Andrew can’t yet recall when he had passed out. Is it when he was carried out of that forest? Is it when he was stretchered into an ambulance and driven off?
Whatever the case, he sees these strange bluish particles floating in pitch-black darkness; he doesn’t know what they are or if they’re even real. Could these be the floating embers that his friend, Edge, spoke of?
Edge…
“Edge!”
With a quick gasp of his name, he awakens… yet his eyes remain shut. Sluggishly, he reaches up to trace his fingers over a blindfold that had been wrapped around his head.
I’m alive.
His other arm, which he lays still at his side, has a tube needled into his vein; he can feel it while shifting. On his left, he can hear a heart monitor, his own pulse, beeping rhythmically. He is also laying in a reclined position, wearing nothing under his bedsheet except a gown.
From the first clue alone, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out where he is. What he doesn’t know, however, is where exactly he is being held in this hospital, though his best guess is probably the intensive care unit.
For a moment, he absorbs its quiet ambience… the subtle ventilation of air in this small room, the echoed bustling of doctors and nurses from out in the hallways, which are muffled by the walls, and the functioning of other machineries that are keeping him stable. It’s both serene and unnerving.
Should I feel guilty for feeling this comfortable right now…?
Before this patient can guess the answer to that question, he hears footsteps approaching the doorway. There’s a particular weight and pattern to these footsteps that Andrew knows all too well by now, even on a polished concrete floor.
He greets the man as soon as he enters. “That you, dad?”
“Son!” he exclaims albeit softly. “You’re awake!”
Gaining some strength now, Andrew shifts to a sitting position to accept his enveloping warm hug. He buries his face into his shoulder, having missed his earthy scent too. “I’m so sorry,” he croaks.
“It’s okay,” whispers his dad while holding his face. “You’re safe now. That’s all that matters.”
With his eyes bandaged shut, Andrew wonders how hard it will be for his tears to trickle down his face as he feels those emotions building up again; they’ll likely just soak through the fabric.
“And…” the young man clears his throat, “… and Edge?”
There’s a controlled sigh, followed by a loaded pause – this is already a bad sign. “I don’t know,” he finally answers. “They’re bound to do another search, I hope.”
“Another sear—?” Andrew stiffens. “How long was I out for??”
“It’s only been a day, so relax,” his dad assures him, lowering his hands to the young man’s shoulders. “You needed the rest.”
“So, they haven’t found him??”
He hears him shake. “No… I’m sorry.”
Grasping his own head, Andrew lays back on his pillow dejectedly.
“They’ve closed down the Black Forest.”
“Why didn’t they fucking do it sooner?” His frustration begins taking over as he protests.
“They’ve closed it down for investigation,” the man clarifies before adding, “though none of you should have ever been there to begin with.”
Andrew turns to his father with a covered scowl before it softens soon after; there’s no accusation in his tone, just cold hard facts.
“Yeah,” he agrees. “Guess that’ll teach me to go outside of my little box, huh?”
James Coffey sits at his son’s bedside, absorbing his last words sympathetically, until a second man in a white coat enters the room.
“Welcome back, Andrew.”
“Are you the doctor?” the blind patient guesses from his astute voice.
“That I am,” he confirms, “but you can call me Dr. Friedman.” He approaches the bed next to his father. “How are you feeling?”
“Like shit…” Andrew responds bitterly, “… or do you mean physically?”
“That response is understandable, which is a good sign in itself.” The doctor nods to the father. “In any case, would you mind if I inspect your eyes again?”
“You mean… you did it before while I was out?” suggests Andrew before sitting up again with a shrug. “Yeah, okay.” He reaches up for his blindfold before pausing. “Should I or…?”
“Don’t worry, we’ll handle it.”
Right on cue, a couple of nurses enter the room as well to gently unwrap the blindfold from his head. While this is happening, he hears Dr. Friedman inching closer while producing what he assumes is his flashlight.
“Whenever you’re ready,” the doctor says.
Everyone waits patiently for Andrew to squint open and adjust his eyes with his fluttering eyelids until he is comfortable enough to keep them open for more than a few seconds; other than a little itchiness, the pain is mostly gone now.
