Chapter Text

He raised his head from beneath the water slowly, air rushing back into his lungs. It was more a force of habit than anything, he didnt need to breathe. The shadows writhing under his skin kept him alive just fine.

Slowly he stood, dark water dripping off of him. His clothes were soaked through, weighing on joints that were already barely holding together. In times like these, Thomas Zane felt like the age he truly was, with papers clutched between his fingers. Yet these pages he hadn’t written.

His feet slapped against mud. He swept his hair out of his eyes, staring at his reflection in the water below, impossibly dark eyes stared back at him.

Something had stirred the shadow and he intended to find out what.

Chapter 1

He was trudging his way through dense woods in the middle of the night, illuminated by some strange light he couldnt see. It cast through the trees, leaving pale beams across the forest floor. The shadows felt volatile around him, prying at the light.

There was a terrible feeling in his chest, a loss so palpable it hurt. His hair clung to his face, and there was something in his hand, something heavy and sharp. He looked down, finding an ax white-knuckled between his fingers.

This felt familiar and yet he was certain he'd never been here.

He needed to find her. Names blurred together in his mind until the words were unintelligible. The difference didnt matter. He needed to find his wife, and he needed to find her now.

He kept walking until he found himself at the lake. He dropped the ax in his hand and knelt at the shore. He reached for the waves, his reflection reaching back. Somehow this felt like what he needed to do.

“Please,” a woman spoke. It was a voice he didnt recognize. The light around him surged, sparkling over the surface of the water. He looked over his shoulder but he couldn’t see past the brightness. “The darkness will wake when it senses you, but you are safe in the light.”

He raised a hand, trying to find a shape in the light.

“You must leave, now,” she warned.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and jolted awake, staring at his front windshield. The darkness and the trees were gone, replaced instead by the bright morning sun.

“Alan, it was just a dream.”

So yes, this too began with a dream.

“Alice,” he sighed, running a hand down his face and trying to catch his breath. His wife stared back at him, brows furrowed slightly with sympathy.

“I wanted you to see the town like this,” she said pointing across the water.

The ferry shifted beneath their car as he sat up higher. The woods stretched on beyond the town; ancient, massive trees stared back at him. Mountains stood behind them, with one massive peak towering above them. It was beautiful admittedly, and no doubt the reason Alice was starting to try and nudge him awake. Her camera rested around her neck.

Bright Falls itself was nothing impressive. There were banners up for Deerfest and people milling about the street, but it looked like any other small town. Bland and outdated.

Alice looked at him, no doubt because of his stretch of silence. “Are you okay? Was it a bad one?”

“A bad what?” he asked, unbuckling his seatbelt.

“Your dream,” Alice said.

She stared at him softly, looking far more beautiful than some old nature was. His dream had already slipped from his mind. All he had was a lingering feeling of something missing, though, looking at Alice seemed to lighten it.

“Not really,” he said. It wasn’t any stranger than any other dream he’d had.

Alice hummed, “Well, then why dont we get a couple of photos? I wanna get some while we’re here.”

This whole trip had been disaster after disaster until they had reached the last town. Any reasonable problem you could name, it happened, but at least it was quiet. That much Alan was thankful for. He could never get enough quiet in New York.

When they reached the town, Alice drove the car off the ferry and onto the main road. She pulled their car to a stop across from a few shops. “Mr. Stucky said our keys should be here at the diner. Let's grab them and stop for gas after?”

“Sure,” Alan said as he leaned back in his seat, trying to get a better look at the diner. It was an old-fashioned one, with a tall sign and big old red letters adorning it. Brights Diner. The name didnt match the name on the sign: Oh Deer Diner.

Well, then which one is it? He thought with a frown.

Alice was quick to follow as he started across the street. He came face to face with himself in the diner, startling just slightly. It was one of the promotional standees from his last book. He’d hated the way he looked in it, but Alice insisted it was the right choice. He scowled back at his cardboard copy, it scowled at him too.

“Welcome to the Oh Deer Diner!” a voice sang from behind the counter. He met the waitress’ eyes and his heart sank. He tried to stop his lips from curling. He recognized that look. The waitress noticed Alice behind him and her excitement immediately mellowed out, her lips pulling into a soft smile.

“Could I get you two anything?” she asked. Her nametag read “Rose”. She was short, with her blond hair up in a ponytail. “I’m a big fan of yours, Mr. Wake.”

“I can tell,” he huffed. “We’re here for the keys to our cabin.”

“Oh! Then these are yours?” she ducked behind the counter, pulling out an old key set and a note. It was a poorly drawn map. “Someone left them last night.”

“Thank you,” Alice said with a smile of her own as she grabbed them. “I hope you have a wonderful day, miss.”

Rose immediately went back to beaming. “I hope you two have a wonderful time in Bright Falls!”

“Well she was nice,” Alice said as she pulled the diner door closed behind her. Alan smiled uncomfortably.

“Yeah, I guess.”

His wife gave him a look. “You can at least play nice while we’re here. A smile every once and a while might make them think you like them.”

“Alice,” he started, a breathy laugh puffed past his lips.

They ducked back into the car and headed up the street. It was early, so the town was relatively dead. Most of the people out were setting up for Deerfest. With the windows down the cool air felt nice and smelt like the pines around them. September was rolling in, and with it was a strange chill.

“You do the gas, I'll pay?” Alice asked as she pulled up to a gas pump.

“Sure.”

He watched as his wife stepped into the gas station. There was an older woman inside tinkering with the lights, much to the annoyance of the cashier.

“Thank you, Miss Weaver,” the cashier said loudly as she stepped out the door, clutching a lamp to her chest in broad daylight.

She paused as she saw Alan, something between confusion and concern fell over her face.

“Thomas?” she said, adjusting her glasses as she looked up at him.

“I-” Alan fumbled. “I think you have me confused with someone else, ma’am.”

She stared at him like he was lying to her, before muttering something under her breath and carrying on her way. “Sorry to bother you, young man.”

“Yeah,” Alan breathed out as she left. “No worries.”

He waited for Alice as she walked around the gas station, picking things out. It was chilly, even for fall. The sun didnt little to warm him as he crossed his arms. Even with the lap lady gone, he still felt like something was watching him. It was unfortunately a feeling he was used to, and yet something felt slightly different.

A raven hopped on the ground, tearing into something. Another joined it. He hadn’t noticed the birds until now, but now that he looked around, there was a surprising amount around the main street, perched on powerlines and searching the streets for food.

This close to the water, shouldn't there be seagulls? he thought.

He settled the gas pump back in its spot as he noticed Alice walking toward him.

