Disclaimer: I do not own Alan Wake.
Twelve-year-old Alan tossed on his bed, unable to sleep. The boys at school had teased him again, saying he didn't have a father. He wanted to argue back, but there was nothing he could say. He didn't even know his father's name.
The darkness in his room thickened at that thought and whatever lurked in it stirred. He pulled out the clicker from his pocket, but for once he couldn't bring himself to press the button. If his father were there, he wouldn't need the clicker anymore. His father would protect him from the monsters; part of him still believed that.
Part of him, however, was starting to understand that the monsters couldn't be real, that the clicker couldn't be magical.
It was all in his head.
His thoughts kept him awake. They demanded to be let out, to be set free. He padded over to his desk and turned on the desk lamp. The blank pages of his notebook glowed under the faint yellow light. He picked up his pen and filled the pages with his thoughts, which came out as a story, as always.
He dug up the fear and frustration inside him and gave them shapes, then he guided them away from his mind and onto the pages. The story took shape and he found himself relaxing, as if a burden had been lifted off his shoulders.
That night, his dreams were filled with light.
Years later, when the monsters closed in on him from all directions, Alan was not afraid. He aimed his flashlight at the word glowing brightly in the distance. The rocks around him crumbled, letting in the light. The monsters dissolved into thin air.
The darkness had used his words against him, but not anymore. He had regained control and the words had once again become his salvation. With them, he could keep the monsters at bay. With them, he could end this nightmare.