If the formatting is a little fucked up in places, it's because the pre tag was doing crazy things with the preview button, so I got rid of it and went through and manually spaced between the paragraphs. I may have missed some.

The first sound out of Jim Fennel’s mouth when he woke up was a pathetic groan. The second was a loud retch as he rolled over onto his side and vomited. Images of flowing beer and beautiful women flashed behind his closed eyes, clueing him into as to why he felt so sick. It took him a moment to push himself away from the fresh reeking puddle beside him and roll onto his back, where he took deep breaths and tried to will his stomach into settling. He couldn’t remember much of the night before—he had gone to a party with some friends, but it all ended in a haze shortly after arriving. Obviously, he had overdone it a little, and somehow he had ended up… He squirmed about a little, trying to get a feel for where he was without having to open his eyes. There was plenty of room, nothing constricting him on either side, and it was far too hard to be a bed. Not someone’s car, not someone’s bed, not someone’s couch… It was the feel of grass on his neck that tipped him off. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes, committing himself to waking up and feeling like shit, and stared up at a perfect undisturbed blue sky, wispy clouds blowing by somewhere high up near space.

The sky had a calming effect on him, and he stared up at it for a long while before pushing himself up on his arms and taking a look around. Right away he knew something wasn’t right; he was lying in a perfectly groomed field in the middle of nowhere, a forest of completely foreign-looking trees off to the right, and no sign of anyone around for miles in any direction. None of it was familiar, or even remotely similar to the dirt-bared campsite he had been at the night before. He must have wandered off into the woods and passed out after getting lost, though he had never seen the sort of smooth-barked, twisted-branched trees that made up the forest anywhere near where he lived, and he remembered it being much colder.

With careful slowness, he peeled off his leather jacket and did his best to wipe the vomit from its collar onto the grass. Satisfied that it would get no cleaner for a while, he pulled it back on and lurched to his feet, steadying his throbbing head with one hand and reaching into his pocket with the other. A few moments of clumsy rifling brought him his cell phone, and before he even opened it he knew he had no service, and was determined to call anyway. Instead of merely having no bars, though, he had no network, and he flipped the phone closed and slid it back into his pocket with a curse he didn’t bother to vocalize. Eight-thirty in the morning, and he had to hike through the woods with a hangover because his asshole friends had let him wander off.

The woods were deathly quiet, something which suited him just fine in his current state, and for a while the walk was actually rather pleasant. It was the sort of peaceful stroll he had used to take from friends’ houses early in the morning to get to work or back home before his parents got suspicious, and it brought a sort of nostalgia for warm summer days with his best friend, trying to keep an Egg McMuffin down after a late night. Every tree was completely bare, but there were no leaves anywhere on the ground, and there were no twigs or stones that could possibly make noise as he walked. There was something about the place that seemed patently fake, but it didn’t sink in until he had walked probably an entire mile at his slow, nearly shuffling pace. The realization that he had been walking for so long and still hadn’t reached the campsite finally brought on the worry that he should have felt since the beginning, and he checked his phone again, unsurprisingly finding that he still had no network. He considered changing direction, but figured that that would only get him more lost. From what he remembered, which wasn’t much, if he kept on in this direction he would have to come to a road at some point, hopefully before too much longer.

He was beginning to get truly worried when, after what he estimated to be a good hour, he still hadn’t come across any sign of civilization. He might have gone in the wrong direction entirely, but what if he turned around now and another ten minutes would have taken him right to his car? He had already gone this far, so he figured he might as well keep going, reasoning that eventually, he had to reach a road and get some service. His peaceful stroll had turned into a truly miserable experience, though, something which no one should have to go through, especially not with a hangover. He was beginning to get edgy now, pissed off and genuinely afraid at being lost, and pissed off at his friends, all of which aggravated by the fact that he felt like hell, and it still took him a full minute to realize that the sound of a twig breaking was out of place in the perfect silence.

He stopped where he was, looking around slowly to find where the noise had come from, checking behind him to see if he had stepped on anything, and saw nothing. He started forward again, chalking the sound up to his imagination but listening carefully for anything moving that wasn’t him. Either it was people moving about at the campsite, or it was a bear, and he wanted to know where either one was as soon as possible. He stopped again when another twig snapped, and looked around much quicker than before, certain that he had heard something. A shape darted across the edge of his vision, and he spun about to follow it, adrenaline surging through his body as he steeled himself to fend off a hungry grizzly bear. Only there was no bear. What there was, was the pudgiest midget he had ever seen, wearing a dirty sweater with the word ‘college’ printed across the front and staring up a distinctly curved nose at him with a single eyebrow arched way up.