When he gives the doctor the nod, he hears the flashlight click on. He hears his sleeve brushing his arm as he hovers the light over his eyes. Just like in the forest, he can see its shine only faintly; it’s hardly enough to shrink his pupils.
“We don’t know exactly what caused this, but you appear to have white cataracts clouding your eyes. Your pupils are hardly reacting to my light.”
“I can barely see it,” explains Andrew. “Everything right now just looks like a blur, if that makes any sense.”
“Can you recall what caused your blindness?” questions Friedman while still waving the light.
“It…” the young patient sucks his lips into a thin line, hesitating; would anyone in this room believe him if he told them the truth? “… it was a blinding light,” he answers finally, “It was… too bright to see.” He sighs afterwards, ashamed of himself.
The doctor, paying no mind, pockets the flashlight to give his patient some breathing room again. “Regardless, this case doesn’t appear to be a permanent one.”
“So, will it go away then?” Andrew asks hopefully.
“We will have to remove it surgically.”
“Oh.” Just like that, his hope deflates; he had hoped for a painless solution.
“This is great news, Andrew,” his father assures while patting him gladly.
Next, he hears Dr. Friedman flipping the pages on his notepad to write something in with his pen. “May I propose a laser-assisted surgery?”
Both father and son pause to this idea; it sounds risky but also promising.
“Son?” James turns to him, awaiting the boy’s answer.
It takes less than a second or two when he answers, “How soon can we do it?”
The doctor sucks in a breath, clearly nervous with what he’s about to say. “Unfortunately, preparations could take up to a week or two with additional examinations and consultations.”
While this isn’t the answer Andrew had hoped for, it’s one he can live with.
“It’s all to make sure that the procedure runs safely.”
To this, he nods understandingly.
“Thank you,” his dad says.
“In the meantime,” Friedman continues, focusing on Andrew again, “we’d better get you something to eat. You must be starving.”
“Thanks again.”
“Let us know if there’s anything else you need.”
With that final suggestion, Dr. Friedman leads his nurses away, leaving the two alone again.
Later, after finishing his meal in bed, albeit with some assistance, Andrew receives another visitor; this one, from what his ears can pick up, seems to be wearing boots and a belt with plenty of jangling items. There’s also a firm grace in this person’s walk; he can only guess that whoever this is could be wearing a badge too.
“Andrew Coffey?”
He immediately recognizes this womanly voice belonging to one of the deputy sheriffs who found him in the woods.
“Officer?” Andrew straightens up, now alert. “You’re…”
“At ease.” She waves him down before extending her hand to his father. “Carol Marston,” she introduces herself. “I’m the officer who found your son.”
James takes her hand with both of his, shaking it profusely. “Thank you so much again for saving my boy.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. Coffey.” Smiling at the man, she shifts her attention to Andrew next. “And how are you feeling?”
He gives her a light shrug. “A little better, I suppose.”
“Good to know.”
Andrew already knows in his gut, her being a cop, that she didn’t come all this way just to check on his wellbeing. “You’re here to ask me questions… aren’t you?”
“He’s a sharp one,” commends the officer. “But yes.”
Kindly, she takes his father’s chair when he offers it to her. Sitting in it, she leans forward with her hands laced between her knees intently.
“Have you found my friend?” he asks first, pleading that she’ll give him a different answer to what he expects. “Edge… or Chord Castor. Have you found him?”
Carol bows her head, shaking. “We’re still looking.”
This draws another sigh from the young man… Of course. “So, uh…” he clears his throat, “… where should I start?”
“Anywhere.” The woman shrugs. “Whatever’s still fresh in your mind.”
“I guess…” he glances away, blinking a few times, “… I’ll start from the beginning.”
And so… he decides to unveil everything.
In the best way he can, he tells her about when they entered the Black Forest, the group photo they took with his camera before doing so, the hours that lapsed until he got separated from his group by a flock of crazed owls, and when he found refuge inside that abandoned cabin.
“What else?” urges the deputy while scribbling in her notes; he can feel her eyes studying him. “Is there more?”
Andrew hesitates while bouncing his head between her and where he knows his dad is standing, probably leaning against a wall while concernedly observing their conversation.
“Yeah, there’s more, but…” he heaves through his nostrils, his mind racing to figure out just how he is going to tell her this next part and so on “… there’s something else in that forest, officer.”
