Memory of Wood

Mother was gone, the boy knew. The trees had taken her. But he was hungry, and no matter how he yelled or how far he walked, no one came. The phone never worked. She’d run with him when the roots had entered the house. Days before the family had locked themselves inside, watching the television scream about the trees, the trees and roots everywhere. The trees were taking people, eating them.

So they sat inside, and shivered and cried. They’d started to run out of food when Father disappeared. Mother had screamed and cursed his name, then. Screamed about him leaving them.

And now she was gone, too.

The boy was empty inside as he walked in the moonlight. Numb.

Autumn had come while they hid. The trees had lost their leaves, leaving grasping clawing fingers stretching in all directions. But they were still.
Trees died in the cold, the boy thought. They slept. Right?

He walked among them, his heart as cold and empty as the branches. He was near town. Father had taken the car.

By this point, the sky was beginning to lighten.

Suddenly, he saw a silhouette move… one… two… more…human silhouettes against the dawn, moving through the woods.

“Hey!” He called, “Wait up! Help!” The shapes stopped, and turned towards him.

Trees, wearing the clothes of men and women. Awake in the sunlight.
Reaching for him.


Nightmare Fuel, Day 7

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