The forest is angry and it wants us to know it.
For background, I’ve recently taken up fixing old cameras as a hobby. Last week, I’d lucked out and found a Yashica Lynx-14, a Japanese camera from the 1970’s that can be difficult to find, especially in working condition. All that this one had needed was little love in the form of a gentle solvent bath on its shutter, then it was good to go. I was excited to test out my new find by visiting the woods where I grew up.
I can see what it had used to look like so clearly in my mind. There were some paths through the greenery that were created by generations of four wheelers passing through, leading to an old bridge and a pond that I used to love to read by. I’d even had my first kiss there. To say that this place held a special place in my heart would be an understatement. I looked forward to hearing the gentle calls of birds and the chirps of frogs. After a brutal winter, I longed for the sounds of spring.
However, when I reached my destination, I was shocked to see that the forest had been gutted.
Over time, the older folks that have lived here for decades have either been selling their acres or dying off, leaving their relatives to decide what to do with their property. As a consequence, more and more land has been getting bought up. According to the local news, a new housing development was coming in, which reduced the forest to three quarters of its original size. Even though it’s still a relatively large woodland, the forest looked scant compared to its former glory.
It hurt to see. That forest was a formative part of not only my upbringing, but my entire family’s. My mother and uncle played there as kids, and my grandpa before them. How could this happen? How could so much of it be destroyed so quickly?
Not to sound like a doomer, but I found myself wondering if the pictures I intended to take would be the only thing left of the woods in the near future. An entire forest reduced to nothing but a touching series of memories. I shook off that dark thought and proceeded.
As soon as I passed the threshold of the treeline, I had an odd feeling. It kind of felt like I was trespassing, or interrupting something that I had no business interfering in. Maybe it was because I didn’t hear any birdsong. It was strangely quiet in the woods, as if the entire forest was holding its breath.
Despite that, I snapped photos of wildflowers, the sunlight leaking through the canopy of trees, and a doe grazing. That uncomfortable sensation of being an interloper followed me. For the record, this section of the forest was owned by my uncle, who had no issue with me coming out to photograph. I had permission to be there, so… why did I feel like I was doing something wrong?
Since my discomfort was only growing, I decided to go to the bridge, take shots of the pond, then leave. If anyone wants to see the bridge, here you go.
When I crossed the bridge, I had expected for the pond to greet me with its serenade of frogs waking up from hibernation, but the only sound was the wind whistling through the trees. I shivered as the breeze made my ponytail brush against the back of my neck, thinking it would be best to cut this photoshoot short before it got any colder.
As I began my trek back, I finally heard something besides the wind: the long, deep groan of an old a tree succumbing to gravity. It sounded close. I whirled around, worried that the falling tree was near me, but the trees around me were still, completely upright. After the groan, there was no impact.
Was it an animal? But… what made noises like that? You’ll see the occasional black bear around here, but this sounded much deeper. Primordial. Like the earth itself had opened its mouth and voiced its anguish.
I began to walk faster, eyes flitting around. Even though nothing had happened, I couldn’t help but feel my unease grow. I reminded myself that I grew up here. I knew these woods. Maybe the falling tree had been further off and I just hadn’t heard it hit the ground. I had no reason to be nervous.
Another groan. Behind me.
I turned, bewildered when I saw that there was a tree in the path that I didn’t remember passing. My mind must’ve been so busy playing tricks on me that I simply hadn’t noticed it. But… how? How could I not notice a 20ft tall tree with its trunk split into two like that? It was pretty distinctive. It didn’t make sense.
The wind had escalated from a whistle to a low howl. Yet the small plume of leaves on this oddly shaped tree located only at the very top didn’t move with the breeze.
My stomach dropped. I couldn’t take my eyes off of it. It was like an image frozen in time, sitting perfectly still as the branches of the trees around it danced in the wind. I took a step backwards, watching the strange tree with my breath caught in my throat. The tree remained completely, eerily immobile. Not a single leaf rustled.
