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Chapter 18,001 words
Chapter 28,849 words

Chapter 1

Alan Aleric was hiking, humming merry tunes to himself as he walked along and occasionally breaking out into song. Normally he enjoyed hikes, and this day was no different; today, however, he hiked alone. Yes, you read that correctly, alone, how cliche. In any case, he walked through the woods along a trail that wound its way before him; around trees and large boulders, over roots and small streams. It continued seemingly forever, but Alan was a smart fellow and knew that it did not, in fact, continue forever, as all good things come to an end. Besides,what kind of person would want to go on an eternal hike, a hippie? OK, maybe a hippie, but that’s not important. What is important is that Alan was hiking, that he was hiking on a long trail in the woods, and that he was hiking alone. Generally, Alan would go on hikes with his family, but today was different, today his family went to see a movie. Normally, he would have joined them, but it was what he deemed a very cheesy movie of little note and value. Therefore, as a headstrong, stubborn, and egotistical male, he refused to go. On the other hand, this left him with very little to do. If he had stayed at home, not only would he have started to second guess himself, but also contend with the accusations of his little sister, who would nag him about being a lazy bum. She would have been partly right, as he did spend an abnormal amount of time in front of the computer.

As the sun shone softly down in shaded patterns on the forest floor about the path, Alan noticed something odd about the forest: it was becoming increasingly wild and tangled as he moved along. He had walked this path many times, but he didn’t remember this portion. Oh well, he thought, slightly puzzled, maybe I just wasn’t paying attention before. Besides, it just makes the walk more interesting. So he continued walking and humming. All around him the forest and vegetation gradually grew thicker and closer. Where the trees had before been widely spaced and the sun dappling the ground below through their leafy canopies, here, they grew thick and dark, casting the ground below into eternal twilight.

Alan glanced at his watch. He still had plenty of time. Beside, he loved thick forests, so he felt no need to turn back. As the birds and general forest chatter grew distant, it came to be that the only sounds to be heard were the crunch of footsteps on the path, the tap-tapping of his walking stick upon the ground, and the occasional creaking tree limbs far above in the gloom. Alan found it peaceful, but in nature, peace is often deceptive. Aware of that fact, he stayed alert. Yet never did the trail stop, nor ever seem to disappear. It just kept going. Alan checked his watch once more; he still had plenty of time, so he pressed onwards down the trail.

After about ten minutes, the trees abruptly began to thin and the ground began to slope gently down. Through the rapidly thinning trees the babbling of a brook could be heard, the gloomy twilight of the path behind was replaced once more by the velvet shadows one would expect to find on a forest floor once again. The trees continued to thin until, suddenly, they stopped altogether, opening into a wide grassy meadow. Alan’s breath caught in wonder. It was simply beautiful. Off to one side and further down the slope ran a small stream, and nearer to him were some wide, flat boulders partly-covered in moss. This is the perfect place to camp, thought Alan, I’ll have to come back here at some time or another. It’s at least twe… no, that’s WAY too overused. After standing there enthralled by the gorgeous scenery for what must have been quite a while, Alan checked his watch. It was now sadly time to go. He took one last look at the meadow before turning back once more onto the forest path, whistling Smile to himself.

A couple weeks later, Alan was hiking the trail once again. That meadow had waited long enough for him, and he for it. He was going to camp in it at last. As he passed through the denser portion of the forest, he wondered how he had missed the fork in the trail the last hundred times he’d walked it. It even had a sign next to it for crying out loud, although it was rather overgrown and faded, but still, it was a blooming sign. The trail was even on the park service map. Alan felt rather stupid for missing it so many times before; that meadow was an awesome place to camp, and he loved camping. Oh well, he thought, at least I found it this time.

Before he knew it, Alan was once more in the meadow. It was exactly how he remembered it from his discovery: the rocks, the stream, the moss. Everything was perfect, thought Alan as he strolled through the tall grass, although I’ll have to check myself for ticks later. He grimaced in disgust at that last thought, having pulled one too many ticks off his pet cat. If the neighbors would just mow their darn grass...*sigh*. Alan set up his campsite and went off to find some suitable firewood.

It took a bit to get the fire going, but it was worth it in the end. As the summer sun dipped below the horizon, the swiftly cooling mountain air was warded out by the warmth of the flames. As in most forests, it was not particularly hard to find good firewood, and Alan had a reasonable stack of it within reach as he sat beside his small inferno. He had chosen his campsite between two levels of the large flat rocks which covered much of the landscape of the meadow: the back of the tent was against the face of one and sat on the small and gentle slope between the rock the tent abutted and the flat surface of the rock below, on which Alan had lit his campfire. At present, Alan was trying, rather unsuccessfully I might add, to read a book and roast hot dogs at the same time. Every time he neglected to read, he felt annoyed because it was well written, but every time he became engrossed in the book, he burned the hot dogs. After burning three in a row, Alan sighed and put down his tome. Physical feeding preceded mental feeding on his priority list. Besides, they do not take long to cook over a campfire, and soon Alan was contentedly reading his book with a full stomach, enjoying the results of his compromise.

