The Trees

All was quiet in the town of Tull. The trees stood dark and heavy over the village square--great trees that towered over the shanty houses, with long reaching arms and dark hollow eyes. Not a mouse stirred, nor a creeping wolf howled. The inhabitants of this strange old town were safely locked inside their homes, smoking their pipes by the warm fire or kneeling to pray before bed. Every night, the sun would sink below the forest edge, highlighting the picturesque village with a blanket of gold just before the cold, dark night stole it back. Tull was a sleepy town at dusk and dawn; when the sun was high, however, the hustle and bustle could become nearly overwhelming to a passing traveler. The town only slept so to hide its unabated fear.

From time to time, people would suddenly vanish. In the beginning, the mass of missing persons grew, while the trees became fat and bloated. Everyone was a victim. Everyone was prey to whatever evil resided amongst them. There was no escaping it. Tull was a doomed place. There was no leaving once you came to stay.

Legend had it that the trees were to blame, but legends are only myths; and myths are only tales; but tales were, at one point in time, truth. It was a rather peculiar coincidence that with each passing year, they seemed more numerous, taller and much more menacing to the people of Tull. The most ancient tree of them all was an old oak by Tull's first church--dilapidated and unused. The people of Tull whispered to one another tales of looking into the night and not seeing the tree by the church at all, but by the general store or swaying in the wind toward the forest.

The trees were restless always but were more complacent when the sun was high. At night, they were deadly. There was no escaping the wrath of the trees.

--

Lucas strolled down the winding pathway, one pocket full of sharp rocks and the other holding a box of matches. He was only twelve years old, yet tall and proud. With a head of wavy golden hair, Lucas was the kind of child that mothers knew would one day grow up with hoards of girls flocking and swooning. Lucas did not have a hoard of girls, though. You see, he was also cunning and merciless. His sister Gabrielle was not. Two years younger and shaded in dark hair, Gabrielle dealt kindness with ease and grace.

Smirking, Lucas continued to trot away while the sun disappeared and the moon began to take her place. In the dying sunlight, Lucas' hair shone like a beacon. He was headed away from the town into the forest. The forest was forbidden after dark--though it was still not wise to be caught during the day. Lucas wasn't really sure why he was going, but he found life could be so much more pleasurable when he followed his instincts. The last person to go into the forest after dark was never found alive--in fact, he wasn't found at all. Lucas's curiosity in this matter outweighed his fear and superstition.

When he came upon the edge of town, he stopped to stand in front of the sign which politely informed him that he was leaving Tull. He stood gazing at it for some time until he was brought back to reality by his sister, shouting his name and coming toward him, her breath heavy.

"Where are you going, Luke?" she said, hands on her hips and trying to regain her breath.

"Where aren't I going, Gabby?"

"You aren't going into the forest, not at night you aren't." She glanced left and right into the darkening shadows. "It's not safe. You know that. It's forbidden."

"When has forbiddance ever stopped me?" he retorted.

Gabrielle sighed and shook her head. "Never, but this time you shouldn't! Bad things happen to people who go in there, Lucas. Bad things have happened to people who are just outside this late!"

"Then get your fat ass back inside."

She scowled. "Don't curse, Luke. It's not becoming of you . . . ."

"Don't be a bitch, Gabby. It's not becoming of you."

"Just listen to me for once. I'm trying to help you!" she pleaded with him, though she knew it was futile.

"What do you care? If I died, you'd just go prancing with your little boyfriend. Hmph, you'd just look things over and think that the world was a better place without me," he spat bitterly.

Gabrielle was suddenly reminded of the time she had caught her brother by the brook. She had heard a strange high-pitched screeching and followed the sound to its source. She wished she hadn't afterwords. What she had found was Lucas sitting on a large stone looking harmless enough, for he had the knack to appear innocent even when all evidence pointed to him. He was grinning, on the verge of laughter as he stared down at a twitching heap on the ground. She found the source of the squealing, all right. Lucas had caught a squirrel and tied it down, its small body like a pentagram. Then he had skinned it and watched the poor creature quiver in its death throes. He had watched it suffer and he had laughed like a child. The revelation was forever etched into Gabrielle's mind. It was this horrid nightmare that kept her up late into the night, hearing only the trees creaking and groaning. Only, in her dreams, it was she who Lucas tied and skinned her alive.

