#THANK U TUMBLR USER HEATHERCHASESYOU YOU ARE SUCH A FUCKIN LEGEND

[partyinthemysterymachine]

I'M CURIOUS AF WHO ARE THESE TWO MONSTERS NEAR POOR SCARED HARRY? 😳😳😳👀👀👀

SHAKES AND VIBRATES

oh!! oh you wish to know my monsters?? u wish to hear GOOMT's monsters?? WELL!!!! ha ha ha OOOHHH

OOH I'M GLAD YOU ASKED!!!

(no rly bless u, ilusm, thank u for asking and ur vested interest, i'm REALLY SUPER appreciative ❤️❤️❤️💖💖💖🥚🥚🥚🥚🥚)

and ofc, since u know i gotta, here is the obligatory link to my Harry/James glacial slowburn, Get Out Of My Town, and GOOMT’s corresponding blog for updates, aesthetics, art, and all that jazz!

NOW KEEP IN MIND: these are only descriptions of the monsters in the full picture i did here. there are others in the monster cast too, that are LOTS of barrels of fun, and VERY intricate and intriguing in their own way, just as the ones mentioned/following.

(the picture itself is a part of the GOOMT actor AU, where it’s all just a show, folks! (consider it to the likes of the Silent Hill blooper reel, which we were ROBBED OF in later games >:( 🔪 @ konami 5ever) and you can find its tag here.)

CONTENT WARNING: descriptions of child death, James Sunderland

JAMES SUNDERLAND 

James Sunderland is a stupid little idiot weasel and conduit of Silent Hill. he has so many problems and is not going to do anything about it because he’s a stupid and depressed little wanker who doesn’t have any rights, not that he ever did in his life. 

after the events of Silent Hill 2, James pitched himself into the lake but the town wasn’t gonna let him off easy. it had plans, and needs, for James. our boy here crawled right out of Toluca Lake after haphazardly (and illegally, but whatever; who’s gonna give him a ticket? .. yeah that’s what i thought) parking it in its depths and has remained in South Vale ever since. James sure darn well tried, but he cannot escape through death at his own hand, or otherwise. in fact, the monsters he (and we) have come to know and love have gradually become disinterested in him.

(as for Pyramid Head? huh! well, it’s weird; James hasn’t seen him around in quite a while.. hrm.. really gotta wonder what’s up with that.. ;3c )

what it means to be a conduit of Silent Hill, however, is a little complicated; but the baseline is that he’s Silent Hill’s little battery pack. it needs him and through fun time psychological (and physical, now and again.. but the monsters don’t wanna play anymore, for some reason..) torture, James does what he does best and wallows a sure hell of a lot, thus accumulating nutritious and scrum-diddily-umpious negative power for the town.

oh 👂 you ask, “and for what does it need it, and why James?” great question!

wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy?? ;) but you can read about it all riiight here, babey!!

ok ok jk jk (sorta lol) (bc i mean come on. ISN’T he a monster, tho......? ....hrrmmm hmm hmmmmm........ sources point to yes, if SH2 has anything to say about it, LOL)

let’s ACTUALLY start with my HONEST personal favorite:

THE MEMORY OF HARRY

(this monster was very aptly named by a good friend of mine - hi Gospel! - and so credit must be given where credit is due.)

ART BY capitán solsikke

(uncertain of where solsikke is keeping their public art contacts/social media now, so solsikke, if u happen to see this, pls drop ur deets so i can link back to u pls :< pls..)

FURTHER NOTE: to reduce the long post scrolling and bc tumblr’s image insertion format is horrid, i’m going to put additional art/links to the GOOMT blog posts for Memory of Harry, bc y’all REALLY gotta see the actual faithful renderings of him i also commissioned from capitán solsikke

the Memory of Harry first appeared at the end of GOOMT’s Chapter 27: Yeah, Me Neither. his description is as follows (and ADDITIONAL NOTE: Harry is, GOOMT-canonically, left-handed):

A lean man teetered on exhausted legs. Because his entry only allowed them to view him from the side, from that angle they saw he wore a brown leather jacket discolored by smoke stains and was torn at the shoulder. The jeans on his legs were tainted and ratty, and his shoes only held together by determination.

From what could be told of his profile, this man’s face had retained most of its features, despite the crusty, black skin covering every inch. His dark hair lay flat on his head, save for a wispy few strands that fanned loose over his brow. Misshapen scarring created a thick, blinding patch over his visible eye. And lastly, the reason his nonstop weeping was muffled was due to a mouth sewn shut so many times that it was replaced by nothing but a bulky, knotted mask.

But this visage was nothing compared to his cargo. In his hand he held a smaller one attached to a thin, tiny arm, of which was connected to the raw and burned corpse of a little girl. She was on her belly, her head hung like a sack of sand between her shoulders, obscuring her face, and her stringy, oily black hair dangling and swaying with every move the man made. On her body was a tattered blue dress, perhaps once long-sleeved as suggested by the remains of ripped fabric at her elbow, and black shoes over white socks patched by dried orange blood and char. Wherever she was forced to go, she left a wet streak of black and crimson in her wake.