“John Belushi?” Jim exclaimed incredulously, looking down at the unmistakable features of the miniature Bluto Blutarsky. “I thought you were dead!”

“Who?” mini-Belushi asked, voice a dead-on match, if an octave or two higher. “I’m not dead! I’m right here!”

“Well, yeah,” Jim stammered, “I can see that, but, I mean, what happened? Didn’t you OD in a hotel room or something like that?” The little man looked up at him in unmasked confusion.

“What are you talking about?” he demanded, shaking his head. “I swear, all you tall people are crazy. It’s all that oxygen, is what it is.”

“Huh?” Jim squinted down at the dwarf. “Hold, on,” he said, shaking his head and making stopping motions with his hands. “Who are you?” The dwarf puffed out his chest and stood as tall as he could.

“I am--” Jim cut him off.

“Never mind,” he said quickly, making a dismissive gesture. “Just, where the fuck am I?” The dwarf looked slightly disgruntled.

“The Quiet Wood, of course,” he said, and Jim cocked an eyebrow.

“Say what?”

“The Quiet Wood,” the dwarf repeated. “What, are you stupid or

something?” Jim opened his mouth angrily but checked himself when he remembered who he was talking to.

“Look, Mister Belushi,” he said as deferentially as he could, “I’m a little lost, maybe you could help me—I’m looking for a campsite. There was a party…” he trailed off hopefully, but the dwarf’s expression just grew more disdainful.

“That’s it,” he said with a shake of his head. “You’re completely nuts. A campsite in the Quiet Wood? A party? Where are you from, kid?”

“New York…” Jim said, taken aback. John Belushi wrinkled his brow.

“New York?” he repeated. “Never heard of it. Must be somewhere around the Lake of Assholes.”

“It’s northeast of fucking Kansas,” Jim said harshly, sick of being insulted, even if it was by John Belushi, “now where the fuck am I?” The dwarf frowned at him.

“No need to get riled, kid,” he said, and held up a hand when Jim started in again. “You won’t find your party here. You won’t find anybody here. Hell, you shouldn’t have found me.” Jim shook his head.

“Why not?” he demanded.

“Because you’re in the Quiet Wood,” the Dwarf said exasperatedly. The look on Jim’s face spurred him to continue. “When you go into the Wood, you can walk forever without finding anyone, even if you went in with other people. That’s why it’s called the Quiet Wood.” Jim frowned.

“Look,” he said, going back to the beginning to try and get some sense out of the guy, “I was at a party last night, and I woke up in a field like a mile back that way,” he gestured over his shoulder. “I gotta pick up my sister at ten-thirty, so if you could just point me toward the campsite, I would really appreciate it.” The dwarf shook his head.

“I keep telling you,” he said, “there aren’t any campsites around here.” Jim put his face in his hands.

“Whatever,” he said. “Just, how do you get out of here?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” the dwarf said. “Just follow the path.” Jim sighed.

“What path?” he asked tiredly.

“That one,” the dwarf said, pointing. Jim turned around, and where only a minute ago there had been nothing but forest, was a very clear and obvious path. He blinked and rubbed his eyes to make sure it was actually there.

“Where the fuck did that come from?” he demanded. The entire situation getting dangerously on his last remaining nerve.

“You have to be looking for it to see it,” the dwarf explained, and Jim groaned.

“Right,” he said exasperatedly. “Thanks. I’ll just…I’m gonna go.” The dwarf grunted, and Jim staggered off down the path, shaking his head. He had no idea what was going on, and he wasn’t certain anymore that he was actually awake. A few quick slaps to his own face confirmed that he wasn’t dreaming, and he immediately regretted that particular test. If he wasn’t dreaming, then maybe he was still drunk, except for the fact that he obviously wasn’t. That left the possibility that he had done more than drink last night, and that “more than” was one of those things you usually regretted.

He hadn’t been on the path for five minutes when the edge of the forest came into view, endless trees giving way to the same sort of deep green grass that he woken up on. As he got closer, he could see a city in the distance, the dirt path under his feet winding off over gentle hills until it reached the gates of what appeared to be some sort of ancient Ottoman city, complete with onion domes and towering minarets. While the forest had been iffy, he was absolutely certain that no such city existed anywhere in America, excepting possibly Disney Land, and it became immediately clear that despite the findings of his slap-test, he was still asleep, and therefore had nothing to worry about.

