Hamilton OneShots

The Hanging Tree ~ Lams (Triggerish warning?)

In the field, there was a large oak tree. Ominously standing alone, never having any leaves on it, even during summer. Most say the tree itself is haunted by the spirits of those who went to neither heaven, nor hell, and are merely stuck in the waking world, seeking revenge. Angry spirits whose lives were taken too soon. Some were soldiers from the revolution, some were abused women who committed suicide from the unbearable pain of the real world. Murderers, rapists, people who committed espionage, all were executed by hanging at this tree, which earned it the nickname it forever bears: "The Hanging Tree." It wasn't only just those who wanted to die, some were people drawn to the tree by those spirits who didn't want to be alone, they wanted a friend from the world they knew, and they didn't care how they got them. People stay away from the tree, the feelings they get around it consume them and entice them to form thoughts of suicide. Overwhelming feelings of dread and anxiety attack their minds until they are too weak to realize they are slowly stumbling their way to the tree, stumbling to their death.

Alexander sat at his desk working, it was late, far past sunset, yet he decided to work on something. It was an essay due for Washington in a week. This was a common occurrence, ever since John's death, all he could ever bring himself to do was write. He had stopped caring about himself, finding comfort in only his work. Alexander's life had become a mess, nothing but a mere routine of waking up early, eating, then writing till the late hours of the night. The lack of sleep had started playing tricks on his mind. Many times Alexander thought he had seen John's ghost through the window, other times he could swear he heard a faint whisper or a hum, like a song. He never believed it was real, he was always focused on his work. But tonight, when he heard whispering behind him, it sounded... real. Not faint like it normally was, but almost as though someone really was behind him. Alexander could swear he felt the all too familiar feeling of someone behind him. He had been in war, he knew damn well how it felt when you were being watched, but he chose against looking, as normal, he tried to focus on his work and wait for it to go away.

Only it didn't, the whispers grew louder and formed into a soft hum of a tune. He barely heard it at first, but as it grew louder, the voice became more recognizable. As usual, it sounded like John. Sometimes this was a comforting thing to Alexander, to think John was still there with him, other times much like this, it sounded... off-putting, scary even. He felt uneasy, but still dared not look behind him, not even when the hum turned into a song.

"Are you, are you, coming to the tree, where they strung up a man they say who murdered three..."

His feelings of uneasiness grew when he heard John singing. A cool, gentle breeze blew through his room, faintly brushing against the back of his neck, causing his hair to stand up on end. He shook his head and continued writing, dipping his quill into ink and scribbling mindless words down onto the page. This was also normal, for Alexander to not think about what he was writing, he would just write.

"Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be if we met at midnight in the hanging tree..."

Alexander swallowed a lump in the back of his throat. He quickly rubbed his eyes and focused his vision on the paper, on the lines of ink that formed the words. Anxiety started crawling its way up his spine as he heard the creaking of the floor as if weight were being applied to it... As if someone were moving closer to him. He started to breathe heavier but managed to keep his thoughts on writing, keeping his eyes down.

"Are you, are you, coming to the tree, where a dead man called out for his love to flee..."

The room started to feel cold, a tightness in Alexander's chest formed as he worked. The instinct to breathe grew stronger, and he found himself breathing heavier than before. Anxiety now washing over him, flooding through him like a wave. John's voice sounded malevolent, not like he remembered. It didn't sound right, it didn't sound like John. Alexander knew that if he turned around, it wouldn't be good. He kept his eyes down as the feeling grew stronger. A desire to look behind him was in the back of his mind, but he ignored it. Part of him was too scared, the other part too focused on work. It was conflicting feelings. Sure, he wanted to see if it was really John, but something about the voice was just... off-putting.