James scrutinized this gruesome new monster hard while it shuffled directionless and wracked with demoralizing sobs. It didn’t seem to know they were there and moved at such a slow pace that James figured they were in no immediate danger. He looked at Harry for guidance.

Harry, however, was in no state to do anything but remember how to breathe. His face was contorted in grief and oddly, recognition. James eyed him, somewhat disturbed by it but moreso uncertain, then took his stare back to their visitor.

The victim of a fire unknown changed his direction, somehow having noticed they were there and faced them. Wherever it could be seen, his skin was indeed blackened, cracked, and flaking like bark, and revealed that both of his eyes were blindfolded by the scarring. Beneath the leather jacket, which sported a broken replica of their flashlights, was a sweater vest that bore a royal blue color somehow notable under the charcoaled damage. It was frayed at the hems and layered over a shirt that was once white. But now that he had confronted the resident and veteran full on, James could have never been prepared for what brought it all together:

The bereaved’s left hand which, until now, had been hidden on his other side, was not empty - and never could be. His arm hung lifeless and his fingers welded, forever clutching, a long, rusted, and bloody steel pipe.

James’s lips parted, and his heart dropped like lead straight through the floors.

Neither moved, and the man, at his snail’s pace, sought to meet them. The next garbled cry caused Harry to twist his bludgeon so hard in his white-knuckled fists that his arms briefly trembled. Each step drew the walking corpse a little bit closer, and still, they couldn’t find their feet. With the pieces having fallen together, the implications of what was before them pulled the ropes in James’s stomach tight enough to make him vaguely nauseous.

James heard himself utter a whisper of his companion’s name. His voice seemed to shake Harry out of his stupor, and in time to choke back sob of his own before it began.

He didn’t even feel his vocal cords nor his tongue move when he spoke again. “Is that..”

“It’s me,” Harry said thickly. “Yeah. That’s me.”

===

he was, considering his importance, intended to be used sparingly - and he is. this monster is (thus far, and understandably,) Harry’s least favorite monster, lmao. Harry would really rather this guy Didn’t, but hey - ain’t nobody here that’re gonna let HIM call the shots any time soon!! 

the Memory of Harry is an extremely foreboding warning and tale on two legs. he is also 100% capable of ruining Harry’s day in a pinch, just by existing. 

(Harry really doesn’t like to think about him.)

CRYING, BURNING WOMAN

(who is taking a moment out of her day to T-pose to get her point across; and of whom has not yet been properly rendered in art form BUT I’M WORKING ON FIXING THAT 👀 @ all local artists with commissions open)

this monster tends to travel in packs of two or more. she’s first seen alone, and is the debut monster in GOOMT’s story, in Chapter 5: Stop Stopping

From the fog emerged a staggering, loose-limbed creature that was closer than either of them had anticipated. It shuffled on buckled legs, its ropey arms swinging carelessly in the momentum. The head drooped on its neck, masking its face from everything but the asphalt, and they ought to be grateful for it. The entirety of this abomination was ravaged in sickening swirls of exposed muscle, black rot eating away at its flesh, and raw, peeling skin. Like most of the hell creatures in Silent Hill, it was an impossibility. The thing moved as though it was treading through tar, but these two were wise to the fact that that shouldn’t be undermined.

The stench of it reached them as soon as they saw it, triggering bile washing up Harry’s throat, and gritted disgust on James’s face. It smelled of charred meat forgotten in an industrial oven fueled by sulfur and was heavy with the unmistakable odor of wet, moldy clothes. Every breath it took sounded labored and painful, and vaguely feminine. In its wake were slicks of thick blood, and if they dared to be any more observant, flung drops of blood from its stiff fingertips as the arms swayed.

she’s seen again, in Chapter 10: Turn Around, Look At What You See

The smell reached them. It was the same they’d experienced before: burnt flesh and moldy clothes. Harry remembered what she looked like, how her arms swung and her spine could barely support her. Her flesh had been peeling, burnt to the bone in some places, and her head hung to conceal her shame. It sounded like there were more than one of these tortured women - perhaps two or three. 

and in Chapter 11: The Pocket Travel Guide To Silent Hill, James reflects upon them - and one other.

There were the crying, burning women, and the creature made of static and fumes. The former were forever smoldering, blighted by singed holes in their baked flesh, and dripped black, acidic ichor. Some were bald, their scalps incinerated, and others had long black hair that was both wet and decorated with kindling flames. When they staggered, their faces were obscured by the way their heads hung on broken necks, and when dead, Harry and James rolled them over to unearth the fact that their eyes were blinded by melted skin and their mouths silenced by a red square made of steel. How their screams were audible from behind the plates, they didn’t know. Their bodies reeked of gasoline and scorched wood. 

