DreamDawn writes: My TV was hissing. It was a small set, 15 inches across, set on a short table in one corner of my ten-tatami-mat room in Kyoto. It was 1998, the middle of the night, and though my hosts were two floors below me, I worried that the sound would reach through the thin walls and wake them. It was a familiar hiss--it is the sound of an detuned radio, the sound of white noise, static. This particular static was coming from a radio clipped to the belt of a man standing in a dark hallway, a large pipe in his hand, his small flashlight casting a narrow oval of light around him. It was also a harsh sound, one that made me uneasy. I wondered if my host family could hear it. More importantly, I wondered where the mangled nurses that it was trying to warn me about were lurking beyond the beam of the flashlight. This is one of my clearest memories of my first experience with Silent Hill.

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