Alan looked up from his book and glanced at his watch. It was getting late. He was going to need the energy of a full night’s rest if he wanted to go exploring tomorrow. Setting down the book, Alan looked up at the stars beginning to pepper the night sky. It really was a lovely night. The stars... those wondrous guardians of the night were shining with purer and stronger light than in the city. Such things drew Alan to hiking; although part of it was the exercise, it was mostly the removal from all the concerns and cares of society. That and the quiet. Alan loved the peace and quiet. He avoided large gatherings of people, preferring to mingle with a smaller, more tight knit group of friends.

*Clank!* *Snuffle!* *snuffle!*

Alan awoke with a start as the tent shook, sitting straight up and smacking his head against one of the poles. He was too frightened and frustrated to notice. He of course immediately realized what he had done, what beginner mistake had been made. He had forgotten to put his food up a tree like any responsible hiker would. He mentally cursed himself for a fool. He just hoped whatever was eating his pack didn’t think to look inside the tent and eat him. He waited, praying and terrified, in the tent for the next half hour as the shuffling, rending, and clanking of his belongings being ripped apart continued.

When the noises stopped, Alan waited until he was sure whatever had made a chew toy of his backpack had left, thankful that he was ignored, then unzipped the tent flap and cautiously crawled outside to survey the damage. His backpack was almost a total loss: ripped apart in multiple places, its contents strewn over much of the nearby landscape like so much garbage by the side of the road. What little food was left was scattered and trampled into the ground, save for the protein bars (apparently nothing likes those, no matter how hungry). He gathered up the remains of his camping gear and found a coil of rope that had somehow escaped the carnage and walked over to the tree line; he didn’t want a repeat of earlier. Once he had hastily hoisted his meager gear up between the trunks of a pair of pines, he stood back in the moonlight to admire his handiwork, then facepalmed for not having remembered to do so earlier. Now he didn’t have enough supplies to last the next few days like he had hoped, plus his gear was ruined. At least I’m still alive, he thought as he turned around to head back to his tent. Then he saw the bear cub bouncing across the meadow in front of him. Or not. The roar of an angry mother bear split the night sky. Alan panicked.

For all his knowledge of the wilderness and excellent academics, when under stress Alan was quite an idiot. If you learn anything in a park pamphlet or any other hiking or camping literature that doesn’t rant about trees and beetles, it is that you don’t run from bears (or feed them). If you follow the instructions, then you know that if you’re about to be attacked by a bear, make loud noises, or play dead, or climb a tree, or shoot it, but you are never supposed to run from it. Alan ran from it. Of course, the bear was faster, but Alan had a head start and he placed some distance between himself and a fuzzy death, at least for a little while. That lead didn’t last long, however, as Alan soon found himself dramatically backed against the long drop off the cliff that ended the hanging valley in which the meadow lay. Beside him roared the previously charming stream (which was more of a small river now that he had a closer look at it) and in front of him roared the bear. It was here that Alan finally came to his senses. Either he had to stay and fight the bear or jump into the freezing pool below (though it looked plenty deep enough to survive). Alan chose the former, as he had planned, in his sometime wisdom, for such an possible emergency. Fumbling, Alan pulled out the large caliber revolver and took a deep breath, aiming carefully at the bear’s head. He didn’t really want to do it, as it would leave that poor cub motherless, but it was either him or the bear, and he rather liked being alive. He reluctantly squeezed the trigger, the pistol roared, and that is about the time when more things went wrong. It’s not like he didn’t hit the bear, far from it: the bear slumped over dead in an instant. No, what went wrong is that at nearly the exact moment Alan pulled the trigger, the ledge and the rest of the cliff face had an emotionally charged argument, and the rock under Alan’s feet decided it wanted a divorce, taking an unfortunate Alan with it.

