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Saga: Is there anyone you’d like us to reach out to, Mr. Wake? You’ve been gone for a long time.
Alan: No! No. They’d be in danger. It will come for me.
Saga: Okay. Let’s talk about something else. Robert Nightingale. Do you know him? You were both here in 2010.
Alan: The Dark Presence got him… back then. That’s the last time I saw him. 13 years… Fuck me.
Saga: Tell us about the pages. You had what looks like a title page with you. “Return”. Is that the name of the story on these pages? The writer’s name has been scratched out — pretty violently — but your name can still be made out underneath.
Alan: Scratched out. Yeah. Scratch.
Saga: Did you write these pages, Mr. Wake?
Alan: I…I’m trying to remember. It’s… it’s a crazy jumble, like a nightmare… It doesn’t… It doesn’t make sense… I remember… I remember.
Mr. Door: Thank you, thank you! Welcome, welcome. We have a great show for you here tonight. Alan Wake is here. Alan Wake! One of my all-time favorite writers, and guests on the show. He’s here to talk about his latest book. And as usual, our house band, the Old Golds of Asgard, is here. Take it away, you crazy Vikings!
Alan: Fuck. Was I on a talk show tonight?
Alan (V.O.): Waking up in places with no memory of how I’d gotten there. It was out of control. I didn’t need another mugshot in the fucking tabloids.
Mr. Door: A warm welcome to Mr. Alan Wake.
Alan (V.O.): Had I already done the show? Was that a recording?
Mr. Door: Please, give a warm welcome to Mr. Alan Wake. Good to see you, Alan. Welcome back to the show. Come on, sit down. It is so good to see you, Alan. This must be an exciting time for you. Tell me, does it ever get old?
Alan: Sorry, does what get old?
Mr. Door: Publishing a new book! Are you okay there, my friend? You look like you’ve been cooped up in the writer’s room for a few too many years.
Alan: That’s exactly how I feel. I’ve waited so long to get my hands on the sequel to “Departure”. You left us on quite the cliffhanger. We’ve all been dying to know what “It’s not a lake, it’s an ocean” really means.
Alan: You and me both.
Mr. Door: Well, our wait is over. Your new book “Initiation” hit the shelves tomorrow.
Alan: What?
Mr. Door: That’s exactly what every reader will be asking. This book is mind bending, and so cerebral. How would you describe it? An autofictional thought experiment? A horror story? A postmodern detective story?
Alan: Wait, this isn’t right. I haven’t written anything.
Mr. Door: He’s so humble.
Alan: Okay, you got me. Good prank. Very funny. But yeah, sad to say I’ve not written this. I’d remember if I’d written a book, right?
Mr. Door: Or maybe it was written by your evil double? Well played, man. That is spot on. Playing the role here, pretending the world of the book overlaps our own. Very meta, indeed. You see, “Initiation” tells the story of a fictional writer named Alan Wake who is trapped in a nightmare, desperately trying to find the manuscript of a novel he has forgotten he’s written. The book is set in New York, but it might not be New York at all. He is tormented by his dark doppelganger, guided by visions of a fictional detective he has written. That’s right, Alex Casey is in this book as well.
Alan: I guess we’ll just keep doing this the whole show. The joke’s on me.
Mr. Door: But isn’t that what you sign up for with autofiction? But seriously, I found the structure of the reality you build in the book fascinating. It reminded me of The Matrix. The writer is physically in his Writer’s Room, trapped there, and he projects himself out to this dark dream of New York through the story he is writing. Like astral projection. Did I get that right?
Alan: Yeah, that’s exactly right. Go on, I should be taking notes here, this is great stuff.
Mr. Door: Notes for that other Alan Wake in that room writing this as we speak? Are we all in your story, Alan? I wish you every success with your new book, Alan. I hope it’s as successful as your bestselling Alex Casey series. “Initiation” hits the shelves tomorrow. After this I’m sure we’ll all be eagerly awaiting the culmination of this hero’s journey trilogy of yours. A book called “Return” perhaps? Thank you for one of the strangest interviews of my entire career, Alan. All this talk of meta narratives has me expecting to disappear once this scene ends.
Alan: Hello? I’m losing it. Something’s not right here.
Alan (V.O.): I need to get home. To Alice. What the hell was that interview? Some kind of a joke? “Initiation”? I never wrote a book called “Initiation”. This felt like a bad dream. Could make a good horror story.
Alan (V.O.): Old Gods of Asgard. The name sounded familiar.
Alan (V.O.): I was a mess. I had never heard of this talk show or Mr. Door before. None of it felt right. Was I losing my mind?
Alan (V.O.): There was something in the studio with me. I had to get out.
Scratch: This is the ritual to lead you on.
Alan: Ahah!