The officer raises an eyebrow to this.
“I don’t know exactly what it was, but it attacked me… almost killed me.” He faces her again with a haunted look. “It’s also what…” he gulps strongly, “… attacked Edge.” He pauses again, then continues. “I took a picture of it with my camera.”
“Do you have it with you right now?”
He shakes disappointedly. “I lost the fucking thing when it attacked me… even broke it, I... I was just trying to run for my life.”
“Can you…?” Carol fidgets for a moment. “Can you describe this… thing?”
“I didn’t see it fully,” Andrew elaborates, “but it was enormous… like a serpent.” He tries visualizing it to her with his hands. “Its body was big enough to wrap around that cabin I was in… almost crushed me inside.”
“And… how did you get out of it?”
He can smell her doubting him. “I had the flash on my camera on and snapped the photo just as it crashed through the door. It then started thrashing like… like my flash had hurt it somehow.” He shakes his head, unable to believe it himself. “And that was how I managed to get away… I dove out of a back window and cut myself.”
Suddenly remembering that little incident, he pats the bandaged area on his thigh, which had thankfully been deprived of that slice of glass and stitched up.
“Is there anything else you can describe about this creature?”
“I know you don’t believe me,” Andrew tells her directly, “but if I could describe more what it looked like… I probably wouldn’t be here right now.”
“What are you saying?” she prods him even further.
His dad then attempts to step in. “I think that’s enou—”
“It’s okay, dad.” He waves him off. “What I’m saying is…” his glare darkens, “… that creature in the woods is no animal… it’s something else.”
Officer Carol stares at this young man silently, processing all he has said to her thus far. Like before, Andrew can only guess what kind of face she’s making towards him right now – she’s very likely wondering which number she would have to call to have him sent off to the nearest funny farm in a straitjacket.
“Screw it,” he decides without a second thought. “Dad, do you still have my phone?” He reaches past the puzzled woman to indeed receive his phone from the man. “I’ll just show you. I have it all here.” To his own surprise, he manages to unlock the screen with his muscle memory alone before handing it to her. “You’ll see the photo gallery—”
“Found it,” she affirms, then presses the icon to open it.
Immediately, the deputy’s face pales at what she sees, her body stiffening more than it ever did before, as her thumb unconsciously swipes through each image of the obelisk.
“W-What is this…?” she almost stutters. “Is this…?”
“The UFO,” Andrew concludes for her, nodding.
Carol nears her face to the screen, as if trying to inspect every possible detail of these photos, particularly his selfies, for any falsehood – she finds none. Andrew’s father, who leans over her shoulder to examine these same images, mirrors her befuddlement.
“These can’t be real…” she shakes disbelievingly, “… there’s no way.”
Andrew had predicted this response. “Did you find the video?” He motions with his finger, telling her, “It’ll pretty much explain everything.”
With a curt nod, she scrolls upon the video and proceeds to play it at full volume, through and through.
Once all is said and done, the air stills, as if time had frozen over, petrifying two of the three occupants in this room – any quieter and Andrew would think he had gone deaf too, which he realizes would be an absolute nightmare scenario. The patient begins fidgeting with his hands while nervously anticipating what this officer’s next response is going to be – he’s almost terrified, even.
After a lengthy pause that could have lasted a whole minute, she finally speaks again. “Have you, uh… shared these anywhere? Or with anyone else?”
“No,” he shakes.
“Good, let’s keep it that way… for now.”
The young man scowls with a raised eyebrow, questioning why.
“You said that you lost your camera inside that cabin when that… Gazer… attacked you?”
“Yeah,” he answers.
“And… if we were to find that camera, would we then be able to recover that photo you took of the supposed creature?”
“No,” he shakes sombrely, “because Edge took out the SD card that was inside my camera before he found me.”
“So, he has it?”
“Yeah,” he says once more. “I know how it sounds, but I’ve shown you proof of the UFO… that’s the thing that did this to me, by the way!” He points firmly to his bleached eyes. “It unleashed this blinding light that quite literally burned out my eyes… and then it just… vanished.” He relaxes himself afterwards while rubbing his temples. “Please, officer… you have to believe me.”