“Is it just me?” Alan asked as he stood against the car. “This place feels weird.”

Alice raised her eyebrows as she stepped toward him, a bag of things from the gas station hung off her arm. “Alan-”

He shook his head, “Call me crazy or whatever you want, but…”

All he could do was make a face of vague disgust.

“You’re just too used to the city,” Alice said as she shook her head. “All little towns feel like this. Was it the lamp lady?”

His grimace deepened.

“Come on,” she smiled as she settled in the driver's seat. He was quick to follow. “Where was that cabin again?”

The drive was longer than he’d expected. The winding roads through the mountains finally revealed the lake Alice had been talking up. Strangely it made him feel nervous, suddenly afraid Alice might veer off the side and straight into its depths. It was miles below them and impossibly deep. That part he remembered.

How many old cars are buried down there in the waves? How many people?

His imagination liked to kick him in the ass at times like this. He sat back in his seat, ignoring the still waters. They’d be fine.

“Oh, there it is, Alan,” Alice smiled and that feeling was gone in an instant. Something about her face against the backdrop of ancient trees felt familiar. “Isn’t it just great?”

It wasn't long before the cabin came into view. It was all alone on an island by itself, with a small bridge connecting it to the mainland.

“Feel far enough from New York now?” Alice asked, smiling his way. She looked radiant in the evening light. It played against her blonde hair and made her eyes sparkle.

He sighed and shook his head, a smile playing at his lips, “Yeah, yeah.”

When they pulled off the side of the sloped road, Alan grabbed for their things, following Alice down the path. The bridge creaked underfoot, eaten away over the years by the water below it. With the small waves, it crashed gently over the edges of the wood and their shoes.

Again, that feeling of unease crept through him. The bridge seemed sturdy despite its age, and yet as he stared into the water he found himself slowing his steps. What if he fell through? What if Alice did? Down into inky waters never to be seen again-

“I think it's cute,” Alice said as she turned to look back at him.

Alan hummed, drawn out of his thoughts. Something about the little cabin felt odd to him. It looked like it hadn't been occupied in decades, and the porthole windows upstairs felt like eyes staring down at him.

He noticed another raven, perched on the banister. It flew away as they approached.

“It's starting to get late,” Alice said, “think you can find a way to get the power on and I’ll unpack?”

Alan sat their things down on the porch, it was impossibly dark inside. “Sure honey. Just wait here.”

She leaned against the banister of the porch as Alan followed power cables through the unkempt grass. He spotted a pair of initials on an old tree stump. TZ and BJ. He looked up at Alice, who gave him a small wave.

He gave the log one last look and stepped into an old shed. He got the old generator inside working and hurried back over to Alice.

“Oh,” Alice’s smile fell the second she stepped in. She met his eyes and his frown did nothing to bring it back. “Um.”

The cabin was admittedly nice, if not outdated, but something felt physically wrong inside it. Alice could feel it too, and Alan wasn't sure if that made him feel better or worse.

“I get what you mean now,” she said quietly as she stepped in.

They did a small once-over of the place. It was surprisingly lived in, just dusty. The calendars were all dated in the seventies, and the furniture felt just as old. Alice found it charming but Alan didn’t. Even with all the lights on, it felt too dark.

He looked at Alice as she carried things up the stairs, wondering if she had noticed that too. Her phobia of the dark left a growing pit of concern in his stomach. Did the strange dimness bother her too?

“It reminds me of my mom’s place growing up,” she laughed, setting things down in the bedroom upstairs. “It’s just as dusty.”

Alan smiled as he sat his own things aside. It did feel familiar but he’d never been anywhere like this. The memory was vague, and probably from a movie if anything.

Alice lugged a particularly heavy bag across the way to an old office, grabbing his attention.

“Honey?” Alan asked as he followed her.

“I brought your typewriter,” she said as she hefted it onto the office’s desk. “I hope that's not any trouble.”

“Oh,” he said. Anxiety started to crawl up his throat. He’d been having a hard time getting anything on paper for months now. “Why’d you do that?”

“I just figured you might get inspired being here is all. I know youre looking for a setting still for your new book. What better place to start than here?”

“I guess,” he frowned. His eyes settled on a taxidermied owl mounted between the windows. It stared down at the desk, and yet its marble eyes seemed to follow them. “I thought this was a vacation?”

“You dont have to use it,” Alice shrugged. Her eyes caught on a bookshelf. “Oh, That's weird.”

Caught just right in the beam of light through one of the windows was an old picture. It was some couple and a third person, all paired for a photo. One of the men’s faces had been stained with ink, making him unrecognizable, but the woman in the middle-

“Like I said,” Alan said as she picked up the frame. “This place is weird, Alice.”

“It's just a coincidence,” she laughed. The woman in the photo was nearly a spitting image of her, just with dark hair and a dark dress. She even smiled the same.

She pulled the photo out of the frame and flipped it over. Tom, Barbara and Emil, 1968.

“Think it's the same Tom?” Alan asked as he pointed to the books on the shelf. A few were written by Thomas Zane and one was under Thomas Seine. They had strange titles, and Alan grabbed one, flipping through it. It was a collection of poems. The longer he read the stranger they became.

“I mean, probably,” Alice said as she replaced the photo. “The name sounds familiar.”

Alan hummed as he sat the book back. There was another photo of a strange diving suit and another of the same woman.

“Must have really liked her,” Alan said. “I can see why.”

She gave him a playful shove on the shoulder, “Come on, let's finish unpacking."

Alice had fallen asleep long before he had, which was their usual routine. She was nestled against his side while he flipped his way through one of Zane’s books.

His poems were strange. He wrote about a lake, likely the one right under them, and how it was some way for a terrible darkness to escape. Now and then a lighter poem would pop in about love, muses, and art before jumping straight back into Tom Zane’s “terrible darkness”.

Some felt like warnings or strange premonitions. He looked up, knocked out of his focus. Maybe he was tired, his imagination running with things, but he was certain he heard something in the room across from them.

It was typing, the clacking of typewriter keys. He’d know that sound anywhere.

He slowly slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Alice, and crept across the room. He opened the bedroom door, staring into the dark office in front of him. Moonlight seeped in through the windows, but the seat behind the desk was impossibly dark.

He knew nothing was there, and the sound had stopped, but the scrutinizing gaze of the owl on the wall made him tense.

The darkness looked too vaguely like the shape of a person. He stepped closer, eyes narrowed. A sense of deja vu washed over him and his stomach dropped. The typewriter bar dinged suddenly, making him jump. The floorboards creaked.

He rushed closer. There was nothing at the desk but an empty chair. A page rested in his typewriter, words he recognized from one of the poems.

