32 Ways to Say Help

The Dying Tree

   A song of merriment thrummed in the distance, it followed me from the county fair. I could picture my sisters dancing in big circles with their partners, smiling their drunken smiles and laughing their happy laughs. Somehow, they'd forgotten, but the gift of memory loss hadn't been granted to me. I remembered the bad things, that magic...that night.

   The night our mother disappeared was a prevalent memory, haunting my dreams and hindering every happy moment I had. It was my shadow of doubt, a cloud of guilt that followed me in every step I took towards a better place. When my sisters spent nights drinking at taverns and sleeping in their lover's beds, I trapped myself inside, combing through every single account of paranormal activity that my mother kept in the hopes that I would find her, or at least confirm what happened to her. 

   Lucky for me, my mother kept vast accounts of her life. And like all in her time, and especially in her prime, she was convicted of insanity. Also of murder when my youngest sister passed away from winter's illness. They claimed my mother sacrificed her in search of a vampire. They claimed my mother did terrible things, but as her children, we remainded unbranded for some reason. But in my eyes, my mother was flawless; thirsty for knowledge that no one else seemed to have. Though my sisters were masters of the dance, my mother and I danced a paper thin line between curiosity and insanity.

   Tonight, a vague clue in my mother's diary entry right before the disappearance lead me to the Eeter woodland just outside our village. As I ventured deeper into its embracing, misty pines I was seduced by the prospect of finding my mother's body, alive or dead.

   Darkness settled all around me. Trees looking more like bodies. I felt like I saw her act, always convinced there was someone around the corner with bad intentions. Although, who could blame her? People with bad intentions had left her with 4 children in her youth.

   With that cloak of foreboding draped over my shoulders, I trekked gingerly on. The humming of jolly Irish music faded as I left all reminders of my world and life behind.

   'There have been murders in these woods'   I stupidly reminded myself, as when you're already scared it's natural to frighten yourself more. Even more stupidly, I kept walking. My mother's journal said she smelled blood on this trail and had this hunch that it was something out of the ordinary. If my suspicions were correct, her hunch was wrong and she met with an untimely demise at the hands of an agitated killer.

   But suddenly I was hit with the scent, and all my uncertainty vanished. A sickening scent of blood wafted through the air in a thick aromatic cloud that made my stomach churn.  

   A footstep more and a twig cracked beneath my feet. The fear set in like Rigamortis, soaking me through like torrential rain.

   I heard a voice, "Midora, my dear is that you?!" the voice was desperate and clawing, as though it was crawling out of someone's throat of it's own accord, but I knew it.

   I froze. The blood in my body as rigid as the bones as my head turned 90 degrees with a terrified, twitching speed. There was a massive pine, noticeably bigger than the others, but I could see large ones in the near distance as the forest continued.

   At the base of the wide trunk, my dreams were propped. Myra Ayle, the village loon, my mother, was sitting at the foot of a tree. Her dead-straight auburn hair covered her face, but I could tell it was her because she was wearing the dress she'd disappeared in 3 years ago. But something was terribly wrong.

   "Midora, come closer my child, I must see you," she wheezed, lurking forward a little. Minding every step, I eked towards her. I should've been zealous, ecstatic, euphoric even, but I had this looming feeling in me that this was nothing happy. And I was right...

   She was sitting against the trunk of a tree. Mangled roots pierced her body, spreading from her stomach, a smaller parasite consuming her right eye, diving into her face and covering her flesh in fat, pulsating veins. The skin was pulled so tight that they looked like they were going tear right through the flesh. They were tinged green, unlike the brown roots torn through my mother's stomach. The wound was surrounded by blood, she sat in a puddle of it.

   I fell to my knees, unable to stop myself from taking in the sheer horror. I wanted to reach my hand out an touch her, but I was afraid that if I did she would fall apart. I knew she could barely see me, she had glaucoma in her remaining eye.

   "Mama," I mumbled numbly, developing a twitch as my brain turned the situation darker.

   "Midora, I've missed you," she murmured, she seemed to be trying to keep her mouth closed best she could. Her blurred vision took in my appearance, "I know you're scared, but you need to listen very carefully dear," I nodded in response, willing to do anything now that I could see my mother again. "There's a letter in my top pocket, take it out," she hissed quickly. The roots shifted, tearing more into my mother's miraculously beating heart. Shaking, I took the letter from blood-sullied pocket and into my quivering hands. "When you get home, you can read it." she reached out towards me, her finger's just grazing my knuckles before it crumbled, flesh and bone falling apart like dust.

   I was in total and utter shock. I felt myself wretch, sick at seeing her corpse-like state being slowly consumed by some kind of monster. I knew deep down that I would rather have seen a decomposing corpse, cried for a little while and become content with my mother's passing.

   "Alright Midora, now, this may be hard for you, but take that knife I gave you for your birthday..." she demanded. Her mouth opened too wide and a mass of bugs and blood poured out like a waterfall of vomit. I put my hands on the ground and coughed the bile that had been rising gradually in my throat. "Now, put the knife in my hand dear and turn away..." she begged.

   My eyes widened, "No, mama, you're going to be okay!" I lied. "I'll get you out, we can go home!" I grabbed the knife concealed in my bodice and started hacking away at the roots it her stomach.

   "Midora! Listen to me!" It was a screech of pain. And I watched as the suddenly furiously growing roots and veins ripped into her more viciously than before. In less than a minute there was a mangled corpse laying on the ground. She looked as though she'd been quartered.

   The looming trees never looked so daunting.

   ...and then I thought about it. It must be called the Eeter (eater) Woods for a reason...

A.N: I'm Alanna, this is my first short story. Please vote if you enjoyed it, and I hope you're interested in what I put out in the future.

    Much love <3