James is six years old, and he is lost in the woods. Or, rather — he is in the woods, and he does not know where. “Lost” requires a destination.  

He is small in size and smaller in experience, and set against the backdrop of this vast and ancient place both of these facts seem particularly relevant.  

How long James has been here isn’t clear, least of all to him. He lacks an external or internal clock, and though perhaps he could’ve made some estimation by tracking the light filtering through the trees, he has no experience or interest in doing this.  

Sometimes, when a person is without an objective, life will throw one directly into their path. And so it is that, as he is walking through the woods, James stumbles across some particularly unusual trees.  

Even among a sea of their siblings, these trees are unmistakable, not for any individually outstanding qualities but for the perfect circle in which they’re configured, its center only accessible through a small gap formed by two trunks bowing in opposing directions.  

This is — as is evident to any six year old child — a portal. And so James steps through. 

For a few seconds, he’s blinded. It could be some strange side effect of the ancient magic of the portal, or it could just be because of how bright it was. There is no canopy of trees where James has landed — there are no trees at all, in fact, with the exception of one small, dying specimen a few dozen feet away. In all other directions, there is only endless, grassy field, illuminated by almost agonizingly powerful light with no discernible source in the sky.

James approaches the tree, the only point of difference in this place and so his natural destination. Upon his arrival, without thinking, the word springs forth from his mouth: 

“Hello!” 

“Hello,” It replies. 

James, quite understandably, jumps back upon hearing the voice emanating from the tree. Its bark seems to shift in reaction. 

“Apologies. I did not mean to startle you,” says the voice from the tree. “I cannot hurt you. I cannot move! Not much, anyway.” 

Convinced more by his own curiosity than by Its words, James approaches again, slowly. The bark of the tree, upon closer inspection, is clearly remorseful, its jagged, sunken lines twisted into a faceless expression that’s nonetheless completely readable.  

“Who are you?” asks James. The bark shifts again — confusion.  

“I am here,” It says. “How did you come across this place, James?” 

James tries to remember. “I took a walk,” he says, which is true. 

It seems to find this response funny, in a bittersweet sort of way. “I’m afraid you can only stay for a little while.” 

“And then I have to go home?” 

“No.” It seems to think, for a long time. Finally — “It will be difficult for you to understand.” 

“I don’t know. I’m pretty smart,” James says, grinning. 

It finds this amusing, then profoundly sad. “Everyone who comes here must be turned to Nothing. It is the way things are.” James sits with this for a few seconds, making an honest effort to decipher it. “You will be made to not exist. Gone,” It says. 

There’s a slight spark of recognition on James’ face. “Like… I’ll die?” 

It sits with this question for a long time. James occupies his mind looking at the sky for as long as his eyes can bear, searching for the source of the light. He finds none.  

“No,” It says, finally and firmly. “Different. You will be Nothing.” It pauses. “You won’t be at all.” 

“Will it hurt?” 

“You won’t feel.” 

“I don’t understand,” says James. 

“You can’t,” says It.  

James tries to sit down. Underneath him, a bed appears. “It will be easier if you are asleep, I think,” It says. James gets under the covers without a thought.  

The bed is the most comfortable James had ever laid on or would have ever laid on, had he not stumbled upon this place. It seems to almost compel sleep. 

“I am sorry,” It whispers. 

James falls unconscious. 

I’m in my bed, at home. The door’s a little bit open, and some light from the hallway leaks into my room. I think I can hear something playing on the living room TV. Somebody talks, and there’s laughing — my mom, maybe. I close my eyes and try to figure out what they’re saying. When I hear them out there, I feel