In Laymon's Terms

(I’m dreaming...I must be dreaming this. I’m actually upstairs in bed with Carol and...)

A lump of darkness hurtled down at me. I yelped and stepped back and it slammed into the grass at my feet with a dull thud—the carcass of a gray cat. Its belly was swollen and doughy, its skin visible through its mangy, stringy coat. There were gashes and gouges all over, as though large teeth had ripped hunks of flesh out. There was just a deep, bloody scoop in the front of its head where its face should have been.

I jammed my fist into my mouth to keep from screaming. The muscles in my legs were twitching spasmodically. High above, the branches closed in again and the tree rustled softly in the breeze.

“I’m calling the police!” I said, trying to keep from shouting. My breathing was erratic and labored.

A powerful growl rolled out of the tree, vibrating through the ground under my feet. Then I caught a horrible stench from the mangled cat, putrid and sweet. My stomach heaved and I vomited...careful not to get any on the cat. My eyes went blurry with moisture; my throat burned.

“Brian, I know your pretty wife. She carries your spawn.” The voice in the tree was calm. “She comes often.”

Suddenly my nose and mouth were stuffed with cotton. My face was numb. I couldn’t breathe.

Carol!

My ears were buzzing. My body was chilled and sweating; my skin tightened and crawled. I gaped up at the tree.

“Is your pretty wife quicker than our feline friend, Brian?”

I wanted to be dreaming. I had to be dreaming.

“You will feed me. From your own tree. Or a stranger’s.”

I staggered away...this couldn’t be happening yet that terrible voice, the numbness, the stench of cat and vomit...those things mixed a swirling cocktail in my head which couldn’t be denied.

I ran to the house.

Upstairs, I washed my face and hands and then fell into bed beside Carol. She half-awoke enough to drape one arm across my chest. “Finished that nursery yet, Handsome?”

“Almost,” I whispered. My forehead was burning, but my skin was covered in a sheen of ice. I rolled towards her and squeezed her to me, smelling her hair and fighting tears.

Opening my eyes to morning light, for a moment I had the comfort of thinking it had all been a terrible nightmare. But just for a moment. Then I knew better.

Downstairs, I went through to the kitchen and started coffee, then slumped into a chair and forced myself to wake up.

(It couldn’t have been fucking real! Couldn’t have been!)

Fuck it. I downed a full mug of coffee and went outside. The morning was sunny and bright but a nice little chill to the air...few clouds in the blue sky. I could smell morning dew, and the wet grass felt good under my bare feet.

I didn’t want to look.

The tree stood there in all its fine glory, its coat of green snowflakes elegant and gently swaying.

There was no cat on the ground.

(RELIEF!!!)

I sucked in a delicious breath and—

Nooooo!

There was a smudge on the ground, a darkening right where the cat had lain, and between it and the tree the grass had been flattened.

The tree had reached out in the night and dragged the cat back into its folds.

I ran back inside the house, leaning against the front door and a ridiculously high-pitched squeak whistling from my throat.

“That you, honey?” Carol called from the bathroom upstairs.

“Just me,” I gasped. I could imagine her up there, sitting on the pot with her ubiquitous Bathroom Reader held in front of her.

I wouldn’t let anything happen to her. I wouldn’t...

“Hey,” she called down. “Listen to this...did you know that Bugs Bunny actually won an Oscar?”

Oh Christ...I didn’t know what to do.

I went to the kitchen and a few moments later she came in, waddling with her big belly and easing herself down into a chair. “Hey, I checked in the nursery...you fall asleep in there or something?” She put the cup of last night’s tea on the table.

“Yeah...dozed off.” I wanted to blurt everything out but Christ...how could I...? She’d think I was losing my marbles: “Sweetie, I don’t think you’ve got all your dogs on the same leash.”

We drank coffee while she told me of her plans for the morning—look for a cheap border to match the wallpaper, shop for yet more baby clothes, then she was meeting Natasha for lunch and what a gossip-fest that would be.

I walked Carol out to the car. My eyes tried to pull my head to the side but I kept facing forward. I didn’t want to look at that tree. It was watching us. Watching Carol. If I turned it would see the fear in my eyes.

(Get a grip!)

It’s a tree, for Christ’s sake! It’s just a fucking Cedar tree.