Mountain water is cold, extremely cold, and Alan soon found that the water in the pool far below was no exception. Thankfully the drop wasn’t enough to injure Alan (at least physically), and no more rock decided to follow him after he dropped into the freezing pool. After he painfully crawled out of the water, sodden and cold, Alan knew he was in trouble. Big trouble. First off: he was wet clean through, and if he didn’t get his clothes off and a fire started soon, he would suffer from hypothermia. Second: he was a tad lost. Mind you, he had a general idea of where he was, but he had no idea how to get back to the trail. Third: he now had no food, no protection (he’d lost his gun in the fall), and no gear. On the bright side, however, he did manage to find a lighter in his soggy jacket that still miraculously worked, as well as some dry moss and driftwood wood nearby. Soon he had stripped to his underwear and was standing in front of a respectable fire, his clothes steaming on strategically placed sticks around the fire. Eventually they dried and he put them back on, toasty and warm from the fire. He sighed contentedly before frowning and taking stock of the meager supplies that he had managed to hang onto he plunged into the pool: A compass, the lighter, his ID, two pennies, his keys and the carabiner with which he had them continually hooked to his belt, and a gum wrapper. Things looked rather grim and Alan decided he’d rather think about it in the morning. He added some more wood to his little fire on the pebble beach and curled up to sleep what remained of the dreadful night away.

Morning came all too swiftly, and with it more aches and pains than Alan imagined were possible. He groaned and painfully sat up, wiping the sleep from his eyes with a pair of scratched and aching hands. For several moments Alan just sat there looking blearily out at the waking world, hoping it was just a bad dream. A stellar jay startled him out of his drowsy stupor by shrieking at him from a branch on one of the scraggly trees that grew near the base of the waterfall. Alan grouched angrily at the inconsiderate bird as he stumbled to his feet while simultaneously trying to cover his ears.

“Shut up! Shut up, you hear?!” The feathered fiend only squawked louder. “Gahhh! I’ll get for this...” Alan scrambled around for a good rock to throw; fortunately, he was on a pebble beach, so they were in temptingly plentiful supply. His early morning aim was simply awful, however, and the bird fluttered nearer as if mocking the blundering fool below him; a poor mistake.

“Darn you!” Alan’s second rock smacked the unfortunate bird right in the head, and it tumbled from the tree, without so much as a cry. Alan walked shakily over to the bird’s corpse, a third rock in hand, wondering aloud at his luck.

“What? I actually hit him?! God and my aim be praised, victorious friends! The day is mine, for the blasted bird is dead!” And now, thought Alan with a wry smile, breakfast is also provided.

Cleaning the bird took some doing with only keys to serve as knives, but desperation ever breeds ingenuity (though plucking took FOREVER), and soon the bird’s remains were spitted over a relit fire. Perhaps, thought Alan optimistically, my luck has finally turned. He whistled merrily to himself as he slowly turned the bird over the meager flames. Soon the smell of roasted bird filled the air, and Alan’s stomach begin to growl preemptively. Alan frowned at his discontented midsection, “You’ll just have to wait, so hold your peace.” His stomach growled a politically incorrect response in wild protest but Alan ignored it; he had bird to roast, so roast the bird he did. Soon the lightly charred fowl was burning his fingers as he tried to stuff his face with it. Unfortunately, when he had finished he realized there really wasn’t much worth eating on a jay, and that he was still hungry. He scooped up his now-meager possessions along with a sturdy stick: it was really time to get moving. Maybe, if lady luck was with him, he could find some berries along the way.

Of course, lady luck having a tendency to leave her friends hanging, was suspiciously absent, withdrawing the hope of being fed by juicy berries. Alan became increasingly hungrier as the day progressed and he walked further and further down the main valley. Meandering through the center of the valley was a river, fed by smaller tributaries like the one falling from the valley in which Alan had unwillingly started. High above in some of these hanging feeder valleys, Alan could see the dirty white tips of glaciers, the last remnants of the giant one that had formed the valley he was presently walking hungrily down. All around him on the main valley floor, pines and firs grew close and thick, interspersed here and there by ferns and marshy areas. Alan would have thought it breathtakingly beautiful if he wasn’t so hungry. And so Alan stumbled on through the fantastic scenery, scratched, bruised, starving, and generally ignoring the beauty of his surroundings. Every so often he startled a deer or a marmot, but he couldn’t have caught either no matter how hard he tried. So he trudged onward.

