The Green by P.H. Wise

A fallen oak lay on the path, its hoary branches, leafless, creaking and groaning in the wind like an old man moaning out his final moments in a hospital bed. The sun shone bright above and the air was clear, and the same wind that tormented the oak was whispering through the summer grass that grew up thick around his torn and broken form. His trunk was split asunder: lightning had struck here, and his blackened tree-flesh still smoked from it.

The little boy and his sister stood before the fallen tree that had for so many years served as their tree-house, the planks they had nailed together now torn loose and broken, nails pulled halfway out and bent in strange directions and half melted by the lightning. She looked at him, and he at her. She shrugged, and taking him by the hand, led him to find another tree to play on. The summer grass crackled beneath their sneakered feet, announcing the way of their passage as they went forth.

"Let's build a tire-swing," she said. "OK," he replied.

On they went, in search of another tree to make their own. They followed the path as it wound through the meadow and back into the woods. Tree- shadows sprang up over the path, darkening their world and casting it all into shades of green. Very soon it seemed as though the woods gave way to the path only reluctantly, barely standing aside to let it creep through, and closing immediately behind. Up, up, and up the trees rose, towering over the children like knotted old giants. And still they went on as if in a dream, blinking owlishly in the dimness of the forest.

Music drifted lazily through the trees, and at its sound, the girl lifted her head. She realized that she had nearly fallen asleep on her feet, but the thought didn't frighten her.

"Sarah," said her brother, "Let's go back. I don't like it here."

Sarah gave him a sour glance. "I wanna hear what's making the music."

The little boy shook his head. "I don't like it. Let's just go home."

"Don't be such a baby, Robbie."

Ignoring her brother's further protests, she left the path and made her way over brush and under branch towards the sound of music.

The trees parted, and the children found themselves in a vast meadow, its grass a startling green amid the heat of mid-summer. The forest grew right up to its very edge, and there was no thinning of trees, but rather, an invisible line. On one side the trees grew as thickly as could be, and on the other, there simply weren't any. A tall, gaunt man stood in the center of the meadow, playing a fiddle and all robed in black.

Robert quailed, but Sarah went on. Her mother had always told her that she was too brave for her own good. She wasn't sure what that meant, but she was certain it couldn't be a bad thing. She walked right up to the gaunt man, her brother hiding in her shadow. As they approached, he stopped his playing and turned to look at them.

"Well now, this is a surprise," he said, "I haven't had the pleasure of the company of children in some time. What are your names? Would you like me to play for you?"

Robbie swallowed nervously, but Sarah smiled. "I'd like that very much!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. A moment later, almost as an afterthought, she added, "I'm Sarah. This is Robbie."

The gaunt man smiled. The children sat down on the grass before him, and he began to play. Many songs he played for them, some of which they knew, and some that were totally unfamiliar. He danced for them on the grass, and his feet kicked up green sparks wherever they landed.

After some time, Sarah looked at the grass beneath the gaunt man's feet. She was astonished to see that it was dead. Everywhere his feet had landed - everywhere a green spark had leapt up - was now dead and crumbling. As she glanced about, she saw suddenly that every blade of grass held a tiny green spark just waiting to be consumed. So many green sparks. So many, and they were all fading. She pointed, and her brother turned to look.

Lines of fading green shot the whole world through: the grass, the trees, the earth and the sky. Sarah glanced down at her hand, and a thrill of terror shot through her when she saw that this too was filled with fading green.

The grass was dying. The trees were dying. Even she and her brother were slowly dying, each second that passed bringing them that much closer to their last moment.

The gaunt man stopped playing his fiddle, and looked at the two children with great interest. As his gaze met hers, Sarah found that she could not breathe.

Robbie yelled angrily. Enraged, he snatched up the gaunt man's fiddle and smashed it against the grass. It burst apart in a shower of splinters, and instantly, the grass went from a healthy green to a very dead brown. The gaunt man loomed ominously over him, reaching out for him with a pale, skeletal hand. But when the fiddle broke, the spell broke as well. Sarah could breathe again, and the green sparks were gone. Desperately she seized Robbie's hand, and together they raced headlong back into the forest and away from the gaunt man and his meadow.

They ran all the way home, shrieking and laughing at the top of their lungs as though they hoped the sound might their peril forfend. Safely they arrived, and happily they greeted their mother, who, relieved to see them, kissed them both and led them inside. The gaunt man would be waiting. Oh, he could afford to wait. He was nothing if not patient. But he couldn't get in. They were safe for a while yet.

THE END

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Well, this was my attempt at a short story. As I've never written one before, any feedback would be greatly appreciated.