That is what I have come to call this cursed vestige of bark and branch that sits dead center of my yard; the rot hallowing out the trunk and the way the drooping appendages hang makes it look like a kingly seat for something out of hell. Had I had it my way, we would have chopped this tree down when we moved into this small Iowa farm, instead I am here writing to you all.
Magnolia trees are common throughout the US, particularly the Midwest. Magnolia Kobus, known for its beautiful white flowers, isn’t uncommon by any means, but one the size of the one in my backyard is certainly a site to behold. The rarity comes from the leaves and flowers, whereas its brothers flowers are white, mine are red, as if it has been dipped in blood. I was told when we purchased this home that it was the pride and joy of the previous owner, who poured a lifetime into taking care of this tree.
The weird shit didn’t start until the second week after moving in. It was the night of the thunderstorm.
I awoke in a cold sweat; having been feverish the past day and a half I had grown accustomed to this, and took this as a sign to drink more water, check my temp, and to take Tylenol. Halfway through this routine, I noticed the light to the shed was turned on. While this was innocuous enough, I knew my wife well. Part of her nightly routine was to double check every door, window, and light on the entire property. Sometimes twice. Early into our relationship, I used to try and take this off of her plate and do this for her. I know she trusts me immensely, but it didn’t stop her from double checking my work. After 10 years of marriage, I’ve resigned to the fact that she will always do this. Why my wife was in our shed at 2:07am during a severe thunderstorm was definitely a question that I was eager to ask, so I bundled myself to the best of my ability and made the trek outside.
The door was creaked open to the shed, the wind pushing it and slamming it shut repeatedly. “Damn door.” I growled as I latched it shut behind me. The thing has been broken since we bought the damn house, but time has not been my friend. For those of you that have recently purchased a renno project home, you will understand how many repair rabbit holes you go down. Fixing the shed door was near the bottom of my priority list. This place was filled with little idiosyncrasies, broken bits of wear and tear the previous owners never got to. Part of the reason we were interested in this place was because we could design it to our liking, molding it into the perfect vision of what we wanted our house to be.
After fighting with the door and turning around, I immediately noticed a problem: My wife wasn’t anywhere to be seen. The dangling bulb was flickering, warm to the touch, but nothing else was going on in the shed. No wife to be seen. Perplexed, I turned off the light and went back outside. I do not know what possessed me, but I decided to look at that tree. I couldn’t make out the dark outline in the rotting trunk, but for whatever reason I fent uneasy, and decided to check it out.
My wife was. . . not looking good. Her eyes were partially open, bloodshot red and pulsating. She was partially bundled up like I was to protect her from the weather, but it looks like the sleeves got caught and began to rip. It wasn’t until a particularly close lightning strike which illuminated my backyard did I notice the the oozing, rotten, black branch sticking out of her thigh.
“Jesus Christ, Jenn are you ok? Wake up please!” I shouted and began to shake her and tap on her face. She was mumbling incoherently, which I took as a positive. I decided the best course of action was to cut around the branch and take her inside while we would wait for an ambulance.
“I’m going to run to the shed to grab something to cut the branch with. “ I said. As I began to turn back and rush towards the shed, her hand grabbed my arm. It felt different, as if it was. . .longer than it was before. Her nails dug into my skin, sharply, and pulled me back towards her. I looked back at her, wincing in pain. It took a second to register her completely black eyes, lips and a smile that looked inhuman.
“You will not harm this tree.” a voice that was not my wife’s said to me before I passed out.
I awoke in my bed, soaking wet. I first glanced over to my wife’s side of the bed, which was empty. My eyes then darted to my arm where her. . . claws dug into me. Not even a scratch. Was this nothing more than some fever dream? It felt so real. I decided the best course of action was to go drink a glass of water. I walked into the kitchen, where my wife was doing dishes and making coffee.
“Hey Mark, sleep well? You look a little pale.” Jenn said, chipper and perky. She always was a morning person.
“Not particularly.” I replied, pausing. “We weren’t outside last night. . . right?”
“Oh yeah Mark, we decided to take a nice stroll during a severe thunderstorm. Topped it off with a lovely picnic.” She said, walking over to me and kissing me on the forehead.
“yeah, you’re right. Crazy. I just had this really vivid dream. “ I said.