This is the ritual to lead you on.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

Alan woke up early the next morning, Zane’s book still in his hand. Blearily he looked around the room. Morning light bled in through the windows and Alice was still curled around him. 

He blinked away the strange dream lingering in his head. He’d agreed the night before to grab groceries as soon as the market in town opened, so he was quick to untangle himself from Alice and change into clothes that at least felt presentable. 

“Alan?” Alice asked, staring at him through squinted eyes.

“I gotta grab some things, I’ll be right back.”

She buried her face back into her pillow, muttering something. 

He sat on the edge of the bed as he got his shoes on, staring at the door. He must have left it open the night before. The owl on the wall stared back at him.

Alan shuffled his way out of the cabin and across the bridge, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He slumped down into the car and started it. He hadn’t realized how cold it would be until he was wearing nothing but pants and a T-shirt with frost on the windows.

He stopped for coffee on the way in the diner, unsurprised to see Rose working another morning shift. She was talking to a man in a ranger’s coat when Alan entered. Only a few other people sat in the booths this early, which was more than fine by him.

“Oh, Mr. Wake!” she waved at him. 

“Hi Rose,” he tried to at least muster up some semblance of politeness and a smile. Coffee could fix the fact he still felt like he was dreaming. As he sat down at the bar, the jukebox in the corner was playing some old song he half recognized. Rose was staring at him.

“Would you like a menu or-”

“Just coffee, actually,” he said maybe a little too quickly. 

Rose smiled anyway, reaching for the coffee pot. “Our coffee is famous, y’know.”

“It is,” the man across from him said, staring down at a newspaper. “No one makes it like Rose here.”

She grabbed a little mug, “Here you go Mr. Wake.”

“Thanks.”

“Need anything else Rusty?” Rose asked as she turned around. The man, Rusty, shook his head.

Alan sat, nursing his coffee and waiting for his drowsiness to go away. It was just as stubborn as he was. He stared out at the water past the windows, thinking of one of the poems he’d read.

A deeper darker ocean green.

“Hey Rose,” Alan found himself asking, he turned slowly to look at her. “Do you know anything about a Thomas Zane?”

“Thomas Zane?” Rose asked quietly. Her eyes were shifty. “The poet?”

He nodded.

“Why do you ask?”

Alan narrowed his eyes at her suspicious tone. “Well, I found a bunch of old pictures in the cabin my wife and I are staying in.”

“You're staying at his cabin?” she asked gravely. 

“I think, why ?” Alan asked as he sat his mug down.

“Oh, well,” she laughed suddenly, high and tittering, “people like to joke about it being haunted. The cabin’s his but he actually lived in an old mansion for a long time with his wife, or girlfriend or something , and owned the hotel at the edge of town too. But when the love of his life drowned in the seventies, no one saw him ever again.”

“Really?” Alan asked. 

“Well, no. I made that part up,” Rose said with a laugh. “No. People still say they see him these days. Still looks the same. All tall dark and handsome and whatever. People said he got pretty weird after Barbara died.”

The woman in the photo. The woman that looked like Alice. Alan frowned at the unease in his chest. Alice was safe back at the cabin.

Rose kept talking. “Some people said he just walked into the lake one day, but there's nothing saying they ever found him dead . The story always makes me sad.”

“Have you ever seen him?” Alan asked. 

“Oh sure,” Rose said waving her hand. “But who's to say it was even him? Mr. Zane would be well into his older years by now. It's probably just some guy from Watery, I dunno."

She didn't sound very confident in her answer, “Well uh, thanks, Rose.”

“Any time Mr. Wake!”

Right as he was about to take a sip of his coffee Rose turned back around. “Actually, Mr. Wake. If you have any more questions about Tom Zane, the Anderson brothers knew him. They're at Caldron Lake Lodge.”

“Thanks,” he said as he watched her step over to the kitchen window. He stared down at his reflection in his coffee, waiting for the caffeine to kick in.

“Alice?” He asked as he shouldered open the cabin’s front door. He hadn't been gone long, just enough to grab coffee and groceries. He sat the bags down on the kitchen counter. 

“You still asleep?” He asked up the stairs. He got no reply. 

That strange feeling from the night before was starting to creep back as he stood there in the kitchen. Alan crept up the stairs slowly, finding the bedroom empty. He checked the office across from it, nothing but his typewriter. He paused, staring at the page set in it. 

This is the ritual to lead you on.

Alan swallowed thickly. That wasn't a dream?

“Alice?” He called as he hurried back down the stairs. He checked the yard and found nothing. She could have gone on a walk. That had to have been where she was. 

The feeling faded slowly outside the cabin. He didn't believe in demons or ghosts, but something lingered here. He stared back at the old wood. The cabin towered above him. It was just a building. He didnt understand why looking at it made him so uncomfortable. 

He crossed the living room to the back door, closing it behind him. The lake stared back at him, dark and imposing. It was massive, its surface motionless. Just looking at the water gave him a sort of vertigo. Alice wasn't out here either. The dock below him was empty.

He turned back to the door and found it covered in deep gouges like some creature had tried to break it down. He tried to ignore the fact that unless a bear swam to the dock, there was nothing that could have left scratches like that. 

Alan put the groceries away quickly, trying to ignore his unease. 

Hours went by and still, there was no sign of Alice. He’d been sitting on the couch for what felt like ages, staring down at one of Zane’s books. He didnt remember setting it there, and he couldn’t bring himself to read it.

A phone rang and he startled. He hadn't realized there'd been a phone in the cabin to begin with. An old, red rotary phone stared back at him from the kitchen counter. He dropped his hands from where they rested on the back of his neck. 

It kept ringing, the sound incredibly loud against the silence in the cabin. He stood from the couch and stepped over to where it sat, grabbing the phone from the receiver. 

“Hello?” he asked.

“Mr. Wake ?” A man answered, the lilt of an accent in his voice. “ Do you know who I am ?”

He startled awake, his head down at the office desk. Air rushed back into his lungs.  Alan pushed himself back, staring at the page sitting in the typewriter. It was complete nonsense. The message from before was gone, typed over and over with fragments of sentences. The page was a mess.

Alan stood, stumbling back from the desk. He couldn't remember walking up here, let alone falling asleep. Had the call been a dream? Was this the dream? He tried to catch his breath.

More pages littered the office, all of them as equally unreadable as the first. 

“Alice?” His words slurred with sleep as he made his way to the door. The bedroom was still open and Alice was still missing from the bed.

It was then he realized his clothes were damp and his hair clung to his face. Memories of the lake dredged themselves up in his head and he wobbled downstairs. The back door was open.

