The Recalcitrant Forest

 I didn’t want to come over because I had already bought a ticket to Pinocchio (live action), but Mike insisted, sending me blocks of texts about the floorboards. They were rising out of the floor, according to him, and bumping into his face. I asked if he had been drinking, to which he replied, “Only a little,” and then he gave me his address. I told him that I would be there soon.
Mike’s house was of the sort that I had seen in Germany, in villages that had once tossed children into cauldrons when they no longer could work. Mike answered the door promptly. And after he led me up the stairs to his room on the second floor, I saw it with my own eyes, something that should have been impossible yet was as real as daybreak: a floorboard rose up, quickly gaining height with the addition of new planks that appeared out of thin air, stopping only when it touched the ceiling. It reminded me, somewhat, of an accordion expanding. Or maybe a column of pancakes towering over a plate.
“See, I’m not exaggerating,” Mike said. His eyes then filled with tears. “You didn’t believe me, but this isn’t like when I told you that my neighbor almost shot me, or that my boss pulled a chair out from under me, or that my family didn’t celebrate my thirtieth birthday.”
“Yes, you’re right,” I said. I agreed temporarily, until I could figure out the trick. Maybe it was an illusion, I thought. Like a projection of sorts. However, when I touched the planks, they felt like forests that had been hauled onto trucks and sliced apart into tiny little pieces.
The floorboard soon retracted into the surface, appearing as if nothing had ever happened. And another one began to rise, near Mike’s bed. Mike sat in the chair at his desk. He pointed to a chair next to his.
“Sit here,” he said.
“Is it safe?” I asked.
“So far.”
When I didn’t move, Mike added: “I’ve only had a problem when running to the bathroom. A floorboard knocked me right in the jaw.” He pointed to a bruise beneath his chin.
I took a seat next to him. “How long has this been going on?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Mike replied. “When was the last time that I hung out with you and Tony and Joey and Chloe and Zoë?”
I considered it. Mike had removed himself from the group text several months ago because he felt like nobody ever responded to his messages, which was only half true. Still, none of us had hung out with him since.
“Since March?” I asked.
“Sounds about right,” Mike said. “But this doesn’t happen every day, or with more than one floorboard. Actually, tonight is the worst that it’s ever been.”
“This isn’t something that a handyman can fix?”
“A few have come over, as well as my landlord, but it only happens at night, so they all think that I’m playing a prank on them.”
“Are you?”
“No, of course not!” Mike replied, straining for utmost sincerity. “I’m just trying to live here in peace. But apparently even that’s too much to ask.”
The floorboard next to the bed descended. Another rose right in front of our chairs. I noticed that, on this one, the sides of the planks had some figures doodled on them. In fact, when I looked closer, I realized that they were sketches of five people: Tony’s smile, Joey’s eyes, Chloe’s hair, Zoë’s cheeks, and my nose.
“What do you think I should do?” Mike asked.
“I have no idea,” I replied.
Mike didn’t say anything else, but I could feel him staring at me. Sure enough, when I looked away from the board as it returned to the floor, I saw his round, buzz-cut head pointed right in my direction. His eyes were shining brightly with fresh tears. I knew that I needed to give him an answer, but honestly, Mike had the kind of face that you couldn’t help but want to see in distress, the kind that altered very little from childhood. So, I delayed my response as long as I possibly could to savor the view.
Finally, I said, “It must be related to something in the room. What have you been up to since I last saw you?”
Mike wiped his tears onto his shoulders. “I’ve been playing a game,” he said. “Want to see it?”
“Sure.”
Mike turned to his desk and opened his laptop. He clicked around for a few minutes, loading the software.
Meanwhile, I checked my phone, which had received several messages from the group text. The first few were from Zoë – screenshots of Mike’s texts, nearly identical to the ones that he had sent me. Tony shared similar screenshots, as did Joey and Chloe. These messages were followed by several rows of crying-laughter emojis. The last text was another from Zoë, which read: “Where are you, Owen? Meet us at Triangle Bowl at 10.”
