Christofer returned with the sound of his breath as he blinked into the pitch-black darkness. Wind howled across his face, carrying the rank scent that clung to the humid air. He touched his skin, sticky with sweat. His confused thoughts fired in every direction, trying to reconstruct what just happened. He shifted and felt water swirl against his legs. Knee-deep, with the water line just barely soaking into his shorts. He thought, ‘Reality melted, the kitchen was now... flooded?’ stunned and nowhere near close to figuring out the truth. His face scrunched together due to the foul stench. It was powerful. Enough to make his eyes water.

  “This smells worse than my brother’s cooking… I didn’t know that was possible, the first person who thought that broccoli and a frying pan was a combo needs to be shot.”

  A twig broke in the distance, and his head whipped in the general direction of the sound. But only the darkness stared back at him. His eyes darted around in panic, squinting, searching for a light source. After an uneasy step backward, he sank down, experiencing a momentary panic before stumbling forward to regain his footing. He squeezed his hand. The substantial lack of weight to the end of his panicked twirl made him realize. His mug was missing.

  The muddy floor shifted underfoot, revealing crevices big and small, grounded with rock. His heel pushed against the sinking floor and he instinctively widened his stance to keep balance. He took a step forward, lifting his foot and pressing it down carefully to avoid falling, moving slowly to avoid slipping. Shifting to the left, hesitant, testing—and immediately dipped lower. His foot slipped into a softer patch and sank deeper than expected. For a moment, his balance tipped and panic surged up through his spine. He lurched backward with both arms out, regaining his footing with a splash and a sharp inhale. Water clung and resisted as he moved. Each step squelched faintly as his feet sank into soft muck, then dragged free with effort. Something hard bumped his shin. He pushed his palms outward and ran his hands along it. The cold, hard abrasive surface informed him it was a rock, or rather a boulder. He searched for the leftmost and rightmost edges, something to give him a handhold. Hoping it would hold his weight without tipping over, he pulled himself toward it.

  He struggled to climb on top of the wet rock until he was laying across it like a folded blanket drying after a wash. His legs were dripping with a dark green gunk up to his knees. He lifted his head and tried to look for some kind of clue where he was, but despite the slight elevation, the darkness still made it hard to make out what was out there. He could still barely see further than an arm’s reach. His tired eyes wandered around aimlessly until he began acclimating to the darkness.

  "Is this a dream?" He felt a numb, burning sensation on his legs. He looked down, then up, still confused. "This is a very realistic dream."

  Something glowing zipped past, illuminating the area for an instant, a glimpse enough to burn the image into his retinas. The reflections over the water painted the scenery of a swamp. Despite the wind, the water was almost perfectly still, like a layer of dark green coated glass. Twisted, moss-covered roots and towering trees with robust-looking barks populated the area, rising through the water. He had been unable to find the words to describe this place, but the words were finding him. He felt the insects, saw the trees and the numerous faint lights resembling fireflies moving erratically in the distance.

  “Well, this is different. It’s not often that I dream about Hell,” he nonchalantly said to himself with a blank expression on his face.

  He squinted and noted the vague outline of a log visible in the water below, with a building urgency in him to find solid ground and stable light. He carefully stretched out his leg and felt his foot push against the log. It felt solid; it hadn’t rotted to mush and should be able to take his weight. He pushed himself away and fell on the log. However, he realized too late the age-old concept – Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. The log crashed into the water where he landed and the other end kicked itself up into the air, splashing back down.

  ‘Shit!’ He hugged the log tightly until it stopped moving.

  He exhaled and crawled forward along the log, with every movement being answered by a nearby slip or slither. He crawled on top of another and it suddenly shook with significant force. Christofer stopped and scanned the area.

  ‘The hell?’ was the only thought that could accurately describe his confusion.

  He continued moving gradually more methodically, yet with greater uneasiness as an unexpected feeling of fear crept over him. The fear felt overpowering, and no amount of rational thought could convince him of his safety. A moment passed before he felt another violent tremor. Since there was a clear rhythm for the rumbling, he concluded it was the effect of something walking. He quickened his speed, crawling across the fallen trees like a lizard, until he came to a sudden stop.

  A muddy wall had risen in front of him. He squinted. No, that was not right. He looked to the left and to the right, watching the dirt wall curve from the flickering light of the fireflies. It appeared he was in a pit. He needed to get out. Locking onto the only tree he could find that had lodged itself into the muddy path up out of this pit, he jumped onto it and clawed himself up along the wet tree. As he climbed up the old tree, parts of the rotting wood crumbled beneath his hands, disgorging bugs like blood gushing from an open wound. Gritting his teeth, he continued to climb. He was getting warmer and a white mist escaped from his lips as sweat rolled down from his forehead. The air pressed in heavier than before and something in his bones told told him that rain was on the horizon, not just from the smell, but from the pressure. In fear of the struggle it would be to climb through wet mud, he struggled to increase the pace. At last, he reached the treetop of the fallen tree and stumbled upon more stable ground above, where the mud hardened to dirt. He jumped and flailed his hands, hoping to remove any stragglers that had hitched a ride. As the dim light stretched out in front of him, the sight of terrifyingly massive grooves that cut deep into the surrounding rocks caught his eye. The cuts were tightly packed as if enormous beasts had unintentionally dug into the rocks amid a struggle. He could’ve easily placed two of his fists into the grooves that ran diagonally across the stones, height-wise. Broken spears, swords and green puddles also littered the ground, with rubble and signs of battle.