He managed to get outside but nothing was there. The moon reflected on the water below him. 

Alice. He felt like he was drowning. He couldnt get enough air into his lungs.

He hurried out of the cabin, grabbed his phone and his wallet, and booked it for town.

It wasn't until morning that the sheriff's office opened. He stared out the window blankly, unable to sleep and waiting for the sun to rise. He was the first person past the doors the moment it opened.

“I need to file a missing person report,” he huffed to the tired lady at the desk. She stared back at him in alarm.

“You'd like to report one?” Alan whirled at the familiar voice. “Hell Al, I had one on you !”

“Barry?” he whirled around quickly.

“Christ Al! I hadn't heard from you in a week, where's Alice?”

Alan blinked. The last person he'd expect to see in Bright Falls was Barry Wheeler, though admittedly he was always the more outdoorsy of the two of them. His friend and agent stood in a red parka and a Hawaiian shirt, looking plenty the part of “tourist”.

“Al?”

“Sorry ,” Alan shook his head. “I'm sorry.”

He turned back to the officer at the desk. “ Alice Wake , that's my wife. Can I file a report please?”

“Oh, sir, Mr. Wheeler here already filed one on your wife. I'm sorry but there's been no sign of her.”

“What about the cabin? Zane's,” Alan huffed out. “That's where we were staying.”

“Zane's Cabin?” She asked, suddenly alarmed. “Oh, Mr. Wake- I'll have someone down there as soon as I can.”

“Thank You,” he managed.

“Where the hell were you Al?” Barry asked as they slunk away. “One hell of a bender? And you didn't invite me?”

“Barry-”

“Oh come on, you look like shit, man!” Barry insisted. “What happened?”

Alan floundered for words. He really had no idea. “You said you hadn't heard from me in a week? What day is it?”

“It's the twelfth. I’ve been calling you nonstop!”

“What ?”

“Oh, Mr Wake!” The woman at the desk said. Her voice reminded him of Snow White. “One of our officers has a few questions for you. It's protocol you see.”

He stared at her tiredly then at the cop who had appeared beside her. Barry spoke for him, “Of course, Ma’am.”

“It's just a few questions, Al,” Barry said quietly as he turned to him. “Can you do that? If they start asking anything shady you ask for a lawyer, alright?

He’d rather be anywhere else but here. A headache was starting to creep in and the lack of sleep clawed at him. “Fine,” he found himself answering. 

He followed the equally tired-looking cop into a breakroom, sitting across from him. He kept his hands in his lap, fiddling with his nails.

“I just had a few questions for you, Mr. Wake,” the officer sighed. “On account of you being missing and all.”

“Sure,” he huffed. He felt like he’d been hit in the head with a hammer, maybe he had. His headache was getting worse. “Whatever.”

The cop seemed just as disinterested as he was. Hopefully, that would work in Alan’s favor. It was early and neither of them wanted to be here.

“Where have you been the last-”

“I dont remember,” He said. “And no, I haven't seen Alice. Not since the… the fourth?”

“You dont sound so sure about your answer, Mr. Wake,” the cop sighed. 

“I've got a head injury or something. I don’t remember anything before apparently a week ago.”

“Could you explain what you do remember to me then, sir?”

Alan groaned, he could be looking for Alice right now. “I woke up and got groceries that morning, got back around noon and my wife wasn't at the cabin we’re renting- the one on the lake- so I waited around all day and nothing. Then I got a call from some guy and woke up at the desk upstairs, a- a week later.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You dont believe me?” Alan asked snidely. 

“Never said I didnt.”

“Right.” 

“So this call, do you know the caller? What was it about?” the cop was scribbling notes on a pad of paper.

Alan pinched the bridge of his nose, his headache was swelling behind his eyes. “No, uh, it was some guy. He asked me if I knew him and that’s all I remember.”

The rest of the questions went similarly. He tried his best to answer between the icepick in his brain and the hole in his memory. He was relieved when he was escorted out and back with Barry. 

They trudged their way to the Oh Deer Diner , for food and coffee. They both had a very long night.

“So Al, tell me about this week,” Barry said, hands held tightly together on the surface of their table. Alan was unfortunately used to seeing his friend so high-strung. He had a bad habit of putting Barry in situations like these. “Where the hell were you?”

“I dont-” he ran a hand through his hair, “I dont know, Barry. That's the issue.”

“You dont know? Al, what the hell were you on, just tell me-”

“I wasn’t on anything!” Alan said quickly and quietly, very aware of the people in the diner around them. He leaned closer, careful to reign in his frustration. “The last thing I remember is a phone call.”

“From who?”

“Some guy with a funny accent, I dont know !”

“Well a funny accent is a lead,” Barry said. “Right?”

Alan sat back, watching as Barry spoke with a waitress. Unease still sat in his stomach, he was in no mood to eat, not when Alice was out there somewhere.

He hoped she was out there somewhere. 

“It’s just…” Alan waved his hands around when she had gone. “It's just some weird black hole in my memory. I- I think I remember the lake?”

He remembered icy water that for sure, and shadows clinging to him, but he could have slipped in the shower for all he knew. The damp clothes supported either possibility.

“A week?” Alan asked for what felt like the tenth time in the last twenty minutes.

“A week, Al. You think I'd wanna be here if it wasn't?”

He rested his head in his hands. This didnt feel real. It felt like some horrible dream he was stuck in.

“Maybe we should check the cabin?” Barry started. “Might be something you missed?”

“The police will be all over it, Barry. I dont know. I dont even know where to start.”

He ran his fingers through his hair, trying his best to hold his stress back. He felt like breaking down then and there.

Barry stared at him for a long moment. “I know you dont wanna hear it, but a nap might do you some good buddy. You look like you haven't slept the whole time you were gone.”

He certainly felt like he hadn’t. He felt like he could fall asleep sitting where he was at the diner, coffee be damned. 

“There’s nothing we can do for Alice till we hear from the cops,” Barry offered. “So let's get the cabin figured out okay? That lady at the desk said they’d be able to get ahold of us if anything changes. She said we should try the Elderwood cabins.”

Alan sat while Barry nervously nudged at his breakfast. 

“You really should eat Al,” he said as he stared up at his friend. But Alan just shook his head slowly. It made his headache worse. 

“- Alan ,” Barry said sternly.

He blinked, staring at Barry, “huh?’

His friend just stared back, worry etched into his face. He’d sat his plate aside and was leaning forward in his seat. 

“What?” Alan said, sitting up straighter. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You were just sitting there, not saying anything. I said your name like four times. Are you sure you’re alright? Should we take you to a doctor?”

