting at the bar, his eyes knowing, sad. Ben collapsed into a chair, shaking, his mouth struggling to form the words.
“I… I didn’t believe you.”
The old man gave a slow nod, his gaze distant. “Few ever do.”
Ben looked out the window, toward the dark silhouette of Silent Hill, a shiver running through him. He could still hear the final whisper, echoing in the depths of his mind.
"Next time, you won’t escape."
And he knew—there would be a next time.