Disclaimer: This here's one of mine. I've been agonizing over it for months and I'm not sure I've revised it enough yet, so please be gentle.
The Crying Tree
By
WeirdRaptor
Out in the Redwood Grove Lowlands,
In a dark place no one understands,
There you will see it, The Crying Tree,
With a glance you will be free,
From your sense, from your peace of mind,
Leaving reason far behind.
“Where do you think you’re going?! You stay away from those Red Lowlands, Bobby! Nothing good comes to no one down there. Accidents, beatings, even murders, so you just listen to old Granny. Anyone heading down there only ever goes lookin’ for trouble and they find it. Or cause it. Like your Uncle Olsen. Came back crazy and knife-happy. Had to have him hauled off to The Red Moon loony bin! So, you mind yourself and stay where you’re supposed to out in the open.”
Bobby chuckled as he finished mentally reciting his grandmother’s diatribe to him. It’d been word for word, or close enough, by his reckoning. The day he’d tried to hike the trails of the Lowlands were still clear to him as the grass and trees right in front of him.
“I’m supposed to stay away from the Lowlands? Why exactly?” he wondered, both then and now.
Granny Gertrude wouldn’t exactly say what he was supposed to steer clear off down there, but that didn’t stop her from going on about what happened to people, or what they did, when they emerged from the wooded area of Red Grove’s Lowland. And Bobby decided her tales wouldn’t stop him from finding out. That’s what the local library was for. When your elders don’t wanna talk about the dark side of town with you, you just asked a librarian. The books about their local history had been very enlightening concerning some things Granny didn’t want to divulge.
“The Crying Tree,” Bobby mumbled aloud.
He reached up towards his chest, feeling the camera that hung from its neck strap. He smirked. Even at age 12, Bobby knew that old superstitions were nonsense. The Crying Tree was like the Salem Witch Trials. The settlers from centuries ago mistook a medical condition for witchcraft. Whatever caused people to go crazy and commit acts of violence in the Red Lowlands had nothing to do with a cursed tree. It had to be something natural that grew in the woods. Or perhaps it was something in the water that induced madness. But looking into the ‘eyes’ of The Crying Tree? Not a chance.
This is why Bobby came prepared with long rubber boots that went up to his knees, instead of the normal tennis shoes he’d otherwise be wearing. It was why he had long sleeves on a summer day and why he wore protective rubber gloves. It was why he wore protective goggles over his eyes and a facemask over his nose and mouth. He’d applied a generous amount of bug repellent to what skin was still exposed and had a ballcap on, protecting his head. Bobby was prepared.
“Bleh!” he groaned behind his facemask.
He might have been safe, but the heat was killer. Bobby reckoned it might even do him instead of whatever was in the Lowlands.
“It’ll all be worth it when I’m the first person to take a picture of the famed Crying Tree and they update Lyman’s book about our local legends. Bet I’ll get paid at least a hundred bucks, too,” he thought, smugly.
That greedy, ambitious glint in his brown eyes made him move faster. His paces widened as he plunged into the woods. Some sweat rolled down his face, which he wiped away. At this point, he was just glad he’d gone ahead and gotten his hair buzzed for his trip. He might not have liked how he looked with super-short hair, but he knew his usual blonde, shaggy locks would have made this hike so much more unbearable.
“Now let’s see…” he thought, eyes looking from side to side. “It was supposed to be near the center of the Redwood Lowlands, off the third main trail…”
Bobby looked farther down the trail, seeing it break off into several smaller paths on either side. The route he was on continued mostly straight into the distance before rounding a bend that was barely visible at this distance. The boy took his rolled-up notes out of his pocket, flipping through them until he found the directions.
“Rumored to be just off the main path on a side trail…” he mumbled the copied instructions aloud.
With a frustrated glint, his gaze raised to the many off-shoots ahead again. Groaning and stamping his feet a bit, Bobby briskly walked over to the first one. He looked down over the overgrown path, but it only led to a brook before ending at a muddy slope on the other side.
“One down,” Bobby thought, glancing behind him to another split just across from where he stood.
Unfortunately, the opposing trail went downhill and he couldn’t see where it went from where he stood. He glanced farther up the trail one again to see how long this would take if, heaven forbid, the tree ended up being down the very last trail he tried. It was then he noticed something in the corner of his eye. It was back down that first trail with the little creek. Some kind of structure he hadn’t noticed the first time. It was enough to make him turn and look towards the little stream again. Except now the stream and muddy slope were both. In their place was the tree in the middle of a large clearing.