He sucked in a breath through his teeth. “No.”

Barry didnt look so certain as he stood. 

“Wait don’t you need to-”

“I paid the tab already,” he said. 

“Oh.” The feeling of missing time weighed on him heavily the moment he noticed it. 

Alan followed after Barry blearily, lifting himself into the rental car his friend had gotten. The truck was of course as atrocious a shade of yellow as the red of his parka was. 

The whole drive to the lodge, Barry was staring out the corner of his eyes at him and trying to get him to talk. The trees outside passed in a blur. 

Alan’s eyes settled on the lake and he frowned.

“That's the cabin.”

“What?” Barry asked suddenly, in the middle of some rant about how long it took to get to Washington. He looked to where Alan pointed. “Wait, really?”

Alan nodded. He could see it from here, nestled against the lake. The bridge had collapsed, and the island looked like it was sinking. 

They pulled to a stop at Elderwood’s Visitors Center ten minutes later,  hopping back out into the cool autumn air. 

The lodge itself was a large log building with massive windows. Alan could see a mammoth’s skeleton towering on the other side. He was more surprised to see it was Rusty who worked the front desk. The ranger was glancing nervously outside, shocked to see Alan approaching. 

“Mr. Wake,” he said, stepping back from the lodge’s desk as they entered, “we met at the diner.”

“We did,” Alan tried to smile, despite the headache. It was still lingering. “I need to rent a cabin?”

“Oh,” Rusty grabbed a form and slid it across the desk. “Well here you go then, could you just sign here, and here.” 

Alan frowned at his shaky handwriting but he slid the page over anyhow. 

Barry was searching around the lodge behind him, looking at signs and flyers for local businesses. Alan couldnt get his eyes to focus on any of the words.

“All we’ve got left is the furthest one up the trail, you can't miss it,” Rusty said as he handed them the keys. “Be careful if you walk the trail at night though. Feds have been out here looking into a murder, dont want you getting swept into that.”

A murder? Was it-

“Alright,” Barry said, ushering Alan out. “Thank you, sir, but we really should get going.”

He was practically dragged out the doors. “Can you please stop doing that thing with your eyes?”

“What thing?” Alan asked defensively.

“That stare you do,” Barry said. “The deer in headlights thing? You’re gonna start freaking people out.”

“Wh-” Alan started, but Barry was already hopping back into the truck. He sighed and followed. 

They drove up the path and like Rusty had said, the cabin was hard to miss. It was larger than Zane’s, with a loft and a more open floor plan. Barry started sneezing the second he stepped in.

“I bet there are at least six different types of mold in this place!” he said as he sat his things down by the door. “And dust and- and spores and-”

“Barry,” Alan sighed. 

“You know I’m right Al!”

Alan trudged his way up the stairs, his friend following quickly behind him. He sat down on one of the two beds, closest to the bathroom, and kicked his boots off. Barry settled on a nearby trunk, sneezing again. 

Alan flopped back, staring at the ceiling above them. He closed his eyes for just a second, trying to level his breathing. 

Alice had settled into his thoughts just long enough for him to furrow his brows. When he woke it was the middle of the night. His hand was resting on a door nob and he was standing on the threshold between the cabin and the night outside. 

Slowly he stepped back, taking a breath. He felt like he had just woken from a nightmare, and sleepwalking wasn't something he'd done in ages. 

He stared outside at the lake beyond the trees with wide eyes. Ravens hopped around outside, pecking at the grass. One flew up on the banister of the porch, tilting its head to stare at him.

“ Caldron Lake. ”

Alan whirled around, staring at the dark living room. The voice from the phone hissed behind him. He was certain a pair of eyes was staring at him from one of the darker spots, but it was too dark to tell. 

“What do you want?” Alan breathed out. The darkness looked like it curled in on itself, breathing steadily. He saw the beginning of a face creeping out of the shadows. 

“ I’ll drag you back down. ”

He jolted awake, staring at Barry’s face. His hands were hovering above him like he was worried Alan would hit him. He had before waking up from nightmares, so the caution unfortunately felt needed. 

“Al?”

It was morning now, he noticed. Light streamed in through the windows behind them. Sweat clung to his clothes as he took in a shaky breath.

“Fuck, shit ,” he ran a hand over his eyes. “ Sorry .”

“ Sorry ?” Barry asked. “You were having a nightmare.”

“Yeah, I know,” Alan huffed. “Just… I’m worried about Alice. The stress, y’know?”

Alan had always had terrible nightmares, even now they stuck around unless he took a few Benadryl and prayed. He’d done his years on sleeping meds and even those barely helped. The stress from his mother, the doctor always said, but then he grew up. They blamed it on chronic insomnia and anxiety after that. Barry had seen it all, he knew the drill.

“Right,” Barry said, brows creased with worry. 

Nightmares about mystery callers were a new one though. Usually, his nightmares were vague and abstract, catered to whatever stressor was digging into his brain at the time, but the ones he'd been getting since showing up in Bright Falls felt too real, too grounded. 

When he calmed down he dragged himself in and out of a shower, relieved to have a different set of clothes on and thankful Barry had packed him a few things. In case I found you in the woods or something, he’d said. 

Alan stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. He was in desperate need of a shave, and he looked somehow even more tired than usual, but at least his headache was gone.

He made his way down the stairs and into the kitchen, rummaging through the things Barry had grabbed on a trip into town he must have taken while he was asleep. 

“What do we have to go off of?” Barry asked from the couch.

Alan was midway through making a PB&J, “What do you mean?”

“With Alice.”

He paused, thinking for a moment. He didnt have any leads.

“Well,” he started. “The caller had an accent, the cabin we stayed in belongs to some maybe dead poet, there was a page I didnt type in my typewriter and there were weird scratches on the back door.”

Barry made a face at that, “Okay… What's up with the poet?”

“His name’s Thomas Zane, I’ve never heard of him, but this lady at the diner made him sound important.”

Barry was writing things down on a yellow legal pad he must have grabbed at the market in town. “I'm sure there's something we can find about him in a newspaper or something.”

“The lady, Rose ,” Alan said, “she said some old guys knew him. Might be a few people in town who still remember him.”

“Maybe, I mean, this was forty years ago, Al.”

“I mean it's worth a shot,” Alan said with a shrug. “All the old people can't be dead yet, right?”

Barry hummed. “Why dont you check that out, and I’ll look in town?”

Alan nodded and took a bite of his sandwich. He hoped he’d written long enough about a detective that he could pretend to be half decent one.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

Alan rang the buzzer to Caldreon Lake Lodge, shuffling uncomfortably. It was the middle of the day now but the sun couldnt warm him under the entrance awning.