“Well you can tell me about it after you shower, you smell. . . how do I put this delicately? Ripe. Yeah Ripe. Go shower and change.” She said. I nodded, and decided a nice bath could do me nicely. I shook off the nightmare of last night and showered. I thought that was the end of it, until the scratches on my arm reappeared later that night.
I’ve never been a superstitious man, the paranormal is interesting to watch in film, but I’ve never even remotely believed in supernatural happenings lead by ghosts and demons. This is the sort of things left to creative imaginations in already scary environments. But with each passing day, those scratches on my arm began to grow. At first, it was a few centimetres, hardly even noticeable. Then, it grew an inch. Then two. By yesterday morning, it had covered my entire forearm. The most concerning part though was my wife. She claimed that I was seeing things, and that nothing was on my arm. We live alone, so even though I could see these markings clear as day, I part of me wondered if I was losing my mind a little. Not that I didn’t trust my wife, but her brother was going to be joining us for dinner. If he didn’t see the markings, then it must have all been in my head. If he did, then I knew I wasn’t crazy. Both results would end in a hospital visit, just different doctors.
When his car pulled up, I happened to be in the bathroom washing my hands. I had originally wanted to greet him outside, but by the time I had finished up he and my wife had already made their way indoors.
“Mark how the hell are you?” Bill asked as he walked towards me.
“Oh I’m hanging in there Bill how are. . . “
“JESUS H. CHRIST! Mark what the hell is wrong with your arm??” Bill shouted as he looked at me.
“I. . . I don’t know.” Were the only words that could come from my mouth.
“We have to get you to a hospital now!” Bill said, turning towards the door.
“Nobody is going anywhere.” My wife said.
“Jenn, look at his arm. He needs to go to the hospital.”
“I said, NOBODY IS GOING ANYWHERE.” Jenn bellowed, her voice turning deep and her eyes once more turning black.
“What the ever living ****?”” Bill said, a look of panic and terror washing over his face. I began to feel dizzy again, as if I was going to once again pass out. This time though I would not be gaslighted into believing I was seeing things, this time I knew it was real. My eyes began to blur, but I could still see Bill screaming as the thing that was not Jenn begun tearing into him, ripping open his stomach and clawing out his intestines.
I don’t know if it was adrenaline, or if whatever was happening to me started to wear off, but I gathered enough strength to leave my house. I stumbled out the back door as Bill’s screams had subsided. I was wracking with guilt over his death, but right now my focus was to escape. I turned, and saw the tree. In that moment, I had clarity. I knew I was going to die, and decided if I was going to go than that tree was coming with me. I stumbled into the shed, grabbed the lighter fluid and matches, and made for the tree as quickly as possible. I dumped the entire bottle of lighter fluid onto the tree and struggled to light a match when I heard Jenn’s voice behind me.
“Mark sweetie, what are you doing to that tree? I thought we discussed this baby.” She said, her voice sounding like Jenn’s. I turned and looked at her, her limbs longer than any humans, covered in her brothers blood and sinew.
“I’m going to burn this tree down.” I said, and continued to try lighting the match.
“Honey, relationships are built on trust, you told me you weren’t going to touch that tree.” She growled. “Now I am going to have to punish you.” Her voice deepened and echoed across the entire yard.
As the thing that is not my wife rapidly approached me, I managed to light a match and throw it on the tree, it immediately erupted in flames. They danced, first the red glow of fire, then a dark green, before becoming darkness. My wife screamed in agony, switching between her voice and the deeply demonic one, and just like Bill before her, subsided. I couldn’t stomach looking at her, and I walked back into the shed. I still had one thing I needed to do.
It took me a few moments to sharpen the machete before I was confident it would cut through my poisoned arm. I tied my belt to my bicep tightly, took a deep breath, and cut. Being no survivalist, I knew I probably did not torniquet correctly, and my suspicions were confirmed when blood poured out of my arm.
“Its probably better this way.” I whispered before I passed out from blood loss.
I woke up in a hospital bed this morning, my left arm from the elbow down is gone. I was brought in by a man in a brown coat, apparently some sort of government agent. the nurse told me I will be free to go as soon as they are certain my wound hasn’t been infected. Ironic. I have the man in the brown coats business card, and I am on instructions to call him when I am discharged. I’m still reeling in shock over the deaths of my wife and brother in law, the loss of my arm, the cursed tree. I don’t think I will ever be able to go back to normal. Just like that tree, I’m rotting from the inside, just filled with memories and regret.
I will call that man in the brown coat though, as soon as I am able.