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  While trying to calm the shaking of his hands, he sensed something below. A chill swept through his body as the shadow screeched and multiple hairy legs began rapidly moving up the tree. Lightning flashed overhead with a sudden, loud crash of thunder as heavy rain fell across the land. The deafening noise drowned out all other sounds, then faded, leaving only the dull rhythmic pounding of the rain. However, in this brief flash of light, the dark shape gained form. A large hairy black spider, which shrieked a threatening hiss as it climbed upwards along the tree with its long spindly legs, coming ever closer towards him. It was about the size of a dog.

  ‘Nope, nope, nope, nope,’ echoed in his mind as it blanked.

  Then, at the highest speed he could muster, he scurried out of the swamp, charging into what he felt was the densest, hardest-to-traverse area. Grass, bushes and vines whipped him as he jumped, leaped, and crawled along the elevated ground, his heart beating hard in his chest. Christofer went all out in his attempt to flee. Trees zoomed past him. He felt adrenaline coursing through his veins and the spider suffered several rounds of verbal violence as the distance finally grew between them.

  He lost his sense of time as he ran and stumbled through the woods. It took every last bit of his willpower to hold himself up as he ran. He pushed himself to run further. Further, until the strength left his legs, stumbling forwards as one of his ankles got caught on a large tree root. He fell face-first into the ground. He pushed himself up and sputtered as mud splashed in his face. His body was shaking as he slapped away his long black hair that had fallen down over his eyes, bringing the area into focus. It felt like his muscles were screaming.

  Although his face, hair and beard were covered in stinking mud, he still breathed out a sigh of relief as he stared up through the thin branches above. The dark clouds moved for a brief instant and through a less dense rain cloud, he could see a cold, purplish, full moon. It emanated a hazy, devilish violet moonlight and covered the boundless world before him.

  "Where the hell am I?"

  Christofer panted. He pushed his hair up and away from his eyes and shakingly rose again, stubbornly stumbling forward down the incline of roots and bushes. With nothing to obscure his vision any longer, he noticed a body. The only apparent injury was a steaming white ceramic mug pierced into the forehead of the man. Christofer's gaze went to his own clothes, his brown t-shirt which had been practically dyed green by the algae. The same went for his black shorts. He stopped his scattered thoughts and focused instead on the clothes of the dead man. A large coarse brown cloak with two large pockets, with an oddly mismatched pair of decent yet oversized boots, at least compared to the man wearing them. The man also had a worn pair of pants and a pair of pale leather gloves. Christofer pushed himself up and considered his options.

  ‘Well, it’s not like he needs them anymore,’ and began stripping the body of the clothing.

  Switching to what fit, he dressed himself up with more secure shielding against the torrential rain. Now equipped with a pair of boots that ?fit him rather well, and a cloak to wrap around his body, he was ready to set off. He would’ve used the pants as well, but they were too tight. The leather gloves were similarly discarded. Upon closer inspection of the mug embedded in the man's skull, Christofer realized that the mug in fact was his, as he recognized the “I love my computer” image on the side. With a solid yank, the mug came loose and the rain quickly washed off the blood. He pondered how it could’ve ended up there, as before he landed in the swamp it was in his hand.

  “Aww, my favorite mug. What have they done to you?” he said, brushing off some dried reddish-brown ash from the bottom of the mug before shoving it into the large right-hand side pocket of the cloak.

  Although his feet ached, he stubbornly kept walking despite the pain. He pushed himself further until the scent of something familiar caught his nose. An alluring smell that made his stomach grumble. He approached closer and heard the subdued rumbling of the boiling cauldron. The figure in front of the fire became alerted to something. A man with short brown hair, a sunken, scarred body, and a short-sleeved black shirt strode forward with a spear in a firm grip. An armored man followed him with a torch in his hand.

  “Captain, where should we send this batch to?” the man in the black shirt asked.

  Christofer couldn’t hear the answer as the figure returned its attention to the fire. He made a quick glance and then repositioned himself behind another tree, closer to the fire. By now, he could make out more human figures. There appeared to be four, maybe five - the far side of the fire remained elusive. Overhead, a buzzard perched upon a branch several branches above his head. Just as his head poked out the side of the tree, he could see four figures staring directly at him. The buzzard ruffled its feathers and took flight, disappearing into the night sky. One man with a thick beard spoke in a deep voice.

  “You should have not come here, trespasser. You dare cross through our lord's domain?”

  “I was on my way to the kitchen to get a snack and I got lost,” Christofer responded, scratching his head.

  “You ended up in the infamous Night Forest,” the man raised one of his eyebrows and scratched his thick beard. “On your way to the kitchen?”

  Christofer paused for a second.

  “I am not a clever man.”