Barry had dropped him off on his way into town. I'll be back in an hour, dont start any trouble. The fact Barry even had to warn him made him puff out an annoyed breath while he waited. 

The lodge towered above him, absolutely massive with a view of the lake behind it. He could see a straight shot through the building and to the dark water beyond. 

It wasn't long before a man in a cardigan shuffled over, noticing Alan from where he stood talking to one of the patients. Supposedly this place was some sort of mental health facility. Alan’s face soured and he pushed the thoughts of his mother away. He’d been to plenty of these kinds of places, they were all the same, regardless of how they tried to look on the outside. 

The man who answered the door paused, staring at Alan uncertainly. Alan tried to hide his grimace. He recognized him from one of Alice's books, Dr. Emil Hartman. He had been dreading meeting him since Alice had mentioned his clinic was in Bright Falls. How unfortunate that it happened to be this one.

“Can I… can I help you?” Dr. Hartman asked.

 “I'm here to visit the Andersons?” Alan said. “I have a few questions I'd like to ask if that's alright.”

Alan always got a bad vibe from him and being in person made it no better. On the book he looked smug, and now he was staring at Alan with a sort of recognition that made disgust coil in the writer’s chest. 

“Well uh, usually I'd say no but,” Dr Hartman coughed, “this seems like a special occasion. Don't let me keep you.”

Strangely the doctor scurried back toward where Alan assumed his office must be. He kept an eye out for two old men, one with an eyepatch and the other with a leather jacket. That's what Rose had told him to look for.

The inside was busy, patients milled about, followed by nurses. The entrance seemed to be a sort of lobby. The wooden interior smelt old and clinical. He scrunched up his nose as he wandered. 

He found the Anderson brothers in a small rec room down a hall, playing a Night Springs board game. He never knew they made one, he wondered for just a moment if he was due some sort of residuals from when he was a writer on the show.

The brother with the eye patch, Odin, looked up at him. He reached over, smacking his brother in the arm. Tor startled awake. 

“Lookie here,” Odin laughed. “Tom's finally come to see us. I see that lake magic‘s done wonders for you, Tommy.”

Alan looked behind himself. Only one other person was in the room than the three of them, and it was an old woman playing a game of solitaire. 

“um,” Alan shook his head. “My name is Alan Wake. I had a few questions about Tom, actually. Tom Zane ?”

Tor gave him a suspicious look, “That's the name you're going by these days?” he sounded unimpressed. “Alan? That's not very rock n’ roll.”

“That's my real name-”

Odin smacked Tor again, “Don't rile him up Tor, he's here to visit. What can I help you with, Tom?”

“That's not-” Alan sucked in a breath and hissed it out. He figured it would probably be easier to play along.“You know what, guess I'm ‘Tom’ today. Happy?”

Odin busted out a laugh, “That's the spirit, Son!”

Alan frowned and the brothers immediately shared a look.

“And he still makes that stupid face!” Tor laughed himself. “Why dont you visit us more often?”

“Because apparently, I went missing in the seventies?” Alan asked. That seemed to sober the brothers up immediately.

“Well when you stop answering the door and payin' your taxes, yeah, the police start to think you're missing,” Tor said grimly.

“Oh Barbara was a real doozy wasn't she? All the lake magic in the world and you couldn't get her back.”

“Odin,” Tor said sternly. 

Alan looked between the two of them. 

“I'm just sayin',” Odin said timidly. “Didn't mean no offense, Tommy.”

“Uh, none taken,” Alan said. 

“Where's your accent?” Tor asked. “You sound all funny.”

“Um-” Tom Zane had an accent? Alan made a mental note of that.

“Well he's missing,” Odin said quietly. “He's undercover.”

“Right,” Alan sighed. He stared out past the windows. Another man was there painting. It was a dark shape that vaguely resembled a person. 

Tor gave him another suspicious glance, “How’d you get rid of the shadow?”

“The shadow ?” Alan asked. 

“Yeah, yeah the one that'd always follow you around! Made it's home in your head?”

Alan narrowed his eyes in confusion. 

“That thing from the lake,” Odin clarified. “Last I saw, you looked real different cause of that demon you dredged out, Tom. Wasn't you anymore, there was nothin' in your eyes."

“Yeah!” Tor agreed. “You and your little cult buddies were playing with shit you shouldn't have played with. Least it kept you young, ha!”

“Cult buddies?” Alan laughed. He pulled up a seat, figuring he'd be here a while. “So I was one of those guys in the sixties?”

“Oh don't even get me started, son,” Odin pointed at Alan with a sly grin. “You don't remember the kinds a’ trouble we’d get into?”

“Barb really got onto you more than a couple of times,” Tor sighed. “Then we started bringing her along. Good summer fun and all that. I miss her .”

Odin gave a somber nod, “One of those one-of-a-kind girls, her. Takes a special one to put up with your shit Tom, trust me.”

Alan smiled. Reminds me of Alice.

“How is your little cult anyway, Tommy?” Odin asked. 

“Wait youre serious?” Alan asked. “Tom had a-”

“You know ,” The old man insisted. “The Cult of the-”

Tor kicked him under the table. “That’s a secret, we can't just talk about all that. What if one of them hear us?”

Alan looked back and forth between them while they bickered. He was thankful when his phone rang. 

“Better get that Tommy,” Odin said. “We’ll catch up later.”

“Bring some drinks next time,” Tor grumbled. 

“Uh, sure,” Alan said before he ducked away. 

“Barry?” He asked into the phone. 

“The station called and said they had someone for us to meet. Apparently, this case just got a lot more complicated. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Alan was quick to make his way back out of the clinic, not without noticing Hartman’s eyes on him. Before long, the ugly yellow truck was pulling up to the gate on the other side of the lodge’s courtyard.

He filled Barry in on the few details he’d gotten on the drive back to town. 

“Well,” Barry said. “I checked out a few spots in town, asked around, y’know? Apparently, Zane was from Finland. Moved here with his girlfriend in the sixties. He was pretty famous, but I’ve never heard of the guy.”

“Me neither,” Alan said, “I think. Alice said she recognized the name.”

“Well, his girlfriend drowned at that cabin. I guess Hartman said he saw Zane jump in the lake and never saw him again.”

“ Dr . Hartman?” Alan said, eyes jumping to Barry. “He knew Tom?”

Emil. He was the third person in the photo. The faces clicked together in Alan’s head.

“Yeah, he was Zane’s editor.”

Alan stared ahead at the road. It felt too strange of a coincidence.

