Robin Carter, horror novelist

He'd had nightmares for as long as he could remember. And not just simple bad dreams, either. The kinda shit that made it hard to sleep. He'd wake up screaming, drenched in a cold sweat. Sleeping medication just made it harder to wake up from the nightmares. Bags under his eyes, pale skin, stubble, and a brooding air all were the result of his nightmares.

But he certainly wasn't poor because of them.

The nightmares were so vivid, he decided to start writing them down. A talk with a publisher and next thing he knew, he was a bestselling horror novelist. Book signings, interviews, even a couple movie deals... and a TV mini series he'd rather forget. The nightmares weren't stopping, but damn did he put those freeloaders to work.

At least, at first. Eventually, while the nightmares continued, the ideas dried up, as did the drive to write down what few good ones he had. Wanting to get away from it all, he came to the sleepy resort town of Silent Hill, Maine. He paid upfront for a year-long stay at the Lakeview Hotel and locked himself in his room with his laptop. He explored the lake and other attractions, hoping for his muse to find him. He'd been in Silent Hill for a month now. It was June and summer had just started.

As he pulled himself out of bed, he rubbed at the stubble on his chin. Shave today? Nah.

Not bothering with a shower, he threw on some cologne and deodorant, then got dressed. He always did have mostly black clothes. Still, he liked to contrast his messy hair and 5 o'clock shadow with a tie and trench coat. In his trench and pants pockets, he put his typical everyday belongings.

Wallet, phone, keyring, sunglasses (in a case), notepad, pen, engraved lighter, pack of cigarettes, Swiss army knife, moist towelettes, and most importantly, his piece. Yes, he was licensed to carry it. Yes, he was trained in its use. No, he wouldn't leave without it. He had his reasons.

As he walked down to the lobby, the old woman at the front counter glanced at him. "Good morning, Mr. Carter! Heading out again?"

"Yeah, just for a smoke on the front porch," he dismissed. The old woman just nodded. He'd never bothered to learn her name. He wanted to see if he could go the full year without hearing or reading it. So far, so good.

He walked onto the front porch of the Lakeview Hotel, gazing out at the street and lake. It was morning and the mist had already settled for the day. Sighing wearily, he pulled out his pack of smokes and pulled one out, moving to grab his lighter.

He was interrupted from lighting up, however, when he caught an odd sight.

A girl was cycling by on the road between the hotel and lake, when she completely wiped out in a way you typically only see on funny video compilations. She was riding along on her bicycle, when out of nowhere, the front wheel caught on nothing, the back wheel went up, and the girl went flying. She landed right on her front and skidded forward.

...She wasn't getting up.