Lost in the Woods: On ‘Alan Wake’ and Obsession

It lives but doesn’t die. It has been here longer than you or I, longer than our grandparents and our forefathers. It has witnessed life before civilization for It predates Humanity, the Neanderthals and the Homo Habilis. When mammals first set foot on land they knew not the danger that lay before them, as It gave them life, sanctuary, and sustenance. When they grew comfortable in Its gifts, It revealed its true nature, creating fear and uncertainty. Within its shade, it brought death. Be warned of the monster that we refer to as The Woods.

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I was around ten years old playing in the local park when I spotted a large, lone tree leading to the forest. A sense of wonder grabbed a hold of me as I climbed it, discovering wooden planks nailed along bare parts of the trunk. As I ascended, I saw more beams set across the sturdiest branches to create a walkway. This is a pleasant memory for me, but it stands out for its rarity, as I didn’t play outside much. Instead, I spent my weekends inside, playing whichever games I had managed to collect over the years or watching reruns on Cartoon Network.

I grew up as a homebody, choosing to explore the internet instead of trails or forests. The irony of this is that between all of the stories I heard, the ones that were my favorites always heavily involved forests in some shape or form. But what was it that drew me towards them? That is one mystery that in order to solve, I’m going to need to take a hike through memory lane and uncover the connection between me and The Woods.

The first stop: May 2010, when my friend and I were set to enjoy Saturday in our quiet suburban town. Feeling adventurous, we got off the couch, hopped on our bikes, and pedaled to the strip mall that housed the only places where we could hang out. Choosing not to loiter in the grocery store or Carl’s Jr, we instead darted to our prime destination; Blockbuster Video. While many think of Blockbuster as an outdated relic of a bygone era, to a 13 year old kid, it was more than that. To me, Blockbuster was this exciting place of unpredictability that contained new stories and tales waiting to be discovered every week. It was a place where I could walk around, explore, find cheap looking films, then laugh at the DVD case with my friend before exploring some more. It was also a place where I could finally rent that movie I had been dying to see, but my parents wouldn’t take my to the theater because I didn’t do my chores that week. It was a place where memories could be made. Of course, my most fond memories here all revolved around the section labeled “Video Games.” 

The section itself took up about three rows, titles sorted by console, but all of the new releases were placed on the left side of the first row. Every game was represented by the box art out front followed by rentable copies behind them in generic “Blockbuster Video” cases. While perusing the most recent additions, I came across an unremarkable title: Alan Wake. I had heard small bits about it on the now defunct TV channel G4, where they mentioned an intense mystery and poltergeist items that kept players on their toes. I was hesitant to pick it up because it seemed spooky, and I was a scaredy cat, but something drew me toward it anyway. Perhaps it was the fact that Alan Wake is rated T instead of M like every other great title released that year, or simply the luck of finding a new release that hadn't yet been taken. Regardless, I paid the small rental fee and took it to my friend's house to play during our sleepover.

Alan Wake wasn’t anything too special to play — it was a little janky even — but the main thing that caught my attention was the story: after vacationing in the small, wooded town of Bright Falls, a horror writer (the titular Alan Wake) from New York City gets trapped in his own story and must figure out what happened to his missing wife. I have always enjoyed mysteries, in fact I wanted to be an FBI agent when I was young because the thought of catching criminals sounded fun. It was for this reason that I persisted through the awkwardness of the controls since I knew that I would be rewarded with the answers both me and Alan sought, answers that I sought so desperately that I finished the game in a single day. My body had become numb to everything beside the story that unfolded before my very eyes. It was a stupor that I have never experienced before or since, but I didn’t think much of it at the time. I was more concerned with returning the game as soon as possible so my allowance wouldn’t suffer under a dreaded late fee.

I let that night fade from my mind until a year or two later. I was hanging out with the same friend, and while discussing our favorite games of all time, I blurted out, “I think mine is Alan Wake.”

To them, this was a valid response, but I was stunned. The recognition of one’s sense of self is something that gets easier but more intricate as we grow older. We start to discover more about ourselves and realize that we are all complex characters instead of just a noun and some adjectives. It’s why, in my experience, high school can feel cliquey, but come college, those cliques mostly go away. I had considered myself a game collector, so this statement challenged my young sense of self, forced me to ask how I could possibly consider myself one if my collection didn’t even include my apparent favorite title.

It’s not uncommon for teenagers to model their life after a piece of media they consume, but while some art phases out, others embed themselves deep into our consciousness. Those pieces that you don’t just reminisce about and think, “Oh yeah, I really liked that” — ones that stick with you throughout your life. For me, Alan Wake was one of those adventures, one that didn’t feel like a product I consumed, but one made specifically for me. It felt like a puzzle piece was added to my identity, a piece that expressed a fondness for mystery and danger found in The Woods. I started watching Twin Peaks on Netflix, David Lynch’s ‘90s supernatural TV show, after hearing that it inspired Alan Wake’s naarative. Years later, I would eagerly watch the pilot episode for the oft-forgotten series Wayward Pines, hooked on every minute before the disappointing reveal that it was a science fiction show, not a supernatural one. I watched these to try to recreate the magic that Alan Wake was able to captivate me with. This obsession haunted me so much that I realized there was only one thing left to do. 