“Al, what’d I say about that stare?” Barry said. “Fill me in.”

“There was a photo in the cabin, of Tom, Barbara, and Dr. Hartman. I didnt realize it was him. I would have asked about him if I knew.”

Not that Dr. Hartman particularly looked like he wanted to speak with Alan, he had been quick to run off.

After about a half hour's drive, they pulled up to the Bright Falls sheriff station. The lady from the morning before still worked the front desk. She greeted them as they walked in.

“Sherrif Breaker will see you soon,” she said with a gentle smile, despite how bored she sounded. “Feel free to take a seat.”

Alan was about to do just that when Barry caught his attention. His friend had paused, staring at a spot beside the door.

“Oh that's real weird,” Barry said as he leaned close to a glass wall display.

“What is?”

Barry pointed to the glass, looking back at Alan, “This is the guy we're looking for?” 

Alan stepped closer. The display had a bunch of old newspapers about the town tacked in it. Flyers about tours and an old deerfest parade, even Smoky the Bear warnings, but tucked away in a corner was a black and white portrait. 

“Oh god,” Alan cringed looking at it. His own face stared back at him, lips twisted up in a playful smile. It was from an article on a film the poet was making. He was sitting cross-legged, an old film reel in his hand and staring over his shoulder. “ That's Thomas Zane?”

“Yep,” a tired voice said behind them. 

They both jumped, spinning to find the sheriff behind them. She looked as tired as she sounded, her dark hair in a loose ponytail. She took a sip of her coffee and paused as she looked at Alan. 

“You two related?” She asked, confused.

Alan shook his head, “Unless my mom's got something to tell me, then no.”

She frowned. “Mind if I ask why you're looking for him?”

“You heard that?” Barry asked nervously.

The sheriff laughed, “I was in the breakroom next door.”

“I'm a writer,” Alan said. “There's a lot of mystery to him. Just had a few questions I wanted to ask. Barry here is my agent.”

“Barry Wheeler,” he said with a smile as he held out a hand to shake. 

“Sheriff Sarah Breaker,” she said with a smile of her own. “And you are?”

He opened his mouth, but Barry got the words out before him. He was honestly thankful.

“This here is Alan Wake,” he said as he patted Alan’s back.

“I heard you were in town on Pat's show,” Sarah said. “What a weird coincidence, two writers with the same face.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Alan said, frowning. He thought back to Barbara and her resemblance to Alice, and now he looked like Tom?

“Well, Mr. Wake, I have someone for you to meet actually,” Sarah said, suddenly serious, “Turns out you two were just the guys I was looking for.”

They followed the sheriff into her office, where two FBI agents were arguing about whether or not cream and sugar were an affront to coffee. It seemed like a debate they’d had before.

Sarah coughed in her throat loudly, catching their attention.

“Oh,” one of the agents laughed. She stepped closer. She looked too young to be an FBI agent, in her mid-twenties or so. Her curly hair was tied back into a tight ponytail and she smiled. It made her eyes twinkle in a way that seemed too friendly for the situation. “Im agent Saga Anderson. This is my partner Alex Casey.”

Alan blinked, caught off guard by their names. Saga must have been related to the two old coots, but Casey?

Alex Casey was the name of the protagonists of his novels. It wasn't exactly a common name from his experience. Something about Casey’s face was familiar in a way Alan couldnt place. 

He narrowed his eyes, he had more important things to worry about. “Is this about my wife?”

Agent Anderson’s face fell immediately, but her partner was quick to catch her. He was much older, a bit older than Alan himself, with a square face and stern eyes.

“Unfortunately it is, Mr. Wake,” he said. “Your wife's disappearance happens to match up with those in a case we've been following for some time now.”

“Would you like to sit down, Mr. Wake?” The sheriff asked. 

“No,” he huffed, crossing his arms. “And please Alan's just fine.”

Sarah gave him a thin smile. 

“Mr- Alan , we will do everything in our power to find your wife,” Agent Anderson said softly, yet confidently, “but you understand in the eyes of the law we cannot let you interact with this case. If you find any evidence we’re more than willing to take it from you, or if you’ve remembered anything, anything at all.”

She was staring at him intently, with Casey close behind her. Alan prided himself on his brooding, and yet their intensity made him falter.

“Even if it feels silly,” she said. “Ghost stories, anything ?”

Alan scowled, looking away at a spot on the ground. “Well…  I thought I was dreaming, but the night before Alice went missing I thought there was someone in the room across from us, but no one was there. There was a page in my typewriter that I didnt write.”

“The one with all the shit on it?” Casey asked. 

Alan nodded, “It looked different the night before though.” 

Saga hummed, “There was no sign of a break-in. Are you sure you weren’t sleepwalking?”

Alan opened his mouth before Barry jumped in, “Shouldn't we have a lawyer for questions like this?”

Saga nodded and Casey huffed. 

“I dont have time to wait for a lawyer Barry,” Alan said. “The sooner we find Alice the better, I haven't done anything wrong.”

Saga was still staring. He felt strange under her gaze for only a second before the feeling left. Something about her eyes made her seem like she could see more than she let on.

“So then what's this big case?” Barry asked. “Or is that confidential?”

“Unfortunately it is,” Saga said. “However given that youre involved, we can fill you in.”

“Have you heard of the Cult of the Word, Mr. Wake,” Casey asked, eyes narrowed.

“Is it Thomas Zane's cult ?” Alan asked, thinking back to his conversation with the Anderson brothers. “Did he really have a cult?”

Saga and Casey shared a look. 

“Well,” Agent Casey started. “Your wife’s disappearance does seem related to a string of cult-” He met Saga’s eye. “-related activities in the area.”

“I think he called me…” Alan said, his voice got quiet. “ Zane . I'm really not sure.”

“But Thomas Zane's dead, ain't he?” Barry huffed. “Thought he drowned himself after his girlfriend drowned.”

“We all thought he did,” Sarah said, sitting on her desk. “People still say he shows up in town or they see him at the lake. It's just ghost stories but…”

“Are you keeping track of all this, Anderson?” Casey asked.

“Of course,” she said, the distant look in her eye was gone in an instant. 

“Campers always complain about seeing people in the woods at night,” Sarah Continued. “and Tom Zane never had a cult , just some hippie commune. There's nothing official tying him to any murders. He was just sort of weird.”

“Then why don't we check the woods,” Alan asked. 

“Mr. Wake, you won't be getting involved,” Casey said sternly. 

“If some hippie fuck took my wife then I am getting involved!” 

“Al,” Barry dragged him back by the shoulders. “I think we should let the professionals handle this.”

“Barry!” Alan barked. 

