Trembling With Fear 12-22-24

The Tree, by DJ Tyrer

He watched as the broad-trunked tree teetered, then fell. A few tiny fragments of wood floated over the fence on the light summer breeze like incongruous flakes of snow.

Ben wasn’t certain what type of tree it was, had never really expanded his knowledge beyond sycamores and horse chestnuts, but he felt a twinge of sadness to see it fall. The tree had always been there, seemingly unchanging, throughout his life, in the garden of the big house next to his parents’ old home.

Of course, he knew it had changed down the years, just as he’d allowed his garden, once his father’s pride, to transform into a ragged tangle of overgrown bushes and stringy weeds. The tree had been lopped back each year, and had shed its leaves in autumn, and had suffered the loss of several branches during the Great Storm that he barely remembered from his childhood. But, nonetheless, despite what he knew, it had seemed immutable and everlasting.

And, now, it was gone. Or, would be, just as soon as the contractors finished hacking it up and running it through the wood-chipper, reducing its splendour to mulch.

It was awful. He hadn’t expected the sudden vacancy in the skyline to affect him so.

Oh, well, it wasn’t as if the tree had belonged to him. The company that bought the house next door could do whatever they damn well pleased with their property.

Still, it was a shame…

Something struck at his check, a light and sharp kiss, that made his face twitch. An almost-pain that was gone in an instant.

Ben rubbed at his cheek, felt a slight bump.

“Damn mosquitoes,” he muttered, deciding it was probably time to head indoors before any more of the insects arrived to make a snack of him. They always made his skin explode with a variety of bumps and blotches.

He continued to rub at it as he went inside and slumped down in front of the TV and tried to find something to watch.

He was going to have to sell up, too, Ben knew it. But, he didn’t want to.

It was silly, really. It wasn’t as if his father was going to care about the fate of his precious garden or his mother what would become of her beloved kitchen.

But, he would care. The house, the garden, the dwindling countryside behind them, they all meant something to him, were a part of him, his world, his life – and, soon, it would all be gone, replaced by new housing estates, bland and soulless. No more trees. No more squirrels. No more birds. Perhaps a few prowling cats and depressed dogs restricted to back yards, assuming the rules allowed pets to be kept.

Ben rubbed at his cheek again. Life stank.

And, thinking of stinks, tomorrow was Monday and he had to get back to his job maintaining the district’s drains. He’d hand in his notice before the new estates were finished – there was no way the sewerage system was going to cope with the influx of people.

He rolled on up to bed and collapsed on top of the sheets, not even bothering to undress, and swiftly fell into a hot and feverish sleep that lasted until dawn.

The morning sunlight made the bedroom into a greenhouse and he woke with a start to feel sweat running off of him and a dull pain in the side of his head, like the echo of a migraine. He winced at the bright light as he opened his eyes and was surprised to find he couldn’t see out of one of them.

Ben tried to sit up, but couldn’t. It was as if something were holding his one side down, immobile.

Oh, hell! He’d had a stroke! A wave of fear shuddered through him.

The doctor had warned him, but he just hadn’t listened and…

There was something in the field of vision of his good eye.

With difficulty, he inclined his eyeball as much as he could towards his nose.

Yes, there was something… there was something rising up from the bed beside his head…

No – there was something rising up from his head…

What the hell?! Desperately, he tried to sit up, but remained pinned down on one side.

With a sick sensation churning in his stomach, Ben reached up with his good arm. It struck something on his chest. Something woody lay across his body.

For a moment, he imagined a branch of the tree had crashed through his bedroom window and pinned him to the bed. But, no, the tree had fallen well before and, besides, he could see the window, unbroken.

He felt it, again. Woody and stretched over him, like a mesh of branches or roots, definitely like roots… he could feel where they penetrated in and out of his flesh and down into the mattress beneath him.

In an oddly detached way, he considered that it was strange how he didn’t feel any pain.

It was a dream, of course. Had to be.

He raised his free arm to his face, felt for where the bump had been on his cheek and discovered a sturdy wooden shaft growing out of his face. A tree – there was a damn tree growing out of his head!

“Okay, I’d like to wake up, now,” he told the world.

The world ignored him and he winced with pain as he felt a growing pressure inside his head.

It was the tree, something to do with the tree. What he’d thought had been a mosquito biting him had been a splinter of its wood striking him… taking root?

Nonsense! Nonsense! And, yet…

From somewhere outside, he thought he could hear muffled cries of consternation.

Maybe it was just his imagination, but he was sure others were discovering similar growths, perhaps in their flesh, perhaps in the brickwork of their houses, maybe even twisting through the bodywork of their cars.

He tried to laugh, but his tongue didn’t want to move now and his entire body felt numb. Where he could touch with his hand, his skin seemed rough like bark and insensate to the weakening caress of his fingers.

What had they done? He’d thought the chopping down of the tree had been a terrible thing, but… the act of vandalism had unleashed something, he was certain, as if the Earth had finally tired of human capriciousness and decided to strike back.

Ben tried to call for help, but not even a gurgle passed his lips as something sprouted from his mouth.

It couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t be real. It had to be a nightmare.

Yes, it had to be a nightmare, he told himself as he finally sank down into dark oblivion and his life joined that of the tree, reduced to nothing more than mulch.