Alan (V.O.): Waking up from the nightmare, I felt like a drowning man gasping for air. This place felt familiar. A ghost of a memory surfaced, about writing here for countless days. A plot board, for mapping out a story. On the index cards, the nightmare that just happened to me. A summary of the story so far. But other notes as well. Warning. I had written them. I couldn’t remember what it all meant. The name Scratch filled me with dread. I could trust these words. I had to act on them. “You must write to escape.” I didn’t remember much, but I knew my thoughts and ideas could manifest as reality in this dark place. I’d use my writing to project myself out of this room. Like a deep sea diver. To go deeper and explore the depths of this prison for a way out. This room was my boat. Writing was my lifeline. I would start again at the talk show.
Mr. Door: Welcome back! Thank you, thank you. You’re too kind. Welcome back. We have a great show for you here tonight, a real treat for all you Alex Casey fans out there. Alex Casey himself is here tonight! That’s right, Sam Lake, ladies and gentlemen, the actor who has given his face to the famous detective in the film series. And of course we have Alan Wake, here, the bestselling writer of the books the films are based on. Let’s do this!
Mr. Door: Welcome back to the show. So, Alan, as the creator of the character, how do you feel about this?
Alan: Sorry, what?
Mr. Door: I know it can be an awkward question with the man sitting right next to you, but how do you feel about him in the role of Casey? Does he look the part to you?
Alan: He looks exactly like I always imagined Casey to be. It’s uncanny.
Sam: Thank you. That means so much to me. I’m a huge fan of your books.
Mr. Door: So what’s the problem, Alan? Because on more than one occasion, you’ve voiced your reservations about the adaptations.
Alan: It’s not that… They’re their own thing. They’ve gone with choices that are different from mine. I feel protective about my stories. And these adaptations… I don’t know, I guess I just wish I could have been more involved in making them.
Mr. Door: Well, in that case, you would not have seen this either. We have a clip from the new film, Murder Case Casey. Should we roll it, or do you want to say something first, Sam?
Sam: Nah, just roll it.
Casey: This city was an old scar that refused to heal. The rain made it fester. It needed the sun, but there was only the night. I was tired. Insomnia covered me like a plastic film. I was watching the world through a rain slick window, my own reflection haunting the view. I was trying to track down a missing writer. My only clue was a table lamp shaped like an angel, the only thing to shed light on this sordid mystery.
Mr. Door: That’s great! Murder Case Casey. Great job, Sam. Very exciting. And very meta. I’m looking forward to seeing more.
Alan: Wait. Stop. What was that about a writer? About a lamp?
Alan: Hello?
Ahti: Ah, (no niin) there you are, Tom. Not so much evil that not a bit of good as well. Not one without the other. Good to see you.
Alan: Hey, I can’t seem to find my way out of here. Can you point me to the exit?
Ahti: (No totta helvetissä.) Of course, Tom. The work will instruct its maker. I was gonna get something from the basement for you, but you can get it yourself now. The more cooks the worse the soup.
Alan: What do you want me to get from the basement? And my name’s Alan, not Tom.
Ahti: (No joo, mutta katopa kun) a man’s a man, but a man with a tool makes two, Tom. (Eikö niin?) And a man with the tool — can build his own exit. It’s in a shoebox in the basement where you left it. Safe as in the Lord’s purse. Here’s the key.
Alan: I’ve been trying to find a way to escape the Dark Place. Any suggestions?
Ahti: He who moans about his troubles, is the prisoner of his troubles. It’s not easy to get out. But don’t you worry, Tom, the home is still there, where the heart is. I often think about it when I mop the floor and look into the puddle. Water is the memory of the world. Water finds its way.
Alan: Have we met before? Are you trapped in the Dark Place too?
Ahti: You remember Ahti. The janitor. You can’t be lost if you don’t worry about where you are headed. So don’t worry, Tom, the sun will shine even into a heap of twigs. Just remember to turn on the lights. It won’t take long when you get to work.
Alan (V.O.): The janitor was a bit out there, but still a friendly face. I had to trust the basement would get me out of here.
Alan (V.O.): An old lamp in a shoebox. Was this what the janitor had left for me? The lamp felt significant. A tool for bringing light to the darkness. I felt a magnetic pull between the lamp and the light overhead.
Alan: Whoa.
Alan (V.O.): When the light jumped into my lamp, the whole room changed. Like something in a dream. Opening a way forward. The lamp was humming. The bulb glowed. It held the light now.
Alan (V.O.): I felt another surge from the lamp. I could use it again. The glow in my lamp went out, shifting to the light in the room. The light carved out something new from the darkness.
Alan: The Dark Place wants to drown me. I’m losing myself. I have to fight it. I have to remember. The Clicker. The light switch. I lost it. But I have the lamp now. The lamp the switch was cut from. This place is a nightmare. Not real and yet more real than anything. The danger and the horror are real. It feeds off my mind. Twisting whatever it takes into psychotic reality. I’m trapped here. I write to escape. I’ve tried this many times. Written countless stories. Forgotten how many. I keep failing, but I must keep trying. I use the story to dive deeper. Every word I write is a step forward on this spiral into darkness. I dive to the bottom to find the answer, the map, the key, the compass, combined to form the door leading out. But how do you open a door that’s not a door? At the bottom of an ocean that’s not an ocean, in a lake that’s not a lake?