And she knew full and well that he would hardly have a second thought doing just that. He kept her alive because he knew that she could be manipulated. Her younger brother, however, had been less useful to Lucas. No one ever saw Andrew anymore. When he was brought up, everyone would become silent and uncomfortable or immediately change the subject entirely. Gabrielle couldn't protect Andrew from her older brother's tortures. That was why Andrew lived in the cellar now, a shell of his former self.

She shuddered and wished that she hadn't remembered. Gabrielle wanted to forcibly drag her brother home. Home, where they would be safe from prying eyes--for she felt that even now she was being watched--but Lucas was already walking away. The sun was almost completely hidden; only a sliver illuminated the earth.

"Goodbye, Lucas," she whispered and turned away before night fell upon her.

--

Making his way deeper into the forest on the beaten path, Lucas hummed. It was a sad folk tune. Though there was no wind, the leaves rustled as if agitated. He stopped.

"The trees must not like that song, I s'pose," he said aloud. "How about this one?" He began to hum a different tune with a more upbeat tempo. As before, the branches began to rattle. "Well then . . ."

He didn't make a sound for the rest of his walk. The shadows slowly lengthened and finally blotted out everything. Lucas was shrouded in darkness. He felt very alone very quickly; fear crept into him like water leaking out of cracks in a vase, leaving him feeling empty. Then he had the uncanny suspicion that he wasn't alone after all.

"Is anyone there?" he asked, his voice timid and quiet.

No answer, save for the shivering of a bush.

"Gabby was right. This place is queer. It's like I'm being followed, watched. It's too far to turn back now. I probably couldn't even find my way back."

Lucas continued walking blindly and muttering to himself, keeping his hands in front of him. His eyes adjusted to the dark over time, and soon enough he found a wide open circle where the last rays of sunlight found their way through the dense treetops. No trees grew here--only weeds. The fringes of the place appeared burnt; the bushes were beaten back and charred. Lucas couldn't remember hearing or seeing a fire in Tull at all. Things of that nature simply didn't happen.

Beginning to shiver, Lucas felt a draft winding down from the East. He gathered some kindling and fiddled in his pocket for the matchbox. The forest was still. Lucas had not noticed the change--how quiet it had become. He struck the match. It sparked and lit. He cupped his hand around the precious flame and lowered it to the pile of rotten bark and dead grass. The flame licked it, testing to see if the tinder was to its liking, then consumed it rapidly. There was a sharp intake of breath from the forest all around him. Lucas lifted his head and saw, to his amazement and terror, that the trees had drawn closer.

Put it out! Put it out! they seemed to be screaming. Hastily, Lucas stamped his little fire out. He waited and looked around. Sadly, it was too late for him. A low-hanging branch knocked him in the head, and he blacked out. Then it scooped him up.

--

The boy was roused by a harsh prod in his side. He was lying curled up in the hollow of an oak tree. He awoke thinking, to his bewidlerment and horror, that he was resting inside of a giant's mouth--though, when he discovered it was but a tree, his terror did not lessen. He had been sleeping soundly on a mattress of moss, and when he tried to stretch, Lucas heard a great yawn. The night still held sway, and he saw from within the hole a plethora of glowing mushrooms perched on the branches of a thick mulberry. He noted the wide array of trees that had gathered: birches, dogwoods, willows, but the only oak that he could see was the one in which he resided.

"The little one is awake," said an old hoary voice through a wheezing sigh. It emanated from within the oak, just as the yawn had. "Come out, little one."

Lucas was launched from the ancient tree.

He scraped his hands trying to stop his fall. His golden hair hung around his head like a broken halo matted with blood. He winced and gasped from the stinging pain. The trees continued to rustle around him. They trees seemed to be laughing at him. He had never been laughed at before.

"What are you laughing at? What's so funny? Ha!" he screamed. His laughter was tinged with madness.

"We are laughing," breathed the old oak, "at you."

"At you . . . at you . . . at you . . ." the rest of the trees murmured.

"W-well stop it at once! I will not tolerate it!"

The Oak chuckled slowly. "Oh, you will make a fine supper."

"He's a fiesty one, in'nee! Let's eat him now while he's lean and tender! Now! Kill the bastard!" the Birch broke in, too excited to contain himself. His exclamations were echoed by the others.

"In due time," said the Oak.

Lucas blanched. "No! Take me h-home."

"'Take me h-h-home!'" mocked the Birch.