I was about to text back when a floorboard rose underneath the bed. However, I only knew this by how the bed bucked up and down, as if caught up in some kind of demonic possession. Since the bed never entirely yielded to whatever lay beneath it, I took this as a sign that the floorboards had reasonable limitations. I was hopeful, in other words, that I would be able to leave soon.
Mike, on the other hand, noted: “That’s not going to help me sleep.”
“Maybe you should leave the room until it stops,” I suggested. “Or move out.”
“I can’t afford another move,” Mike replied, getting worked up. “And my back is worn out. And who knows if these rising floorboards will follow me somewhere else. And I like this neighborhood. And it gets cold downstairs. And the view is better up here. And my doctor is just around the corner. And –”
“– Okay, okay. I get it. Just show me the game.”
Mike nodded and faced the screen. The title of the game was The Recalcitrant Forest.
According to the opening sequence, a California redwood in the near-distant future grows tired of witnessing forest fires and logging exploitation, so it gains human-like cognizance from a spontaneous burst of evolution. Its roots rise from the soil, though they remain attached to the land, allowing the redwood to move about. Additionally, the redwood uses its branches and leaves like arms and hands. Its goal is to eliminate the human threat, restore the wilderness, and take earth back from mankind.
Aside from this lore, The Recalcitrant Forest was no different from any other open-world roleplaying game. Mike had gotten to the part in which the redwood smashes buildings in downtown San Francisco and plants new trees in the wake of its destruction. Apparently, he had yet to explore ninety percent of the game.
“Maybe the wilderness is fighting back by entering your room,” I said.
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe The Recalcitrant Forest has crossed over into reality, as silly as that sounds.”
Mike looked at me, tears in his eyes. “Oh my god, you’re on to something!”
“But how is it possible? And why is it happening here?”
“Who cares!” Mike stood up from his chair, pointing at a floorboard rising in front of the door. “Chloe, Joey, Zoë, and Tony need to see it! Then they can tell us why! They thought that I was lying, but now we can show them: The Recalcitrant Forest has invaded my room! Fiction and truth are one and the same!”
“They can’t come over tonight,” I said. “They’re busy.”
“Yeah, right,” Mike replied, unconvinced. “They’re always busy. That’s how it used to be, at least. The difference now is that I’m not making this up.”
“Which means what?” I asked. “That we can all be friends again?”
“Why not?” Mike replied, sitting back down. “Why else did you come here?” A new batch of tears moistened his eyes, running down his cheeks.
“I don’t like seeing people in distress,” I explained.
Mike wiped away the tears with his fingers in such a violent manner that I thought that he might try to rip his eyes out next.
“Bullshit,” he said. “You don’t like the idea that someone could ignore you, so you came over here thinking that if you do this one good deed, someone will return the favor in the future.”
The floorboard in front of the door touched the ceiling, obstructing the entire frame. Then a floorboard to its right began to rise. This was the first time that I had seen two floorboards go up at the same time.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. “I’m here to help you figure this out.”
A third floorboard rose near the other two. This one was on the left side of the door. There was now a wall of wood where I had once entered the bedroom.
“Remember when I introduced myself at the bowling alley, during Zoë’s birthday party?” Mike asked. “There wasn’t a cake or any gifts, but later, the joke was that I was the gift. I really thought you meant that.”
“Mike, come on, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t care.”
“Yes, you would. Just admit it.”
A fourth floorboard was now advancing towards the ceiling, as were a fifth and a sixth. They soon covered the window.
“Maybe you should turn the game off,” I said, gesturing to the floorboards.
“It’s not the game controlling them,” Mike replied.
“What? What are you talking about?”
“Tell me why you really came.”
I looked around the room, trying to find a projector or an elaborate pulley apparatus or a device that released hallucinatory gas, but nothing of the sort caught my eye.
I walked over to each of the floorboards, running my fingers against their towering planks. Splinters pierced my skin.
“Okay, fine,” I said.