At first, all Bobby could do was stare and blink dumbly. He took the googles from his eyes, and gave them another look, long blink. Sure enough, there it was. It was a horrible, gnarled thing that seemed to twist and warp itself from end to end to end. Bobb’s mind comprehend what had happened. The whole area had changed while he’d been looking away. The more he examined it, the uglier it got.
The trunk, instead of being mostly upright, jutting out of the ground at a low angle and grew upwards into an uneven, jagged spiral. Almost like it’d coiled itself around something else that’d been there when it grew from a sapling originally and then consumed it. Now, there was a hollow space inside the spiral, which its dead branches occupied now. Not a single leaf grew on the pitiful-looking thing. About six feet up from the base, where its trunk first began twisting, there was a great hole on the side, like a crooked mouth screaming an agonized wail. And just above this were two more holes above it on either side, like eyes, with a dark sap streaming out of them like tears. They were wide, also staring as in never-ending pain. It was the very picture of a thing existing in perfect agony.
Bobby stood in his reverie of the massive spectacle before him, before one of his hands happened to brush his camera. Feeling the metal reminded him of his goal, and he looked down at it resting on his chest. He smiled and looked back up, lifting it to his eye.
“Gotcha!” he thought, as he snapped the picture.
Then, deciding that still wasn’t enough, he entered the clearing and circled around the tree. He snapped more, and more, until he was out of film. He’d spent the entire roll of picture of the tree. He looked proudly down at his camera, thinking of how his name and photos would be the biggest update to one of his town’s oldest legends. Age 12 and he’s already left his mark on the world.
Smirking, he looked right into the ‘eyes’ of the tree.
“I was supposed to go nuts just by looking at you? I feel fine! I can’t believe it took so long for someone to get a picture of you,” he said, and then broke into a laugh. “Bunch of wimps!”
Then Bobby let out a big whoop of laughter, and then just kept belting them out until he had hunch, holding his sides. He didn’t know why he was laughing, only that his sides hurt. He gasped for breath through his mask and was practically blind due to the perspiration in his goggles. After he’d settled himself, he straightened up, glancing into the tree’s eyes one more time. Then with a mock salute, he turned and left.
As he stepped back onto the main trail, Bobby looked over his shoulder one more time at the tree, and then stopped, midstride. It was gone. And in its place once more was the babbling brook. Bobby took a rigid step back, swallowing hard. He started glancing all around. Maybe its eyes had been real and been looking right at him the whole time after all. In fact, anything could be watching him from the shadows of the woods. How would he even know? Paranoia took him, and Bobby glanced back and forth, listening closely to the sounds of nature all around him.
Snap!
What was that?! Bobby turned again, looking everywhere, but spotted nothing on the trails or in the trees. Then something rustled in some nearby bushes. His heart skipped a beat, and he wanted to run, but it felt like his legs were going weak. Then out from the brush popped a little white rabbit, its nose wiggling as it smelled the air. Bobby almost relaxed at the sight of it. Almost.
“What if… it serves the tree?” he thought. “Does it control the woods?”
The bunny’s red eyes turned and looked right at him, and Bobby let out of a yelp. In an instant, the little white hopper was back in the bushes and Bobby took off down the trail in a dead sprint.
“Have to get back to town! Have to…” Bobby’s thoughts were interrupted by the shortness of breath and unbearable heat his protective clothes were causing him.
He tore the facemask and goggles from his face and tossed them aside as he ran, finally able to gasp out free breaths in the open air. He couldn’t do anything about his heavy clothes, so he’d just have to bear it. Before long, he felt like he was inside an oven, and was gasping and wheezing like he was on the verge of death. Huge sweat drops ran down his face and soaked him inside his clothes. By this time, he barely noticed.
All around him, the woods twisted and turned, having come alive! The tree branches reached for him, the birds chirps and screeched, announcing his presence. In the shadows, he saw the tearful eyes of the tree, staring at him. And saw them, again and again and again, everywhere, as he ran. On the side of the path, a fox skittered across his way with a squirrel in his mouth. It looked at him, and Bobby knew. It was a scout, sent to alert… them! The woods! They knew! They were coming for him! He had to get back to town, now! The Fox scurried into the tree-line on the other side of the path as Bobby blasted past him.
Thankfully, he was close now. The path took a dip, and curved to the right. This would take him to where the three main paths converged back into one near the edge of the Lowland woods.
After a few more minutes of running, he burst out of the tree-line, nearly running into someone. He barely missed them, stumbling past under the weight of his own momentum before coming to a stop. He leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees he as sucked in huge gulps of air while sweat dripped from his face and hair.
“Whoa, Bobby, you okay?”