The sun was just starting a colorful descent along its arc into the west when the first clouds began to scud across the sky. At first Alan paid them no mind, but when they thickened and began to block out the sun, and the wind picked up dangerously, he noticed and began looking for cover. It was around the time the storm hit that Alan found shelter in a shallow cave in the base of one of the surrounding cliffs. Just in time, too, for the storm hit with a vengeance. First came the rain, starting with the pitter-patter of large drops. It quickly built into a deluge, blown into sheets by the rising wind. After the deluge started, the hail began, and then the thunder and lightning. Alan shivered against the back wall of the cave as the temperature dropped, wrapping himself as best he could in his tattered jacket. Even if he had wanted to sleep, the raging storm would have kept him awake by its howling fury. Every so often, a loud SNAP would be heard as one of the trees he had been walking amongst gave way to the force of the howling winds and fell to the ground. Then, almost as quickly as it had hit, the storm was over, moving past up the valley to go and terrorize anyone else foolish enough to be out hiking. Still shaken by the storm, Alan got up and exited the cave, carefully clambering over the trunk of a tree that had fallen near his cave and noticed something rather disturbing: there was water just beyond the trunk, flowing rapidly downstream. “Just had to flood, didn’t you?” Grouched Alan at the flooding river, which rose a little higher in answer. Alan realized he had to get to higher ground and fast if he didn’t want to have another go at hypothermia, so he picked his way along the small slopes at the valley’s edges, avoiding the water at all cost as well as falling and breaking something. Eventually he came to a spot where the steep cliffs on his side of the valley fell away into a relatively steep hill. Upon climbing this hill, he saw that another valley was joining the one in which he had been hiking. The river in this valley was not nearly as swollen and much smaller, however, the joining was impossible to ford, flooded or otherwise. At least this other river looked crossable if he was willing to hike upstream a bit. It had to be, else Alan knew he would be trapped between them and unable to continue down the main valley.

It was getting late, and it was a bad idea to try to cross a flooded river in the dark. Upon deciding this, Alan began looking about for a good tree to climb: it wasn’t safe to stay on the ground, with the flood and all. However, the main force that drove him into the foliage was not thoughts of cold water, but one of ripping claws and hungry jaws.a good resting spot was required, and an encounter with another bear was not something to which he looked forward.

Food! Alan thought as he clambered down the tree. As if in answer to his mental plea, Alan spotted what looked like a berry patch across the smaller of the rivers. “Now to find somewhere to cross,” mused Alan to no one in particular. Fortunately, by the time Alan had awakened from his fitful night in the tree, both rivers had subsided. He quickly found a place to cross, cursing the frigid water mentally as he waded. As he trudged up the far bank, Alan noticed that the area he was currently in had very few trees in contrast to the area between the rivers, which was heavily forested. Instead, this portion of the valley was covered by a wide floodplain surrounded by high peaks of obvious glacial origin. But enough of that, thought Alan, berries first, analysis later. In normal circumstances, Alan would have found berries too sweet for his liking, but these were not normal circumstances, however: Alan had no excuse to be picky; Hunger made the blackberries taste as the sweetest ambrosia from Olympus.

20 minutes later, Alan was scratched, covered in sticky blue juice, and his clothes slightly tattered, but he was content. He was content because for the first time in the past few days, his hunger was finally satisfied. Finally full, he began to stroll once more downstream through the wide valley toward where it turned suddenly to the right. When he finally reached this bend, he was vaguely surprised to find a wide lake nearly filling the valley. On the other side of this lake were marshes and an immense and dark forest. Steam rose ominously from the swamp and forest, curling eerily into the morning sunlit air. The area looked foreboding, as if any who entered there would never be seen again. Alan gulped and took a few unconscious steps backwards, tripping over a small rock and landing on his rear in some conveniently located ferns before gulping and rising once more to his feet. He slapped himself sharply before standing up again, taking a firm hold on his instinct, and walking towards to lake. No spooky forest was going to stop him, at least not yet.

For the umpteenth time, Alan twisted his head about, trying to put a location to a noise he had just heard, and groaned in irritation. The lake had been easy enough to go around, and the swamp to cross (though his shoes were now soggy and smelled funny), this forsaken forest, however, was entirely different. First, there was the unnatural darkness of the forest. Unlike a regular forest which simply blocked out the sun’s rays turning the area below into twilight, here, the darkness in this forest was oppressive, heavy even, almost tangible. Then, there were the noises: loud, unnatural screeches and howls which came at unexpected intervals, and from every conceivable direction, yet always seeming to come from behind. Finally, there were the trees. They twisted into fantastical and grotesque shapes, limbs like gnarled greedy fingers reaching out to snag the unwary. Many times, out of the corner of his eye, Alan could swear he saw the trees hungrily moving or reaching for him, but every time he whirled warily around, the trees seemed to be right where they were before, though they always seemed closer, thought Alan. He figured it was merely his imagination playing tricks on him, and yet, somehow, the forest seemed a living, a brooding presence just waiting for him to slip up so it could grab him. It’s almost like Mirkwood, or Fangorn, or... Alan shuddered; there was that awful screeching again, except on the left this time. What was making that noise?! For the life of him, Alan couldn’t figure it out. He knew of nothing (especially in these parts) that made that peculiar noise. He was still puzzling over that odd sound when a shadow darted across the open space in front of him. At first he was relieved: it looked like a normal squirrel…until it flipped around to look at him, opened a mouth with teeth far too big for it and hissed.

