A formal author's note, when my mother was a child she patted the growing hair on my forehead and told me I will understand how scary the real world is when I’m older. We would play games, where she would hide behind the trees and stare at me from beyond the crevices so when I cried out for her I could never find her. And when the time came and she never came home, I was forced to usurp her responsibilities in the house, handing out candy for trick or treaters on Halloween. Then I too was beckoned, and I dropped dead and bled out, not in the forest but in my own version of it. I understand how scary the real world is now.