As I continued to back up, the tree’s branches slowly parted, revealing that it had the face of a baby. The bizarrely infantile face was surrounded by a lion-like mane of course, grey hair. The leaves continued to spread further apart until it dawned on me that those were its hands. That must mean that its split trunk acted as the creature’s legs. Its large, watery eyes stared down at me as it tilted its head.
I continued to back up, hands shaking, breath quickening. The false tree watched me, its branches twitching as the rest of its body remained static. Its mouth opened and I learned where that sound I’d been hearing had come from.
Maybe if I didn’t run, if I didn’t make sudden movements, it would be okay.
The left side of false tree’s split trunk lurched forward, quickly closing the distance I had put between us. In my panic, I unintentionally let out some sort of wail as I struggled to make my legs work in time to sprint along the path. The false tree made a creaking noise that sounded far too similar to a laugh. It followed me, each step making the ground beneath my feet.
My lungs burned as I raced along the dirt path. The treeline wasn’t far, but with how big the false tree was, one of its steps equated to about ten of mine, and it knew it. Every once in a while, I’d feel leaves brush the back of my neck, caress my face, followed by another creaky laugh.
It used one of its branches to cut my cheek, but I kept running. It makes me light-headed to acknowledge this, but I think the tree was enjoying it. It was allowing me to keep going, not unlike how cats let captured mice run for a few steps before pulling them back by their tails.
Even as the despair of that realization settled into my frantic heart, I told myself that I had to make it. I had to make it!
I saw movement out of the corner of my vision. I didn’t think, I jumped. The false tree’s limb passed under me harmlessly. It’s creaking laughter turned into a deep, distraut scream.
Rising from my terror, hope began to bloom in my chest. As long as I kept moving and paid attention to the false tree’s movements, I could get out of this.
I flung myself to the side of the path just as I heard the false tree’s massive footsteps quicken. It had lunged for me, landing where I’d been mere seconds before. It’s infantile face crinkled up, it’s jaw dropping as it let out a furious roar that echoed in my bones.
My body was pushed to the limit as I made myself go faster. It had thrown itself off balance by going for me right then. It could catch up quickly, but now I had a chance.
The treeline. I didn’t know for sure if its chase would stop once I exited the woods, but I had to try. The false tree’s grating shriek grew in volume as it hurried to catch me. I let out a cry as I leapt, hoping, praying that I had enough time to cross the treeline.
I didn’t land gracefully. I painfully tumbled across the threshold of the forest, my knee hitting the ground so hard that stars danced in front of my eyes. Despite the agony radiating throughout my leg, I scurried back on all fours like a crab, desperate to get out of reach of that thing.
It stopped at the edge of the trees, its face scrunched up, black teeth clenched together. But it wouldn’t leave the shade of the trees.
We stared at each other as I sucked air, tears falling from my eyes against my will as the false tree loomed over me from across the threshold, unnervingly still.
When it finally set in that the false tree could not reach me, I slowly got my trembling legs under me, quickly learning that putting pressure on my injured knee was not a good idea. It watched me struggle to stand, the rage slowly draining from its childlike face, morphing into a harsh glare.
Even though I was sure at this point that it couldn’t leave the forest, I refused to turn my back on it as I limped back to my Beetle. The false tree stayed where it was, eyes following every move I made. I could still feel the weight of its gaze as I got into my car and drove off, not bothering to stifle my sobs now that I thought that I was safe.
According to the urgent care doctor, my knee injury is nothing serious, not even a sprain. I made up a lie about falling from a bike when she asked how it happened.
It took me a few days to recover from the shock of being hunted for sport. Even though I was afraid of what I would find, I eventually developed the pictures and now I’m convinced that the false tree had been tailing me from the start. It had only revealed itself when it was ready for the chase to begin.
Upon reflection, I can’t help but wonder if it was merely trying to protect its home. It could’ve caught me at any time, but… didn’t. Or maybe the tree had enjoyed the chase so much that it didn’t want it to end and I simply got lucky.