Yes, it hissed: something your normal squirrel is NOT supposed to do, ever. To Alan’s (much needed) credit, he managed to contain the scream that built up in his lungs, albeit barely. He also managed to violently bat the demonic squirrel away with his walking stick when it jumped at him, slamming it into a gnarled tree trunk across from him. Alan was unsure if it crawled away or was dragged away by the plant life. In any case, it was never to be seen it again, although he could have sworn he heard the little scratchy sound of little clawed feet following him at many times throughout the day. Something is very wrong here, thought Alan, something very wrong indeed. He didn’t want to find out and quickened his pace; ducking to evade a low branch he could swear wasn’t there before. He jumped as the screeching came again, this time to the left.

The unearthly shrieking continued throughout the day; never in regular intervals, never in the same place twice. It really was unnerving, thought Alan as the shrieking came once more, this time to the right and a little to the front. It really was infuriating not seeing what was antagonizing you, even if it might be even worse to meet it, and Alan was beginning to develop a nervous eye twitch. After what seemed an eternity of torture, the screeching abruptly stopped. Alan was half afraid it was just a ploy to let down his guard before the noise started up once again and drove him to complete madness, but the screeching became conspicuously absent. Alan didn’t have his chance to enjoy his blessed break for very long, it was only a few moments after he had finally adapted to the sudden, brooding quiet, he heard something else that made his blood run icy cold, for: a long, mournful, menacing wolf-like howl, soon followed by several more to either side. Not good. Judging by the position of the howls, Alan figured he was being herded, probably to a place he really didn’t want to, or should go. After a short while, Alan saw a dead end formed by a ravine ahead. It was more of a gash in the earth as if something enormous had swiped at the forest floor. It was bathed in moonlight, for above the ravine was an opening in the dense forest canopy. He would be cornered and helpless here, yet he knew there was nothing he could do about it. At least he would better light and have his back against something while trapped.

As the hellish howls came closer and the bushes in in front of the ravine began to rustle ominously, Alan began to slowly back down the ravine into the moonlight, brandishing his walking stick in front of him as if it were a weapon. Soon, his attackers were emerging from the foliage. The first thing Alan saw were the three pairs of unnaturally glowing eyes, followed shortly by dark shadowy silhouettes which appeared almost...tree-like. They seemed almost familiar, thought Alan as he backed away further down the ravine, but why? He nearly tripped over a protruding root as he walked backwards, but managed to catch himself, knowing that should he fall, it would be the end of him. The lead beast entered the ravine, closely followed by the two others. When they stepped into the moonlight, revealing themselves, Alan gasped in both disbelief and horror, for bearing down on him with murder in their grainy hearts were three timberwolves.

Alan couldn’t believe his eyes. It couldn’t be real, it just couldn’t, but yet it was. The creatures trying to kill him were from a cartoon and yet frighteningly real. By all rights they shouldn’t exist... they weren’t scientifically possible and they... The lead timberwolf growled deeply, standing (making) the hairs on the back of Alan’s neck stand on end. He continued to carefully step backwards, his feet crunching on the dry leaves and snapping twigs covering the bottom of the ditch. If they are timberwolves, Alan thought looking at the staff in his hands, this stick will be of little use, it’ll just bounce right off them. How can I beat them? Alan’s frightened back thumped against the far end of the ravine, signaling he was out of time with nowhere to go. He had no escape. As the wolves advanced slowly, toying with their prey, Alan pressed himself against the back wall of the ravine and felt something digging into his back: the lighter his back pocket. That’s it! Fire! They’re made of wood, so maybe they are vulnerable, or at least fear fire! It was his only option (that he could think of anyway) and he fumbled desperately around in his jacket pockets for his last hope before finally bringing out the lighter with a triumphal cry of “Haha!”. The lead timberwolf stopped, confused by its victim’s sudden confidence. Alan flipped the lighter open, producing a small, flickering flame. The timberwolves backed up ever so slightly, but Alan knew it wouldn’t be enough. As if in confirmation, the lead wolf began to creep menacingly forward once more, its feet crunching on the dry leaves. Alan knew he needed to go bigger if he was going to survive, and thinking quickly, threw the lighter into the leaves at the wolf’s gnarly paws. The dry leaves and twigs caught agonizingly slowly at first, but soon the lighter was surrounded in a small but brightly burning fire,still fed by the lifesaving lighter. The timberwolf practically jumped back, but stayed just out of reach, waiting for the fiery protection to go out, his prey was trapped. Suddenly, the lighter exploded, sending up flaming debris in a bright flash of light. Some of the debris landed on and around the overconfident lead wolf, igniting it into a terribly howling sheet of flame. The blazing wolf ran out of the ravine in terror, crashing into its compatriots and igniting them as well. All three dashed away in terror and pain; lighting up the forest around them and filling it with their agonized howls. Alan quickly stomped out the flames left in the ravine except for a very few, which he gathered together to make a small fire, feeding it every so often with the materials at hand to maintain a constant and respectable inferno for protection. He stayed and kept it burning until the sun’s rays shone through the break in the trees above; all night pondering all the implications of the timberwolves, unwilling to accept this madness as reality.