===

(sensing a pattern, here? >;) )

now in that, there’s mention of a “creature made of static and fumes”. she is not pictured, and has a different appearance - and she’s a radio mimic. the radio (huh.. radio..... what’s going on with that radio.....? is it broken...?? hrm. better take it anyway) mimic.

as you can imagine, she’s also one of Harry’s beloved favorites. ;3c

and finally, however quite (so far) unfairly depicted and appearing MUCH later into the story:

THE LOST BOY (1 of 2)

his (and his better(?) half’s) first appearance comes in Chapter 54: Touché

And before one could say “knife”, galloping, meaty claps on vinyl tile heralded the proper, and fashionably late, introduction of the quadrupedal couple. Upon emerging into the artificial headlights, however, they recoiled. At once, and reminiscent of their earlier behavior on the security monitor, Harry and James watched them volley apart. Furthermore, their emotions seemed to be unchanged from the scene with the girl in the corridor.

Demonstrating that behavior in person sowed the seeds of interest, for as intimate as they seemed to be, they also showed signs of having a mysterious, innate fear of being seen together. The predators chose their quarry and took sides on an archer’s bow. During their slow, deliberate advance, they verified the surmised size discrepancy as correct  - and the larger made James its target.

Its hunched skeleton made it hard to decipher its entire build, but anyone could see that it boasted the hallmarks of an athlete: lean, sturdy, balanced, and if it stood on its legs, would probably surpass the six foot mark. In contrast, its partner, who had business with Harry, posed an all around average height and body type. As far as fitness went, this was one that strongly hinted it preferred the bleachers, as there was barely any muscular definition on it at all.

Other than that, the pair’s bodily design was nothing special. Moist and raw burns covered their unpalatable topography from head to toe, mapping out ice cream swirl streets hued in apricot and ripe peach, and pronouncing the sewage brown lagoons dotting them like Dalmatians. Their figures were ugly to be sure, but they weren’t the focus - their faces were.

At one side of the mouth, a necrotic, flat, fabric string vertically secured the starting base of a pattern. It was a simple motif, too: laced shoes. Criss-crossing over the lips and tunneling north and south through septic punctures ringed by crystalized pus eyelets, the strings wove impenetrable diamonds all the way to the other side, triple-knotted in gunky yellow paste, and the uneven ends left dangling. Once upon a time, these mouths must’ve had something to say, or needed to say; but none were permitted to listen. They, like all other fiends, were victims of silence.

Harry and James didn’t much care for the trendy, stringent enforcement of ‘silence is the best policy.’ A while ago, Harry, at least, began to suspect that there was significance behind each individual, unique means; granted, the allegation seemed like no-brainer. All aside, the two here helped build his case.

He’d chew on it later.

Two slanted holes pretended to be a nose, and above them sat two anomalous eyes.  One visualized the world through an eternal squint, the eye semi-obscured by a grafted skin bandage. The second, in juxtaposition, told further tale of torture. Stapled to brow and cheek were the upper and lower lids, stretched beyond capacity to plate the living, twitching centerpiece netted in spider silk threads. Firetruck red painted the inverted inner lids, and by merciful grace of the monster’s exotic biology, the socket and orbit glittered from moisture that preserved its functionality.

===

RUBS NASTY LITTLE FLY HANDS

ooh, this pair - OOOH, this P A I R. i LOVE this double trouble. i was VERY excited to introduce them, because they are A TREAT. these boys are a first for GOOMT’s story for being boys, so gosh..... gosh, ho hum hrmmm hmm mmmmrmmm hrrrrmmmm, wonder what that could mean??? 

>;3c

but yeah, as you can see - their details are quite immense and uhhh.. all we got up there right now is zombie Orange Julius lookin’ out for his next big orange to squeeze. soon, buddy.... don’t worry, my guy; soon.....™️

aaaaand THAT is THAT ON THAT!!! 

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR INTEREST IN MY MONSTERS OF GOOMT, AND GOOMT ITSELF 😭😭😭😭 WORDS CANNOT DESCRIBE MY THANKS AND JOY (despite the 232,398 of them in GOOMT so far but eh, who’s counting)

forreal tho THANK YOU so much for your ask and your curiosity, it means the absolute world to me and i’m shoving it into my mouth and storing it in my cheeks. GOOMT is the love of my entire life and also my bane of existence and i LOVE talking, and sharing aspects of GOOMT* for all that will listen :3c

*except for lore, future planning and scenes, and things not otherwise already published because i am a VERY superstitious writer and VERY cautious of what, and to whom, i share. i won’t answer questions or talk about GOOMT’s lore and planning to anyone - not even Ren, my best friend and patient editor since ch10, who doesn’t even go here. so rest assured, it’s not (the royal) you; it’s me. 😔

AND NOW since you’ve either made it or scrolled to the end, the detailed depictions of the Memory of Harry by capitán solsikke under the cut, and their original posts from GOOMT’s blog:

POST FOUND HERE

POST FOUND HERE

AND BONUS ROUND: ACTOR AU

POST FOUND HERE