As soon as he crossed the threshold of the forest, sound immediately returned. Birds chirped gaily and a cool breeze ruffled the grass, and even the silence seemed louder. With the familiarity of sound returned and his anxieties banished, he felt much lighter as he made his way leisurely along the path, and the pure, clean scent of the air did wonders for his stomach. The only thing that bothered him now was why he would dream himself up with hangover.

The walk toward the city was far quicker than it had looked from the edge of the Quiet Wood, and he was more than halfway there when he spotted someone standing on the path ahead. He strained his eyes to see who it was, but he was still having trouble seeing well in the light, and by the time he saw that it was a three-foot tall bottle of Jack Daniels, it was too late to hide. He cast about for a rock to throw at it, but there was nothing but grass, and the huge bottle was jauntily approaching him on cartoonish white legs, waving a freakish Mickey Mouse hand at him.

Jim stopped in his tracks, unsure whether to be intrigued or terrified of the strange creature approaching him. The amber liquid inside the bottle sloshed about as it jogged up the gentle hill to stop in front of him, and he jumped as a rudimentary face suddenly appeared on the label, flashing a friendly grin up at him.

“Hello there!” it called up cheerfully, sounding remarkably British for an American product. “I don’t suppose you’re headed to Taleisyn?”

“Huh?” Jim looked off toward the distant city and shrugged. “What, over there? Yeah, I guess.”

“Splendid!” the whiskey bottle proclaimed, clapping its hands together. “That’s precisely where I’m heading! We’ll be traveling companions! What fun!” It did a little jig and extended its hand. “My name is Thoroughgood Westley,” it said, and Jim slowly shook its hand, watching it carefully the whole time.

“Jim,” he said, withdrawing his hand as quickly as possible when he found the bottle’s cartoon limbs felt exactly like real flesh. “Uh, what’d you say that place was called?”

“Hmm?” Thoroughgood followed Jim’s pointed finger to the fanciful looking city. “Ah!” he exclaimed. “Taleisyn! Home of the wondrous Marble King!” He clapped his hands together gleefully. “I do hope we can see him, don’t you?”

“Yeah, sure,” Jim muttered, brushing past the strange bottle and continuing on down the path. Thoroughgood bounced after him, somehow managing to keep pace with him despite the huge difference in their strides. Jim tried to keep his eyes on the city ahead, but they kept drifting back to his companion, following him with a blissfully-unaware smile. It seemed incredibly awkward to be so quiet, but he had no idea what to say to the guy.

“So, uh,” he said at last, clearing his throat in the silence. “You’re a whiskey bottle, huh? How’s that workin’ out for you?”

“Why, whatever do you mean?” Thoroughgood asked, confused. Jim looked at him and shrugged.

“Well,” he said, “you’re…a bottle of Jack Daniel’s.” Thoroughgood made a motion strikingly similar to shaking his head.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” he said.

“Well,” Jim stammered, trying to explain, “you know, I mean, I never met…you know…a…a bottle of whiskey before. I mean, I’ve met bottles of whiskey before, but I’ve never, you know…met one.”

“Well,” Thoroughgood said slowly, still clearly not understanding, “there aren’t many of us around here.” He brightened up quickly. “I don’t suppose you’ve been to Green River?” Jim furrowed his brow, the name tingling something in his memory.

“Nah,” he said after a moment. “Don’t think so. That where you’re from?”

“Oh, heavens no,” Thoroughgood said. “I’m from Tennessee. Where did you think Jack Daniel’s came from?”

“Oh,” Jim said stupidly, feeling very confused. “I didn’t know they made talking whiskey there.”

“Why, there’s no other kind!” Thoroughgood exclaimed, waving a finger up at the sky. “All bottles are brothers! Beverage containers unite!” Jim looked at the bottle for a moment longer, then turned away, giving up on trying to make sense of what was going on.

They continued on in relative silence, Jim shuffling along and staring at the ground to avoid the brightness of the sky, and Thoroughgood bouncing along behind him and humming some obnoxiously cheerful tune. The gates of the city were visible ahead, along with the guards standing on either side, and the people moving about on the streets behind them. Jim stopped abruptly, a singular sensation flooding through his body.

“What’s wrong, Jim?” Thoroughgood asked when he noticed that they had halted.

“I gotta pee,” Jim said, making his way off the path and toward the woods. Thoroughgood called out something, but he wasn’t paying attention. The walk seemed to take far less time than he had suspected it would, and before he knew it he had a steady stream going against the trunk of one of the freaky trees that made up the forests in the place. He was zipping his fly closed when he heard rusting nearby, and he turned around to find the miniature John Belushi he had met earlier stepping out of the woods to his right. He watched him for a moment, hands slowly moving away from his crotch, as the dwarf stretched his back and yawned as though he just woken up. He was beginning to do calisthenics, jogging in place and making exaggerated breathing noises, when Jim startled him.