As Alan walked away from his refuge, he knew he had to escape this place, and soon if he wanted to live much longer. He had gotten lucky last night with the timberwolves and he knew it full well. With his current lack of food and sleep, staying here another night would be suicide, especially with those troublesome timberwolves. Alan shuddered at the thought, he didn’t have any intention of meeting those...things again. At first, he had tried to convince himself that they were all a very bad dream, that it wasn’t possible, but the all too obvious scorch marks and massive footprints from his previous encounter left little room for his wishes. Could it even be possible? Could he have entered... no, it was unacceptable. He hoped it was too far fetched to be true. As Alan continued to walk and muse on his rather dire situation, he saw a break in the trees ahead and sprinted hopefully toward it, forgetting all but a deep rooted desire to be free of the oppressive woods. As he ran, branches seemed to grab at him, snagging on his clothes at if to entangle him, roots seemed to rise from the ground to trip him. A chilling wind began to rise out of nowhere, blowing away from the break into the forest, forcing him to run against the it. It was almost as if the forest was trying to keep him a prisoner. With one last effort, Alan finally broke free of the clinging branches and sprawled, winded, into the bright sunlight.

Alan lay exhausted in the sunlight for several moments, chest heaving as he blinked at the sudden increase of light. When the spots finally faded from his vision and he had enough energy, Alan blearily pushed himself into a sitting position and looked around. He discovered he was sitting on what appeared to be a wide path. To either side the forest rose up, now seemingly beckoning him back into its twilight depths. Alan let out a small groan of despair, for he wasn’t out of the forest yet. He wearily dragged himself to his feet and began to plod down the path, his feet stirring up small clouds of dust as he walked. When this is over, thought Alan dismally, I’ll never be able to look at a tree the same way again. Still, the path was far better than the forest, even though it was often overhung by the leafy boughs of the trees on either side. The gnarled trunks beside the path still seemed to leer at him, but gone were their reaching, snagging branches.

For the first time since entering this accursed forest, Alan was had hope. He finally had a relatively constant supply of sunlight, as well as nothing was tripping him, grabbing at him, or trying to kill him, and most importantly of all: he knew where he was going. Well, although he technically didn’t have a clue where he was going, he figured the path led somewhere and that’s what he wanted, so he (sort of) knew where he was going. Even though he was still desperate, scratched, hungry, tired and face with a dilemma as to whether or not he had lost his mind, he did have a uplift in mood.

After what seemed like hours, Alan reached the forest’s edge. As soon as he left the trees, he felt as if a heavy burden had been lifted from his mind and he felt like leaping for joy; right up until he saw what lay before him. It made the colour drain from his face. No, no it simply couldn’t be. It had to be otherwise! It wasn’t scientifically possible. Alan proceeded to fall down onto his posterior in shock, close his eyes and open them again, and rub them several times. He double-checked, and it. was. still. there. against all odds, it was not an illusion... His mouth moved but no sound came out, his mind unable to comprehend the sight before him. Eventually, the tremendous mental strain proved too much, and his eyes rolled back in his head and he fell to the ground, unconscious. Before his prostrate form lay the peaceful town of Ponyville.

When Alan awoke several hours later, Ponyville was still there and he had gained a respectable bump on the back of his head. As he sat up once more, he winced and was unpleasantly surprised to once again see Ponyville in front of him. You would tend to think that seeing a place many bronies dream of seeing would be exciting, however, Alan felt quite differently: he was scared. His entire outlook on life had been shattered: one moment a world was imaginary and safely trapped inside his computer, the next it was real and he was trapped inside of it. If any of you have had this kind of experience (which you must have, given the number of HIE fics), you know how Alan felt: completely and utterly hopeless. He was definitely not excited to see his favorite cartoon characters, nor overjoyed to be in a wondrous and magical land. He was without hope. Everything had been taken from him in an instant and he had no way of getting back. As if it wasn’t enough , he just knew he would probably end up destroying this beautiful locale one way or another. He might have generally behaved as a law abiding and upstanding citizen, but he knew deep down he was really the same as any other human being; that is, rotten to the core. He would probably screw up some important story arc just by being here. At some point or another, he would slip up, and he didn’t wish the results of that upon anyo...anypony. On top of that, he knew he could never truly fit in, there was no future for him here in Equestria; eventually he would die all alone. He desperately had to escape this place, but as far as he knew, there was no way out. Heck! He wasn’t even sure where or how he entered! He held his head in his hands and wept in despair and grief.