Much like It’s Losers Club returning to the sewers, I needed to return to Alan Wake for answers.

I searched on eBay and found a collectors edition at a reasonable price. I bought it and, after a week passed, I finally had the game in my hands. When I popped it into my Xbox 360, I immediately noticed its hold on me was much weaker this time around, as it took me more than one night to finish. It’s something that should be expected upon a second playthrough, and the slower experience allowed me to find something new to piqued my interest. When I had first rented Alan Wake, I was sitting in a well-lit room with my best friend, but now I was alone in the dark and wearing headphones. The outside world was gone, and I could only see and hear the game that captured my interest years ago. This new experience fully immersed me in the world of Bright Falls, a world so rich and lived in that it captured my attention once more.

Since I already knew the story beats, my primary focus was spent on discovering everything surrounding the mystery: I pursued lore instead of game progression. I gravitated towards the seemingly mundane aspects of the world, reading every plaque about a tree or newspaper clipping on a wall. I paid better attention to the characters this time around, reading every manuscript page to discover more about their motivations, or the facade they presented. The amount of secrets that characters held interested me, as secrets can only exist away from others, and no place is more isolated than The Woods, and Alan Wake has a lot of forests. In fact, pretty much every level is one.

While many players criticized the game for this design choice, it is vital to Alan Wake’s identity by showcasing what The Woods represent: beauty when you are sure of your journey’s outcome, horror when you are uncertain. I spent time walking around the fictional forests and, despite being the kid that would rather watch TV than go on a hike, I slowly began to develop an appreciation for nature. It must also be acknowledged, however, that nature does not just hold earthly beauties: monsters too lurk in The Woods. Wendigos, Trolls, and even Slenderman are just some of the ideas humans have conjured to express the dangers of The Woods. Alan Wake explores the complicated relationship man has with The Woods in one of the game’s most important locations: Cauldron Lake.

On the first visit to Cauldron Lake, Alan and his wife, Alice, discover that the cabin they rented is not next to the lake, but on it. Players do some chores to get the power on before being treated to a cutscene of a hopeful Alan imagining his future while watching a beautiful sunset. The tone changes when he discovers that their vacation was a plan for his wife to trick him into seeing a psychologist, and during their ensuing argument, the lake itself comes alive, dragging Alice down into unforeseen depths. 

Cauldron Lake holds a supernatural power that brings anything an artist creates to life. It has the ability to influence innocent people: it forces Alan into writing a story that makes it more powerful under the guise of bringing his wife back, and possesses the townsfolk so they do horrendous things to one another. The victims are park rangers, miners, hunters — people in tune with nature who sometimes talk about its beauty before brandishing their weapons. Alan Wake is a horror tale coming to life, and by playing into the belief that The Woods are a place of mystery and beauty, a place where where anything can happen, nature becomes the place where reality itself can be rewritten.

Having further uncovered Alan Wake’s lore and philosophy, I believed I would be satisfied, that I could put the mystery of The Woods behind me. I developed an appreciation for nature and discovered why the game hooked me so, so I could now move on. But I couldn’t. I tried to shake the game’s influence off by exploring new genres, but it wouldn’t go away. It haunted me until 2021 when I received a discord message from my friend simply saying, “uhh… Noah, you might want to turn on the game awards.”

Alan Wake 2 was officially announced.

I spent several minutes analyzing the trailer because I knew that the second I stopped, I would need to play the original again to celebrate. After years of waiting for a sequel, it felt cathartic to have my obsession with Alan Wake and The Woods validated. After so many years, I would finally learn what fate would befall the Champion of the Light. I purchased Alan Wake Remastered the day it came out, and, upon playing it, something different happened: I was bored. The truth of the matter was that it no longer contained any more suspense left for me to consume. I had beaten Alan Wake five times by now, and the only thing my mind was interested in was what would happen next. I pre-ordered Alan Wake 2 ready for whatever new mysteries would be presented with.

When launch day finally arrived, I looked up from my computer and around my apartment. Most of my furniture consisted of black, painted wood. The textiles that make up my living space were predominantly a dark shade of emerald green. My walls were adorned with fake plants and pictures of a forest at night. Why did I choose this aesthetic? I suppose I wanted to recreate the feel of Alan Wake in my home rather than just acknowledge my love with posters and merchandise. I turned off the lights and put my headphones on, ready to dive into the unknown for the first time in over a decade. And unknown it was. Sure, The Woods were still there — they never left — but there was also a city, a coffee-themed amusement park, and other areas that seemed to stray from nature. “Seemed,” of course, doing the heavy lifting. The danger was still there, but more importantly, the mystery was as well.

Suddenly — a jump scare.

It startles me a bit, but I shake it off. The game goes for an encore, but I’m ready this time and it doesn’t get me like the first one did. I keep my guard up, anticipating a third one, but it doesn’t come. My anticipation builds more as each second I spend watching shadows dart across the corners of my eyes, I ask why it hasn’t come yet. That anticipation slowly but surely turns to fear that begins to get stronger by the minute. I weigh my options: either abandon The Woods along with the danger, or continue the terrifying trek deeper into the mystery. I knew my answer deep down, for I was no longer the scaredy cat at Blockbuster from so many Saturdays ago. Now, I was a complex character.

So I persist.