Yeah, I know it sounds strange, almost like some New Age talk, but that’s what the title says. For as long as I can remember, I’ve always had a sort of special connection with nature. While other kids played on the streets, I preferred to spend my time among the trees, walking, climbing, and gradually, listening to the trees. I remember when it first happened. I must have been around 10 years old when, as I entered the woods near my house, I heard a “psst” coming from somewhere. That day I got scared and ran back home. Gradually, it became more common, to the point where I even talked to my parents about it, but that only led to visits to the psychiatrist, and I kept it as my own secret, mine and the trees’.
As time went on, I got better at communicating with them, getting to know their “personalities”. Did you know that pine trees have quite a foul mouth? They love to swear. And the sequoias are like grandmothers, always telling stories. But by far, my favorites were the oaks; they were the wisest and most patient, as if they carried centuries of knowledge in their twisted branches.
It was on a windy autumn afternoon that I decided to visit my favorite oak, an imposing Holm oak that stood in the heart of the woods. The feeling of unease hung in the air as I approached it; its branches seemed heavier than usual.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” I asked, concerned.
The tree responded with a rough sigh, its branches creaking as if protesting against the wind. “I’m tired, son. My days in this world are numbered.”
I felt a tightness in my chest at its words. I had spent so many happy moments in its shade, and the idea of losing it was like losing a dear friend. “Don’t say that,” I murmured, placing a hand on the rough trunk. “You’ll be okay. I promise.”
The tree gently swayed its branches in response. “I appreciate your words, but this is the truth. My time is near.”
A feeling of helplessness washed over me as I watched the aged tree before me. But then, it did something unexpected. It extended one of its branches and offered me an acorn. “This is my final gift to you,” it said. “The only fruit I managed to produce this autumn. Please, accept it as a symbol of our friendship over these years. I want to at least feed someone I love before I go.”
I looked at the large acorn in my hands, feeling a mixture of gratitude and sadness. I didn’t want to lose my friend, but I knew I couldn’t refuse its final gift. I accepted the fruit and carefully placed it in my mouth, crunching it between my teeth. It tasted bitter, as expected, but I didn’t want to spoil the moment. As quickly as I ate, the tree withered, fell silent, and finally died. The entire forest, almost like a funeral procession, bowed, the wind hummed through the branches, and the sad rustle of the leaves made an almost deafening sound.
I decided not to go to the forest for the next few days, to let things settle there. But that night, my sleep was disturbed by strange and unsettling nightmares. I saw images of twisted trees and sinister branches reaching towards me, as if pulling me into the earth. I woke up sweating, my heart pounding in my chest as I tried to catch my breath, a tingling sensation running through my body. “What the hell is happening?” I thought. Could it be a way to deal with grief? It was the first time I had seen a tree die, so maybe I was reacting differently because of that. I ignored it all and tried to go back to sleep.
I woke up as soon as the sun touched my face, still tingling. I got up and got ready for work, getting stuck in traffic on the way. By the time I reached the office, the tingling sensation had turned into an intense itching. It was an allergy. I got to the office and went straight to talk to the HR people, telling them I wasn’t feeling well.
“Wow, Mathews, you should go home, you look pale, worn out. Are you okay?”
“I don’t know, I think I had an allergic reaction or something,” I replied, trying to mask my concern with a weak smile. “If it continues like this, I’ll go see a doctor. I hope it’s nothing serious.”
The HR representative nodded in concern, offering me a day off to take care of my health. I thanked them, grabbed my things, and left, feeling increasingly uncomfortable as the itching intensified. I arrived home, not even bothering to properly park the car, jumping from the curb and running to the door already frantic. I stripped off my clothes and threw them away, rubbing my nails over the surface of my skin, which was now rough, bumpy, and sore due to the friction. I decided to try taking a bath before going to see a doctor since in that state I wouldn’t even be able to make it back to my car.
I turned on the shower and started to fill the bathtub. The hot water seemed to temporarily calm the itching, instantly relieving me. My wounds began to swell down, but this revealed a deplorable state of my skin: it was now horribly textured, full of veins and deep, scaly marks… A shiver ran down my spine as I touched these protrusions with trembling fingers. They weren’t just stretch marks; they seemed to be growing, stretching slowly. I tried to contain the panic as I sank into the water, hoping maybe this was just some strange side effect.