Eventually, Alan managed to slowly pull himself together, if you could call it that. He was quite the mess: filthy, clothes tattered, burrs everywhere, scratched on about every exposed bit of skin, bleeding in multiple places, and face streaked with the muddy trails of tears. In short, he looked like something that had just crawled out of a deep dark place, which he technically had. He was terrifying and pitiable at the same time. His visage was so unsettling that when he went to drink from a slow moving portion of a nearby stream, he leapt back in fright! Even he didn’t want to see himself like that, and neither would anyo...pony else, so he jumped into the cold water to take an impromptu (but much needed) bath, hoping he wasn’t spoiling anyo...pony’s drinking water. After splashing about for a goodly bit, Alan hoisted himself out of the stream, clothes dripping out small waterfalls, and lay in the sunny grass for a nice relaxing moment until he felt tolerably dry. Then he slipped on his shoes back on and started resignedly down the path towards Ponyville. May as well get this over with, he thought.

The first pony I should talk to is Twilight, decided Alan wearily, After all, if there is any hope of me returning, she’d be most likely to know it, or at least of it. He stopped in front of a large sign which read ‘Welcome to Historic Ponyville, population 3252.’ With a wry smile, he remembered how he’d guessed close to that number while watching an episode a while back. Then, straightening his shoulders and taking a deep breath, he walked into the city limits.

At first, nopony noticed him, too busy with whatever business they had to take care of and hustling and bustling about the streets. However, everything changed rather dramatically when the a clever mare decided to play a classic prank on her overprotective coltfriend. “Oh my Celestia!” she shrieked, pointing dramatically (and unknowingly) at the unfortunate Alan, “What is that thing?!” Of course, more than one pony followed her outstretched hoof, resulting in a collective gasp of horror that passed through most of the ponies in the marketplace as everypony turned to look, just to see a two-legged abomination bearing down on them. All of a sudden, one of them reared up on her hind legs and cried in a panic-stricken voice out, “The horror! The HORROR!” before passing out in an overly dramatic faint. The crowd of ponies panicked, running every which way in an attempt to escape the dreaded beast, knocking over stalls and carts in their haste. In nearly seconds, the streets were empty save for two ponies. One was cowering behind objects and staying just out of sight. She was a light green unicorn, both terrified out of her mind and yet also deeply fascinated with the monster in front of her and taking notes. The other, on the other hand, was high above and had just seen the terror caused by the intruder, and decided to heroically put a stop to it.

A multi-colored blur dove from the sky, leaving a rainbow contrail in her wake. Alan never saw it coming, for he was too busy staring in shocked bemusement at scene he had just caused. Before the blur could hit the ground, it leveled off and slammed at high speed into Alan’s unprotected side, propelling him off his feet and into a nearby building with a sickening CRUNCH. Rainbow Dash landed in front of the injured figure sprawled against the side of Sugarcube Corner.

“Who are you and what do you think you’re doing terrorizing my town?!” She angrily demanded, taking a few menacing steps toward Alan, who painfully raised his spinning head and looked in disbelief at the pony in front of him. A small, half hearted cheer went up from between the shutters of several nearby houses. He couldn’t help but feel a tad betrayed: a pony he admired and a hero of his had done this to him... and was cheered for it.

“Wh...why?” Was all he managed to ask through clenched teeth before suddenly tensing with a cry of anguish and collapsing unconscious once more.

Pain. So much pain. It was the one thing Alan could think of as he began to wake up. Everywhere hurt, and it hurt badly. Even the smallest twitch sent a burning pain through his body. It even hurt to breath. As he began to drift back into consciousness, voices piercing the blackness and his mind, bringing yet more pain.

“Oh my! Rainbow, do you really think that was necessary? I mean, it looks like it’s in bad shape, and maybe it was just lost.”

“Hush now, Sugarcube, RD only did what was necessary. Ya’ll shoulda seen the thing tearin’ up the place, just look ah this mess! Now if’n Ah had been there...”

A loud clatter of hooves quickly interrupted the Southern voice, making Alan’s head pound agonizingly.