“I assure you this case is in great hands, sir,” Saga said. “Please, trust me.”

He stared at her, hackles still raised. “Fine.”

Alan stood, trying his best to listen while the two agents filled them in on the details they could. Another bureau was involved, so they didnt have access to everything on the case yet.

He hoped Barry was able to pay closer attention, and Sarah was listening intently. His thoughts kept straying back to Alice. He couldnt focus in the slightest. 

What Alan did catch was that they had found a camper murdered in the woods last, and the corpse had disappeared. A manuscript page was left in its place like ones that had been left at every scene. Alan tried to ignore the vanishing act part when they asked if he had any questions for them.

“Have you seen any sign of my wife?” It was the only question he had.

Saga gave him a sympathetic look. “The manuscript pages are what ties this case to the rest, but… there's no sign of her. Just like the other cases.” 

Alan nodded. “Can I have a second?”

Before the agents could answer, he marched out of the station. He needed to find Alice now. He didnt have time for waiting. If the poet was involved, Alan would check his old mansion. He just needed to find it first.

He paused down the street, hands resting on his hips. He didnt even know where to start. He was grasping at straws here. He jolted as a raven croaked at him. Alan hadn’t even noticed them littering the street. 

He started walking again, creeping toward the docks and following the trail of birds. The ravens were grouped thicker there. In their center, a man was leaning against a pole and smoking a cigarette.

He threw his head back and shook his hair out of his eyes, staring at something up the street. He worked his jaw, and the face clicked in Alan’s head. In an instant, his anger fired back up.

“Where’s my wife?” Alan yelled over the cawing as he rushed forward.

The man stared blandly at Alan. No one else on the ferry dock seemed to care he was there, or the ravens. They didn’t respond to Alan’s yelling.

“Well she isn't here, obviously,” the man said with a smirk. It was the voice from the phone.

Alan stepped closer and Zane was gone in a blink. He whirled, watching as the other man paced the street, flicking embers onto the ground. The birds dogged his steps, watching Alan and hoping Tom might drop something for them. 

“It's an awfully weird coincidence, isn't it?” he asked, turning to stare at Alan. “us?”

Alan stared at him, fists balled. “What the fuck are you?”

The smile Zane gave him was Cheshire-like. He was dressed out of place in time, with white flared pants cut high on his waist and a poorly fitted, floral button-up.

“ I am something much older than you ,” he said. Something crawled in his voice. Zane flicked his cigarette into the street, the momentary monstrousness gone in a breath. “I'm Thomas Zane, who else?”

Alan blinked away the dizziness in his head, His headache from the day before was back in full force. 

Alan looked around when he noticed his surroundings had changed. They were seated in the empty diner. The lights were out, but the evening sun kept it dimly lit through the windows. 

“How-” he stared at Zane, who was drinking out of an Oh Deer Diner mug. “How did you-” 

Zane smiled, setting the mug down. “So then you dont remember?”

He had a blankness to his eyes, somehow impossibly dark behind his curls. Alan couldnt tell if his eyes were blue or black. He had a strange uncanniness to him up close that his portrait hadn't captured. He was pale and the eyeliner he wore was smudged around his eyes. It was just now Alan realized he hadn't seen him blink since they had gotten here. 

“Remember what ?” Alan asked. “Where my wife?”

Zane’s smile faltered just slightly, the only hint that the question had annoyed him. His nails clinked loudly against the mug between them. 

“Your wife drowned, Alan,” he said with a shrug.

Alan stared at him, the world around him was spinning and yet he found himself stuck staring at the other man.  Shadows crawled in the corner of his eyes, like they did in his dreams. He could feel his breaths quickening, trying to force air into his lungs.

The icy water pressed in. He sucked in a breath, tore his eyes away.

“You’re lying to me,” he breathed out. “You have to be. Alice isn't dead. I’d- I’d know. Somehow I’d know . I’d remember-”

“Would you?” Zane asked, a thin smile on his lips. It was a smile Alan had seen in dozens of press photos, but on the other man, it looked wrong. He rested his head against his hand, staring up at Alan. “I knew when my Barbara was gone. The second it happened.”

He motioned with his fingers, wagging them like legs across the table’s surface. His voice was as distant as his eyes, trapped somewhere in a memory. “I jumped into the water after her, but she was gone.”

But Alice wasn't gone. He could find her, save her from whatever danger was coming. The thought seemed to help him pull his head above the water, whether it was a delusion or not. 

“The darkness found me then, brought me back to the surface. Gave me back the beart Baba stole from me.”

Zane did finally blink, looking down at his hand. Black nail polish shined in the odd lighting of the dark diner, twinkling along with a collection of rings. His smile grew wider. 

He took another swig of his coffee and Alan sat staring at him. This was all insane, it had to be another nightmare. He was daydreaming. Something. He didnt share a face with some dead poet from the sixties. He was in the middle of a diner, there were no icy lake depths to be seen.

“Maybe you should drink some water, Alan,” Zane muttered, shoving a glass toward him. Alan hadn't seen it on the table till now. “You look a little skeeved out.”

“I dont wanna drink your fucking water! I want my wife back!” 

“Well that's not happening,” the poet laughed.

“Why?” Alan barked as he stood, staring down at Zane. His blank eyes stared back. “The fuck did I do to you? Where is she?”

“I need her, Alan. The darkness brought my Barbara back,” Zane said calmly. “Unfortunately it brought you too, but dont worry. She’s safe.”

“Wait, do you think Alice is-” 

“I dont think so,” he breathed out, “I know so. I told you. I know my Barbara.”

Darkness seemed to bleed off of Zane as the mug beneath his fingers cracked. Alan blinked, he hadn't imagined it. The shadows gathered around the poet. Somehow his eyes grew even wider. 

“You should have stayed in the Dark Place, Wake,” he whispered. “Kept your nose in your typewriter and writing our little stories. You could have made this easy for me!”

Alan was frozen. He glanced out the window. There was no one out on the street, and the sun was long gone. Shadows swarmed over everything. This had to be the demon the Anderson brothers mentioned.

“But you had to make everything complicated!” Zane was hollering now. A roaring sound built in Alan’s ears, like rushing blood. Something scratching in his head like nails on a chalkboard, until it built into a scream. “And you kept something that doesn't belong to you anymore!”

Zane tensed to lurch over the table so he braced himself. Instead, the lights of the diner flickered on. 

“Oh, Mr. Wake,” it was Rose. “we’re closed today… how did you get in?”

He whirled, staring at her. He looked back where Zane had sat. The only proof he had been there was his mug, slowly seeping coffee onto the table.