But as the water began to cool around me, the changes in my body only seemed to worsen. I felt an uncomfortable pressure in my stomach, as if something was moving under my skin, inside. The pain began to concentrate on a smaller and smaller spot, and as it lessened, the pressure became greater and more painful. I got up from the bathtub, but didn’t get far, nor did I put my foot out; I fell from pain, putting my hand over my belly. I was going mad; it was unbearable, until a tearing sound echoed in the bathroom walls. I looked down, and there was blood in my hand, dripping. I directed my gaze to where I was holding before and felt terror consuming me; I couldn’t process it; I stood up trembling in shock and pain as I wondered what was happening to me.
Where there was once my navel, now a large wooden branch extended, piercing and tearing my skin. That root continued to extend, breaking my skin, as if searching for something. Every movement was torture, every snap accompanied by a stabbing pain that seemed to pierce my soul.
I wanted to scream for help, run away from this nightmare, but my limbs seemed frozen in place, unable to respond to my command due to growing fear. And then, just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, a familiar voice whispered in my mind, soft and seductive like the rustle of leaves in the wind. “Accept,” murmured the voice, echoing through the walls of my skull. “Accept the change.”
I lifted my face, looking at the mirror in absolute horror; it was there, along with my reflection. The energy of that ancient tree. I saw it, in the open space between those branches and my flesh. It was taking over me, like a parasite. It wasn’t just a fruit it had offered me; it was its seed. My body trembled with terror as I stared at the image in the mirror, increasingly protruding from my belly. The root that extended from my stomach now twisted and stretched, as if seeking something. It tried to return to the bathtub, to fix in the water, I suppose, but I grabbed it tightly, pulling it back into me with even greater pain. The now coagulated and thick blood took on slightly greenish tones as I contained that monstrosity.
With agonizing effort, I finally managed to break the paralyzing fear that held my limbs, and stumbled out of the bathroom, ignoring the stabbing pain that ran through my body. My mind was clouded with panic as I descended the stairs. I struggled into the garage and grabbed something that was there: an axe. I know it’s kind of bizarre to have one of these when you talk to trees, but I used it to chop wood that the plants sometimes gave me. It was the only thing I knew that could help me now.
With the instrument in hand, I let out a scream, raised the axe, and struck a precise blow to the root. The impact was like an explosion of pain, jumping to my brain, but I ignored it, focusing all my strength on the next blow. Once, twice, three times I struck, until finally the root broke, spurting blood and viscous fluids onto the bare floor. I fell to my knees, exhausted, catching my breath as nerve impulses were still being processed by my brain.
I got up with difficulty, using the handle as a kind of cane, and saw my car parked on the sidewalk, the garage door open. I was naked, but so what? that wasn’t the biggest of problems. I walked slowly to the exit, but as soon as I stepped on the grass outside, a wave of excruciating pain ran through my leg. I looked down and saw roots extending, tearing through the chest and soles of my feet, merging with the grass as if seeking nourishment.
“Damn it!” I shouted.
My heart pounded in my chest as I fought against the sensation of panic threatening to overwhelm me. I don’t know where I got strength from, but I needed to act fast before it was too late. Now, not only my belly, but up to my knee, my skin was already indistinguishable from wood, rigid and dry. I raised the axe and began to cut it, with no choice. I almost passed out three times until I finally managed to break it, falling back. Looking at the stump that was on my leg, and the piece that was left on the lawn, my horror was even greater: Pure wood, just wood. Nothing human. Tears of despair began to form as I accepted that I wouldn’t be able to leave the house. I crawled down the stairs and now I’m here, typing this in front of the computer.
My body is almost unrecognizable, deformed by grotesque changes. My skin has become cellulose, my eyes are getting blurrier, and as I try to call for emergency, my voice has been replaced by a vegetal noise, a woody creak. I know I don’t have much time before I’m completely consumed by this transformation, and the voice of the old tree whispers incessantly in my mind, echoing like a hypnotic mantra, which doesn’t help at all. I knew how to talk to trees, and I genuinely hope that someone can talk to me too, when nature finally consumes my whole being.