Bobby turned towards the person, and recognized them.
“Oh, hello Mr. Sparrow,” he wheezed out.
The man he’d nearly collided with grinned at him, although confusion was visible in his eyes.
“If you wanted to run laps, you just need to ask next you come to PE,” Mr. Sparrow said wryly.
Bobby almost started to relax and even laugh with Sparrow. Then he looked up at the man. The grin faded from the boy’s face when he saw that his gym teacher been infected by the woods. On the side of Sparrow’s neck was a seemingly normal mosquito bite, but Bobby could see it was anything but. All around the little wound, he could see the unnatural veins pulsing. It was inside him. The boy started slowly backing away. The confusion deepened on Mr. Sparrow’s face, and became mixed with concern.
“Bobby?”
Finding a second wind he didn’t even think he was capable of, Bobby turned and fled once more.
“Bobby!” the confusion was apparent in the voice of Mr. Sparrow to anyone sane who heard it, but the boy kept running.
The educator half-heartedly pursued the boy for a few yards before stopping and watching the lad cross the street ahead of him. From there, he vanished around a corner.
“Might want to call up his parents about this,” Mr. Sparrow thought.
The door to the pharmacy burst open. The Pharmacist at the counter looked up in alarm at how intensely it’d swung open. Seeing it was just Bobby, a local boy who’d come in with his family a thousand times before, the pharmacist was able to relax. The state of the boy kept his attention, though. Young Bobby was even worse for wear than he’d been upon existing the Redwood Lowlands, now filthier, even sweatier, and paranoid than ever.
Bobby stared suspiciously out the store front’s windows, trying to see if he was being followed.
“Good afternoon!” the man at the counter said, reflexively. “How may I help you today? Do you need some assistance…?”
The pharmacist realized he didn’t know the boy’s name, and simply made due with,
“Young man?”
Bobby squeaked and whirled around, facing the man at the counter.
“Are you okay?” the pharmacist asked.
“Don’t tell me he’s started doing drugs so young,” he mentally added.
Bobby swallowed and slowly started approaching the counter, his arms at his side and camera still hanging from his neck. He stopped about a foot from the cash register, staring with an inspective eye up at the adult. He knew he had to be sure that the clerk wasn’t infected by the woods.
The pharmacist cocked his brows at Bobby stared deeply at him. Seeing nothing to hint that the person before him was infected, Bobby lifted the camera from his chest and set it on the countertop.
“I’d like the film developed, please,” Bobby said at last, and reached into his pocket for the money.
The Pharmacist blinked, but he accepted Bobby’s money and took the roll of film from the camera. While counting out Bobby’s change, he kept glancing at the boy, who still looked like a miniature crackhead to his eyes.
“It’s pretty hot out there today, son,” he said as he handed Bobby his change and his camera. “So be careful out there, and have a good afternoon.”
“Thanks, I’ll be pick up the film tomorrow,” Bobby said, wiping his brow. “See you, Mr. Barrows.”
“See you… young…” Mr. Barrows trailed off as he watched the boy keeping glancing over his shoulder at him as he walked to the door.
“He has to be on something,” the pharmacist thought.
“Excuse me,” the pharmacist said just as Bobby was opening the door.
The boy paused and looked at him.
“You run along home now. People will be driving home from work and the roads will be busy soon.”
“Thanks, Mr. Barrows,” Bobby replied, cautiously, and then left.
Mr. Barrows watched the register as Bobby took a good look around like a man being hunted before moving on from the store.
“Maybe I ought to call his parents,” the pharmacist thought.
“Why was he telling me to go home? What’s waiting for me there?” Bobby’s mind was a tornado of worried thoughts as he walked down the street.
His eyes moved back and forth, noting every person around him. He could see the presence of the forest in many of them, and most of the animals he happened to see. Whether it was a dog being walked, or a stray cat darting across the street into an alley, he could feel their eyes on him. Everyone who passed him by looked right at him, a few even pausing before going back on their way.
“I have to get home,” Bobby muttered and darted into the nearest alley.
Aged and cracked red bricks lined the space between buildings on either side of him and he had to watch his step running over the uneven concrete below his feet that had long been in disrepair. Bobby glanced over his shoulder and saw someone peak around the corner at him, and knew at once he was being followed.
From there, he ran through the park, ignoring the jeers a couple of younger children gave him, before sprinting the last few blocks home. He arrived at the block his family lived on, and with the last of his length, he collapsed onto the lawn, wheezing like a dying old man breathing his last. If he had been exhausted when he left the depths of the woods in the Lowlands, he may as well have been dead now for now numb his limbs felt and how boiling-hot the rest of him did.
