The fog blew away from the glass. When he looked back, the room was empty. The music stopped. His arms were wrapped in front of him, holding nothing but air. The oil lamps spat and flickered, casting shadows on the log walls. Shivering, Matt stood and walked towards the burgundy door. When he reached for the knob, it morphed to the shack door—humongous bolt and all. An animal scurried on the other side, yipping and barking. There was something odd about the bark. But what was it? He listened carefully and realized it contained human inflections. It sounded like wake up, wake up! Panting arose between the barks—maybe a small dog.

Matt opened the door.

Dull, gray light streamed into the room. A snowy forest of aspen stretched out before him, snowflakes falling with cold placidity. Paw prints trailed off into the painterly scene. Somewhere back in the trees the dog barked.

Wake up, wake up!

He trudged through the snow, following the tracks. When he reached the aspen, sunlight filtered in. The trees sprouted leaves before his eyes and the patches of snow melted. Yellow grass rose around him as he fell backwards onto the ground, staring at the sky. Light stung his eyes, and his head erupted in cascades of stabbing pain. His head felt detached from the rest of his body, and he couldn’t move his legs. His opened his eyes as wide as he could make them, and panicked. No vision. No vision.

Am I blind? he thought. He tried to move his arms but they felt like cinderblocks. He blinked, his eyelashes scraping against a barrier. Something had been placed over his eyes. Tiny feet pattered in the grass around him.

Raise your arm, he thought. Come on.

Rather than trying to move his arm from the wrist or elbow, Matt used his shoulder, hoping to work his way down. Okay, good. His right shoulder moved and he exhaled. From there he was able to lift his elbow and the rest of his arm. Matt made a fist and released it. Good. His fingers were numb, but feeling trickled back soon enough. He reached for his eyes and grasped the barrier with tingling fingertips. It was the blue bandanna from inside his truck.

Weird, he thought. Almost as weird as the beady, black eyes of a crow staring at him from inches away. He turned to the left and another crow gazed at him, beak cocked.

“Get out!” he shouted, waving the bandana in the air. The birds ignored him, perhaps sensing he wasn’t at full strength. In a show of force, Matt wiggled his toes and bent his knees. At last sensation returned to his legs. Wasting no time, he pushed himself up and got to one wobbly knee. The world’s worst hangover camped in his skull and vertigo overcame him as he vomited. Matt turned to the would-be eye-stabbing crows, dizzy and pissed off.