“Girls, I came as soon as I heard! Something about a monster terrorizing the...Oh my goodness! What by Star Swirl’s beard is THAT?!”

“That was what caused this mess, Twilaught. Ah missed the whole thing, but RD here it the one who stopped it from causin’ any more damage.”

“Hey, it looks like it’s waking up!”

Alan gave off a coughing groan before slowly opening his eyes, the bright sun causing him to wince, then wince again from the pain of wincing. As his vision progressively cleared, he noticed four brightly colored spots, which gradually focused into four brightly colored ponies he immediately recognized as Applejack, Fluttershy, Rainbow Dash, and Twilight. All were scrutinizing him intently, except for Fluttershy, who was cowering behind Twilight as well. He tried to sit up a bit more to get a closer look, but fell back once more with a cry of agony, clutching at his ribs; they felt like they were on fire. Fluttershy started forward with a deeply concerned look on her face, but Applejack’s determined orange hoof held her back.

“He maught be dangerous.”

Rainbow Dash stepped angrily forward again, getting Alan’s attention before saying too loudly, “I’ll ask you one more time, who are you and what do you think you’re doing terrorizing Ponyville?!”

Alan winced at her volume. “Didn’t...mean to...Gahhh!”

This confused Rainbow Dash, letting Twilight take over the questioning. “What do you mean ‘you didn’t mean to’? Why are you here?”

Alan’s head limply lolled over to get a better view of Twilight and he coughed a wet, painful, bloody cough before continuing, making Fluttershy wince in sympathy and horror. “I *hack cough* was trying to find you, Twilight. You... you were...the only one that could...” he coughed once more and wheezed before continuing. “The only one that could help me.” Alan grimaced from the pain.

Rainbow Dash butted in again, jabbing Alan painfully in the ribs, “A likely story...”

“No RD, Ah think he’s tellin’ the truth. Ah can see it in his ahyes,” said Applejack, cutting off Rainbow Dash’s accusation over Alan’s cry of pain.

Alan coughed up more blood and it dribbled down his chin out of the corner of his mouth, his chest heaving from the effort. The blood was full of ominous bubbles. Applejack was beginning to have serious trouble holding Fluttershy back.

“Help you with what?” Twilight inquired.

“I wanted to ask you...*hack*...to help me try and get home.” Alan smiled weakly. “I guess it’s a little...*cough cough*...too late for that now.”

All four ponies were taken aback by the way he had said ‘too late.’ He couldn’t mean...

Rainbow Dash’s face went from one of skepticism to one of guilt and horror as Alan’s words sunk in slowly. She recoiled in disbelief. “No! No no no no nonono nonono NO! I never meant to hurt him like this! Any pony would have been just fine after that! You... You were scaring everypony and...and” Rainbow Dash burst into tears. “I’m so SORRYYYYYYYY.” She moved closer to Alan’s broken body and sniffled in and shameful horror at the realization of what she had unwittingly done.

Alan raised a hand with great effort to stroke Rainbow’s mane, ignoring the pain. “It’s not your...fault. You didn’t mean it and I...*cough*...forgive you. I’ll be going...to a better place.”

“No,” Rainbow sobbed, “You ca..can’t d...d...die! You just can’t! I d...don’t even know your name! Twilight! Do something! Anything!” Rainbow grabbed Alan’s arm tightly with her front hooves in desperation.

With his last bit of energy, Alan smiled. “My name... is Alan. It was nice meeting... all of you.”

The End

MLP and its respective characters belong to HASBRO, so please don’t sue me.

Author’s notes:

First of all, let me get this straight: there will be no CH 2. This is entirely the skype chat for the TTEOAP forum’s fault: there was a late night conversation concerning the overabundance of HIE fics. I resolved to make mine different than most and came up with a silly idea (ie. the human dies in CH 1), then got around to writing it down.

I hope you all enjoyed it.

Special thanks to my prereaders and others:

>pyrotigre, who helped to hack and chop the way through this fic and make it flow infinitely better.
>Bronyken, who encouraged me throughout the process.
>Magic Llama, who agreed to be my prereader before he knew what was coming, then screamed in agony as it got longer and longer and longer.
>David, who got me hooked on the show
> Stormcaller, who got me interested in writing
>Everyone from the TTEOAP forum who preread or just supported me.

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WeirdBeard

WeirdBeard #1 · Jun 10th, 2012 · · ·

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Sorry, just had to. Our little joke (okay, more yours) took monstrous form and overtook Siam! Or became a fic, one of the two. Definitely that original kick to it, all of my prior thoughts regarding (copy pasta is cooking), and rather stellar. Clear as mud?

Zhanuzi