The Oak cast him a knowing look. "Quiet yourself, Brother. Now, little one, the matter on which you were brought here," he began and then cleared his throat with a hefty harrumph. "What were you doing in my forest so late into the night?" The Oak's voice was soothing. It did not have the bloodlust that the Birch's cries.

"I-I don't kn-know. I just w-wanted t-t-to . . . uh . . . er . . ."

"You have been a very bad boy."

"Bad . . . bad . . . bad . . . bad . . ." repeated the trees.

The Oak continued, "You brought flame to our humble woods. You burnt our Brother."

Lucas went numb; sweat pooled on his forehead, tickling his eyelids, yet he could not reach up to wipe it. He was scared stiff. "I had n-no idea. It wasn't m-m-my fault! I didn't know!"

"Harroom, this changes things. I must confer with the council."

Lucas stood rooted to the spot for God knows how long while the trees gathered around the ancient Oak, their fearless leader. Older than time, he was; master of wood, tree and hill, he was; the Oak was the maker, the father, so the trees believed; the Oak answered to no one.

"We have discussed your situation, little one . . ."

"A-and?" he said, trembling.

". . . and you have been convicted of treason," said the Oak slowly, deliberating over every word. "The masters of fire are not welcome here."

"Kill him . . . kill him . . . kill . . . kill . . ." hissed the trees.

"Hurry up and do it! I want him while the flesh is still warm!" said the Birch. The other trees murmured concurrently.

"Good bye, little one," spoke the mighty Oak with a heavy sigh. He seemed almost regretful.

Lucas turned on his heel and tried to run, but he was caught in the whipping tendrils of the weeping willow. The Willow's face was a mask of terror as she pulled the boy closer, wrapping her long thin, snake-like branches tighter and tighter around him. Filled with blind rage and hunger, the trees swarmed around the fresh meat. The Birch, eager to feast on him, grabbed hold of his flailing arm and yanked on it. It didn't come off at first, but pulled out of its socket. Lucas filled with blinding pain; he struggled to remain conscious.

On the second heave, the boy's arm ripped from his body. The Birch pranced around feverishly, shouting tribal cries of savage hunger.

The Willow constricted Lucas until the boy could no longer breath. He felt as if his eyes would pop from their sockets. As if hearing his thoughts, the Fir marched forward and plucked the eyes from his face. They exploded like grapes as the Fir munched on them. Sightless and screaming, Lucas was lifted up and then suddenly dropped on a rock. His head split open like a watermelon.

Lucas' world ended slowly, and his last moments were filled with unbearable pain. In his dying breaths, he was reminded oddly of the squirrel he had tortured by the brook. He almost chuckled, because now he was the squirrel--almost.

When the trees were done with supper, the Oak ordered the remaining parts of the boy scattered around the clearing so as to become one with the soil. By morning, the trees had returned to their resting places; they slept soundly with full stomaches.

--

Years passed, and Gabrielle meandered through the streets of Tull. It was the same as it ever was, only older and gloomier, if the latter were even possible. She was now nineteen, a young woman and elegantly beautiful. The night her brother had disappeared, she ran out of the town. No one had ever dared to do so before, for one would find an overgrown tree blocking the path. That night, though, they had let her pass. Perhaps, she had wondered, Lucas had been her penance. She could only fathom.

She was now back, but for what reason, she knew not. Something seemed to be calling her back to this horrid town. She found that her mother and father died quiet deaths only weeks after the disappearance of both their children. Perhaps enough time had passed for her to come back, and that was reason enough. It was nine years to the day that she had encountered Lucas wandering down the forbidden path.

The wind tossed her hair hither-and-thither as she walked by the shops and houses that lined the road. It was noon and the owners waved, smiling at her as she passed. She smirked bitterly, seeing through the facades, the grins, and the overall cheeriness. She knew what occupied their minds and thanked the Lord that that burden had faded from hers, leaving only the traces of a memory.

Rain began to fall from the grey sky. Seeking shelter, Gabrielle headed for the old church. A towering oak tree grew nearby, leaning over the doorway as if trying to peep inside. Underneath the oak was another tree, still young and scrawny. The smaller tree was nestled close to the bigger tree like a child yearning for the warm comfort of a parent. Gabrielle knew it must only be her imagination, but the trunk of the smaller tree reminded her of her brother lost: the soft features, the golden leaves. It almost looked wistful, however, a look that had never found the face of her brother.

"The world is a better place without you, dear brother," she whispered.

The wind ruffled the leaves all throughout the forest as if in agreement.