He slowly lifted his head, his motions like the limp movements of a marionette, and looked around. Thankfully, no one seemed to be about.
“Or maybe…” he murmured quietly.
His head panned around the neighboring houses. A rustling there, a shadow moving here. Perhaps it was a trick of the wind, but he wasn’t chancing it. Bobby weakly turned over onto his stomach to climb to his feet. After failing twice due to his limbs having about as much strength as boiled spaghetti, he managed stumble towards the front door. His strides were awkward, on legs barely able to hold him anymore.
He reached the front door, and it wasn’t until he’d turned the knob he remembered his keys. Except the knob had twisted all the way to the right. Bobby looked down at it, held firmly in his hand. It was unlocked? Nobody was supposed to be home until 7 that night.
Eyes full of alarm slowly looked back up at the polished surface of the door, wondering who had gotten into their home. He thought of fleeing, but his body was too heavy and his bones felt like oatmeal. There was no running anymore. He doubted he could even make it over to the neighbors without alerting whatever was inside. He’d have to face it. So, he slowly pushed the door open and stepped inside. His eyes scanned the interior of his home. Nothing was out of place. The only difference was his mother’s coat hanging the hangers by the front door. Her shoes were left by the front matt in the little tiled area just inside threshold.
“Mom?” he called.
“Yes, Sweetie,” the familiar sound of her voice replied.
Bobby glanced to his right, toward the doorway in the back corner of their living room, leading to the kitchen. He breathed a long sigh of relief. It was just his mother. Thank goodness. And just as he was starting to relax, he recalled exactly why his parents were going to be gone until 7. They were in Greenvale, Redwood’s sister town, two hours away. How could his mother be home?
Bobby’s heart almost stopped at the revelation. Just who or what was that in the kitchen, pretending to be his mother? He slowly shuffled his way through the living room, not caring he’d forgotten to take his shoes off.
“When did you get home?” Bobby called.
“Oh, about an hour-half ago. We finished up at Aunt Beth’s early, we came home.”
“Where’s dad?” Bobby asked, poking his head in through the doorway.
Inside, he could her. She had her back to him, preparing something at the kitchen counter by a window that looked out into the backyard. From her neck-length cherry blonde hair to her familiar Chicago Bears jersey and jean pants, this imposter that the profile right for his mother.
“Your father’s upstairs in his office, Honey,” she called back, turning her head to make her voice carry.
Then she saw her son in the doorway in the corner of her eye.
“Oh! Sorry for shouting,” she said and turned back to her business.
Bobby moved from the doorway, leaned to the side, trying to see what she was doing. Then she stopped again, feeling eyes on her. She turned and faced Bobby fully, and paused upon getting a good look at him. He could see she was in the middle of chopping vegetables with one of the big knives. His locked onto it in deathly fear.
“What in…?!” his fake mother started to shout, but stopped short.
Bobby’s gaze was brought to her shocked face. She was looking at the living mess that was her offspring over, top to bottom.
“How did you manage to do this?” she asked, and then noticed the trail of mud leading into the kitchen. “And did you track mud across my carpet?! Oh, Bobby!”
Bobby looked down at himself for the first time. He winced uncomfortably under the fraud’s frustrated voice.
“Oh, I…” he started. But he stopped, knowing he wasn’t supposed to be the Lowland woods. On a purely instinctive level, he came up with an excuse much the same way he would if he was speaking to his real mother. “I was just how playing the park and just kinda forgot…”
Bobby knew how stupid that sounded and looked away from the fake mother’s incredulous stare.
“You went out dressed like that in the middle of 80 degree? Are you trying to die of heatstroke?” the thing pretending to be mother exclaimed.
Bobby’s mother couldn’t believe him. In rapid succession, she’d seen him come home, a mess of sweat, mud, and burs. He’d tracked mud through their house, and he was dressed for brisk Autumn in 80-degree weather.
“Sorry…” Bobby mumbled, almost forgetting he was talking to an imposter.
“What am I going to do with you?” she asked, and walked past him into the living room to survey the damage.
Bobby watched her go, and then her exasperated “Oh, Bobby,” upon seeing the muddy footprints coming from the door to the kitchen. More importantly…
Bobby’s eyes trailed over to the kitchen counter. She’d been foolish enough to leave the knife. He walked over to it and picked up it. It was still freshly sharpened after only what had so far been a short usage on the veggies.
“You are going to clean all of this up as soon as you’ve showered and changed, young man,” he heard her firm voice come from the living room behind him.
Bobby stopped eyeing the knife in his hand and turned to look towards the other room, and knew what he had to do.