Down by the Sickle Tree

Author's Note: This is a short ghost story that I wrote exclusively for Wattpad readers. Hope you enjoy it. It is to be read by the campfire, on a stormy night, curled up on a couch, during October, while hiding under the covers of your bed while holding a flashlight, or however else you wish to read something spooky.

Story, characters, and cover artwork © Melissa Lyle

~ ~ ~

The tree, if you could call it that, was the cause of many occupants' fears. And it was the sole reason why everyone who dared to buy the house couldn't sleep at nights once they moved in. It was also the reason why every occupant always vacated the property shortly after becoming the owner. Most of the time, what prompted these occupants to leave was unknown. Some of them left town in the middle of the night or early morning with no explanation whatsoever. The few who stuck around to talk about their experiences never said what possessed them to leave. They never said that they saw anything out of the ordinary, like a ghost or some such thing. A specter residing on the property would be the normal reason for vacating any house. No, that wasn't the reason. They would always just say that the tree gave them a feeling of dread when they went near it and change the subject. People like this never stayed in the house long enough to see anything, anyway. They would always move in, take one look at the tree, and move out a few weeks later. No explanations.

There were occasional reports of family members mysteriously disappearing. Strange enough, it was always when they went out to collect firewood. But no one could explain it and no bodies were ever found. Of all the tenants that have lived in the house, only one—an older gentleman—reported hearing strange noises. He told residents that he heard inhuman screams late one night down by the river. At the time, he passed it off as being a screech owl or a fox or some such animal. It was the only way he could explain the unearthly sounds.

As usual, the locals twisted the facts around and fabricated stories out of them. These stories spread like wildfire throughout the local and neighboring communities, becoming legends. As the years passed, storytellers blew the stories out of proportion and added on to them. They would always exaggerate when they felt a need to spin a wild tale to impress some newcomer or passerby. One such tale, that a local farmer spun, told of the tree being bewitched. Late at nights during the fall harvests, you could see a cowl-wearing shade in its branches. Whoever wandered near the tree and saw the shade would risk being devoured. Another story told of glowing red eyes peering out from around the tree. This was always a favorite story to tell at Halloween parties to make sure you didn't sleep that night.

Whether these stories held any truth was unknown. People who claimed they got up enough courage to wander down by the tree and saw things started so many of them. But, if you asked the skeptics to verify the stories, you would get a different answer. They would tell you that old Mr. Miggly's homemade moonshine was the real reason behind most of it. Anyone who claims they saw shades and specters has to be drunk, they would say. What about the disappearances, you ask? People losing their footing and falling in the river was undoubtedly the cause of that. People that fell in the river were often carried downstream by the current. Unfortunate accidents like that happen sometimes, especially when people are not careful. And if the river didn't claim them, then it was perhaps a wolf or bear.

Looking like an eyesore, the half-dead tree in question stood at the edge of the local river. And the property it stood on was the backyard behind an old house on Benseen Lane. It stood there day in and day out like some silent warning of unforeseen doom. The roots below it showed aboveground, curving and intertwining like snakes ready to ensnare an unfortunate foot. Its rotted bark looked pale and diseased in comparison to the other healthier trees around it. And it had a large gaping hole on the side of the trunk that faced toward the back of the house. The branches were gnarled and twisted in a hopeless tangle. They spiraled upward and curved to one side in a ghastly shape that resembled a reaper's sickle. It was hard to tell how many years this tree had left. But it was unmistakable to anyone who laid eyes on it that one good gust could come by at any moment and topple the thing. It was strange how it had remained standing for so long in this condition. And it was stranger still how none of the previous owners thought to cut it down for firewood. It would have been the quickest way to rid themselves of the problem.