text: Lyle was hostage to the forest. His hiking partner, Sam, suddenly vanished, leaving Lyle utterly alone and vulnerable to the darkness of the trees that towered over him, blocking out the warm sun. He remembered feeling Sam’s presence beside him one moment, and the next, he felt cool air tickling his skin, as though his clothing had been removed, leaving him naked and exposed. Goosebumps spread across his body. Lyle wasn’t a skilled hiker and always got nervous in large open spaces, but Sam had somehow managed to persuade him to join on a day hike at Crawford Lake despite this. Lyle whirled around in search of his friend, expecting him to be hiding somewhere as a trick. He called out Sam’s name and received only the response of his own echo blurred together with the squawk of bird song. “Sam!” he called. “This isn’t funny. You knew goddamned well that I didn’t even want to come on this stupid trip and now you’ve ditched me. Dude, what the f--? Where are you?” Lyle was beginning to accept that his friend wasn’t messing around. Sam had actually disappeared. Panic rose into Lyle’s throat, blocking his breath from escaping. All around him was the emptiness of the forest. “What have you done with Sam,” he screamed to the trees. “You can’t just take him away like that!” A rough wind started blowing, and Lyle knew this was the forest's way of taunting him. What had he done to deserve being left alone like this? He let his body collapse heavily onto the moss-covered ground and slumped himself against a boulder. He could feel tears welling inside his eyes. Lyle wasn’t one to cry, and he felt confused by the salty tears now streaming down his face. Then he realized he wasn’t actually crying; it was only the harsh wind blowing into his eyes causing them to water. All around him, the wind began picking up more fiercely, growling like a bear. The tree branches were dancing back and forth, waving mockingly at Lyle. They seemed to be enjoying his distress. The birds continued squawking as if nothing had changed, but Lyle felt as if the whole world had turned upside down and thrown him into oblivion. The trail had been quiet the entire day, but even if it had been busy, he doubted anyone would find him, for he was nowhere near the trail. Lyle worried that we would die here stranded, his body rotting away, making food for flesh-eating beetles. How horrific and mutilated he would look when someone finally found his body. Dead leaves rustled across the dirt like tumbleweeds. A few sticks followed, leaving deep trenches between the pebbles. Lyle watched them go by and thought they looked like a hand with long nails scratching the ground. He shook his head, trying to erase the thought, but when he looked again, there was the hand continuing to leave its mark, which was now traced in blood. Lyle scrambled away, breathing heavily, ignoring the scratches he was getting from moving in such a crazed manner. When he decided he was far enough away, he leant against a tree and started banging the palm of his left hand against his forehead, hoping he could dispel the illusions with the thumping pain. Again, he let his body slump to the ground. Except he never hit the ground, instead he fell straight through it and could see the forest through a hole that was growing smaller. His muscles tensed, and his eyes squeezed shut. When the feeling of falling went away, he opened them and found himself in the same place he’d been before he fell, surrounded by the forest’s gloom. Lyle curled up into the fetal position, and his body rocked involuntarily. All he could hear was the sound of the rushing wind, which grew louder with every second that passed. The wind was blowing from all directions, creating a vortex that trapped Lyle in the centre - in the eye. The dense wind slowly transformed, and Lyle could now hear his name being called. Then the wind said, “Lyle, I’m so sorry I let this happen to you. I should have kept a better watch. I shouldn’t have let us venture off. I should have known you wouldn't be able to handle it.” Lyle recognized the voice. It wasn’t the wind speaking. It was Sam. Lyle glanced up from his crumpled position, expecting to see his friend standing above him, and there he was. Lyle felt relief wash over him and reached for his hand. Sam knelt down, and Lyle was met with a blank face. The face, most definitely belonging to Sam’s body, had no eyes, but he could still feel the intense glare. “Lyle,” the faceless Sam whispered, “please wake up.” Lyle didn’t understand; he was already awake. He pinched his arm and felt a sharp pain shoot through his skin. He was definitely not asleep. Once more, he shut his eyes tight, and when he opened them, the faceless Sam was gone and was replaced by blurred vision. The forest now looked like it was underwater. His head felt foggy. He peeled himself up off the ground, picked a direction to walk and started warily towards it. Lyle walked on until the soles of his shoes had worn thin, and his feet bled. He walked on until his knees could barely hold up his scanty frame. Suddenly, a white light emerged ahead of him, blinding his eyes that had been so accustomed to the murky forest. He clamped his eyes shut and, without thinking, sprinted towards the light. Soon, the brightest part was directly in front of him. He made his way for it only to find himself hitting what felt like a brick wall. His eyes flew wide open. ... Lyle felt as though he’d just awoken from a night terror. His heart rate quickened as he heard a loud beeping to his right. He tried to speak but found no words, all he could manage was a low gurgling noise. He was no longer in the animated forest but in a bland hospital room. A woman in blue hurried in and began asking him questions he couldn’t answer. Lyle gawked at her. She stopped questioning him and instead started smoothing his hair out of his face gently. He knew she was speaking reassuring words, as for what she was saying, he hadn’t the faintest clue. The woman in blue gestured that she’d be back soon and left. Lyle was able to absorb in his surroundings better. He lay on a comfortable bed with fresh-smelling sheets. In one corner was a bucket filled with soapy water, a rag hung over the edge. Attached to his right arm was a plastic tube, which Lyle assumed was for feeding him. A heart rate monitor stood on the far side of the room, beeping rhythmically. Lyle’s bed sat next to a bright window, and on the ledge were drooping flowers. He reached for one of the get well soon cards. In his mother’s handwriting, written inside, was a short note that said, come back to us, Lyle, we miss you . He placed it carefully back onto the window’s ledge. Lyle began feeling uncomfortable laying down as if he’d been stuck in that position for eternity. His muscles screamed at him as he lifted himself off the bed, but after stretching, they quieted down. Lyle made his way over to the door, wanting to search for someone who could put his confusion at ease. Hanging beside the door was a clipboard, and attached was a hospital document with Lyle’s name as the headline. He studied the paper, unsure of what most of the words meant. At the top, a few handwritten notes had been made about unusual brain activity. From what Lyle was able to gather, he’d suffered severe head trauma and had been in a coma for 13 months.