Officer Carol leans back in her chair, pausing one more time in deep thought over what to make of all this… unorthodox information. For a while, she just scratches her hair, then drums her fingers in her lap almost eternally. At one point, she even screws up her mouth, likely gritting her teeth.
The longer this draws out, the more anxious Andrew becomes.
The woman stands up, pushing the chair back while fixing her uniform. She still has his phone in her hand, yet for some reason, she seems reluctant to return his possession when he reaches for it expectantly.
“Officer?” he asks politely. “Can I have my phone back, please?”
She hesitates again before answering, “I may have to take your phone, Andrew.”
The young man, of course, doesn’t take this well. “Why?” he demands.
“As far as I’m concerned,” she goes on to explain, “this is evidence.”
“You can’t just take his phone, officer.” Andrew’s dad steps up to her, his tone serious. “Not without a warrant.”
“But we can’t risk this getting leaked to the public,” Carol protests.
James, however, doesn’t budge. “Not without a warrant,” he repeats thoroughly. “If you want to confiscate my son’s phone, then you’ll have to get a warrant first.”
Ultimately, she backs off with an annoyed sigh. “Fine,” she says before handing Andrew back his phone before asking the latter, “May I at least request copies of all the footage, including the video?”
With a thankful smirk, he nods. “You may.”
And so, with the officer’s help, they exchange numbers before he indeed sends her all the footage through direct messaging.
“Did you get them?”
“Yes, I have them now.” She pats the young man on the shoulder. “Thank you, Andrew. You were very helpful.”
“Good to know.” He smiles despite himself.
“But one more thing…” she requests before turning towards the exit, “… this stays between ourselves until further notice. You copy?”
“Copy,” both him and his dad say in unison.
“Good.” With a wave, she disappears into the hallway. “Good luck, you two.”
Much later, when Andrew was eventually discharged from the hospital, his dad had to shield him from a swarm of hungry reporters until he got him into their car after much hassle and drove off. Thankfully, they weren’t hungry enough to give chase.
Their ride home was deafeningly quiet.
By nightfall, Andrew takes a seat on their living room carpet in front of the fireplace, his legs crossed, while facing the warmth that licks against his skin. His eyes may as well be closed, because all he can see from these flames are blurred dimmed shimmers, like someone had permanently set the aperture too small.
This is temporary, he keeps having to remind himself.
And it’s true; once he gets that surgery, this blindness will become the least of his worries… right? These next few weeks can’t come soon enough.
When his dad steps out of the kitchen to join him, he can feel his footsteps vibrating through the wooden floor, his weight bending the boards; he can also smell the freshly brewed coffee steaming out of his mug.
“Here you go.” He offers his son the drink before sitting down next to him.
“Thanks,” says Andrew, taking his first light sip.
“You’re probably getting tired of this question, but how are you feeling now?”
Lowering the cup onto his saucer, the boy huffs through his nose. “I really don’t know anymore.” He had spent the last several hours since they got home reflecting on everything that transpired, his memories of the incident becoming clearer. “It’s my fault,” he states dejectedly.
“Why would you say that?” asks his dad curiously.
“Before we entered the forest,” Andrew sets his drink down, “all our friends had second thoughts and wanted to turn back.” He turns to his dad sadly. “Instead of agreeing with them, I backed Edge’s decision to go in anyway.”
His dad places a warm hand on his shoulder. “You couldn’t have known.”
“I could have,” Andrew insists, brushing it away. “I read about the forest a few days ago. I read about all the other hikers who went missing in there, including this girl named Savannah Wood eight years ago… I don’t think any of this is a coincidence.” He faces the fire again, his glare narrowing. “That creature… that thing… has to be the cause of it all. I’m sure of it more than ever now.” Finally, the young man bows his head while clenching his throat. “And whatever it did to my best friend… I don’t think they’ll ever find him.”
“Don’t say that,” his dad says, pulling his son towards him. “You need to stay positive.”
Andrew scoffs at this idea. “And set myself up for disappointment? No, thanks.”
“Regardless,” his dad goes on, “you made it out alive, so that must count for something, right?”
The boy sighs again while easing into the man’s embrace. “Right…” he echoes doubtfully.