“Hey,” he said, making John Belushi jump.

“What the—who’s—oh.” He gave Jim a disdainful look, perhaps because he was still convinced that he was crazy, or maybe because he was upset at being surprised like that. “It’s you. You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that, you know.”

“Yeah,” Jim brushed him off. “Are you going to, uh,” he gestured at the city over his shoulder with his thumb, “Teslyn?” John Belushi narrowed his eyes and turned his head slightly.

“Where? You mean Taleisyn?”

“Yeah, whatever, are you going there?” John Belushi eyed him suspiciously for a moment, then began slowly backing away towards the Quiet Wood.

“No,” he said, “mind your own business.”

“Yeah, well fuck you, too,” Jim called after him as he disappeared into the woods. Muttering under his breath about midgets and his head, he shuffled back to where Thoroughgood was patiently waiting on the side of the road, swaying slightly as he hummed loudly. Jim ignored him as he continued his way down the road, and Thoroughgood seemed happy enough as he hopped back into motion.

“Who was that, Jim?” he asked, bouncing up alongside him. Jim looked down at him.

“John Belushi,” he said after a moment.

“Who?” Thoroughgood asked, confused.

“John Belushi,” Jim repeated. “You know, from Animal House and shit.” Thoroughgood did something that Jim figured was shaking his head.

“Why, I’ve never heard of him. Is he a friend of yours?”

“Nah. He’s kind of a dick, actually.” Jim paused for a moment, noticing for the first time that the guards at the gate were holding impressive looking pikes and wearing swords at their belts. “Hey, are they just gonna let us in? I mean, I don’t need a passport, or something, do I?”

“A what?”

“A passport,” Jim repeated, slowing down to give them more time before they reached the guards. “Like…we can just walk in, right?”

“Yes,” Thoroughgood said slowly. “Why wouldn’t we be able to?”

“I dunno,” Jim shrugged. “Security?”

“What’s that?” Jim looked down at the whiskey bottle blank-faced, mesmerized by what was either incredible naivety or immense stupidity.

“Halt!” someone shouted, and Jim jumped, immediately bracing his hands on his knees and bending over as he tried to settle his stomach and his head.

“Jesus Christ,” he moaned. “Don’t do that.” The guards had crossed their pikes over the gate, and one of them addressed him sternly.

“State your names!” the red-coat uniformed man on the right demanded. Jim took a deep breath and straightened himself out.

“Uh, I’m Jim…and, uh, this is…” he looked to his sides for his Thoroughgood, and eventually found him hiding behind his leg. “Thoroughgood.”

“W-Westley,” he added fearfully, poking the face on his label into the open for a moment before hiding it again behind Jim.

“State your business in Taleisyn,” the same guard demanded, and his partner growled. Thoroughgood whimpered slightly, and both guards immediately stared at him.

“I-I’ve come to s-s-see the w-wizard,” Thoroughgood stammered, trembling so badly that he had to take hold of Jim’s pants to keep standing. The guards’ stares swung up to Jim.

“I’m, uh, looking for my car,” he said. The two guards turned their menacing glares on each other, exchanging uncomprehending looks before swinging their heads back to Jim.

“Yer wot?” the one on the left said, not sounding nearly as official or imposing as his partner.

“My car,” he repeated, and both guards slowly shook their heads as one. He sighed and reached into his pocket. “You know, like…fuck.” He reached into his other pocket.

“Like fock?” the guard on the left repeated. The two looked at each other again, then back at Jim. “We don’ ge’ it.”

“No… shit,” he closed his eyes and leaned his head back with a groan. “I lost my fucking keys.”

“Keys to wot?” the guard asked, and Jim sighed, cupping his head in his hands.

“To my car,” he said. The two guards looked at each other again, but Thoroughgood cut them off before they had a chance to say anything else.

“The wizard will know where your keys are!” he exclaimed, his exuberance disappearing as the guards swung their heads toward him. “He-he knows everything,” he finished very meekly. Jim sighed.

“Yeah, okay,” he said, and gestured at the gate. “I’m looking for the wizard too. Can we go in now?” The guards looked at each other. The one on the left shrugged.

“I don’ see why not.”

They swung their heads back to Jim.

“You may enter,” the one on the right proclaimed, and as they moved their pikes out of the way, the gates swung open.