In Laymon's Terms

I watched her pull away, tooting the horn twice, and relief washed through me. Then I faced the tree and gathered all my courage; I walked forward, arms outstretched like a lost blind man. When my hands touched the leaves a shudder of revulsion swept through me. They felt plastic and rubbery to my fingers and some of them had tiny brown buds on the edges; I parted them and peered inside. Despite the brightness of the morning, beyond the leaves was darkness. I could barely make out the shape of the tree trunk in there. I saw no sign of the cat.

A door slammed, startling me, and I pulled back. It was Alan Mange, our next-door neighbor. We weren’t really on the best of terms since he took it upon himself to cut down half the hedge separating our front gardens. But he did know about trees and so while he was walking around to his garage I called him over. He seemed surprised to be hearing from me, since the last words we’d exchanged had been loud and heated.

Wearing his usual white shirt and baby-shit-brown tie, he worked for a huge chain store...one of those slimy credit officers who spends his day in a gray cubicle calling people to threaten them with litigation when they can’t pay their credit bill.

I was as pleasant to him as I could be, under the circumstances. Skinny man, thin face with a ridiculous attempt at a beard, he gave a scowl and then bent and parted the branches with his hands, peering inside. He wouldn’t talk to me, but friend of the planet that he was he was willing to—

Suddenly his head jerked back and his eyes gaped wide. His whole body tensed and he lunged himself at the tree, tackling it like a footballer. The whole tree shook. A branch cracked and the leaves sighed.

The tree had his arm...it had grabbed him...from inside.

He tried to pull away but he was caught in there. He shouted something and reached his other arm out to me and then suddenly he came free and—Oh sweet Christ...he was on his knees and his shirtsleeve ended in a ragged, flapping red cuff which was spurting dark blood and—

A long brown limb shot out of the tree, so fast I barely saw it. It was coated with a dry, matted “fur”; a big hand on the end had bare knuckles, like badly-carved wooden golf balls, and five long, thick fingers tapered into jagged points. In a flash it grabbed the elbow of my maimed neighbor’s arm and yanked him back. This time, one whole side of Al Mange disappeared into those leaves. He screamed but the sound was cut off in an instant. His head gave a sickening lurch. There was a violent spasm within the tree and his whole body kicked, and then the loud, smacking sound of a burst pipe filled the morning.

Blood surged out from under the tree, and the leaves around Al dripped crimson.

I tried to move but...what do you do when the whole world has been pulled out from under your feet?

The tree was jerking crazily, like a dog trying to shake itself dry. Only a single bloody arm was hanging out from the leaves now, and then that too disappeared, taken by the tree.

(Not the tree. Something inside.)

The leaves reluctantly ceased their crazy tantrum and settled, but from inside I could hear wet sucking sounds...chewing...harsh ripping of flesh...cracking and snapping of bones...

All around me was a perfect morning...except for this one little pocket of madness...this tree, which had been overtaken, invaded, occupied. My brain steadfastly refused to accept it, and tried to insist that there was some rational explanation...that it was all just a big mistake that would shortly be rectified.

“Brian.” The voice sent an electric jolt shooting through my body. “Thank you.”

I bolted back inside the house.

It was almost dark. The wind was cooler now.

There wasn’t a drop of blood on the leaves,

(Licked clean)

nor in the soil, which was unstained.

(Sucked dry)

I looked across at Al Mange’s house and wondered if his wife knew yet that anything was wrong. What time had she been expecting him home? Had she called the police yet?

The tree stood tall in the evening dimness, barely ruffled by the wind. Satiated?

Carol was waving at me through the nursery window.

I went back inside and joined her, but I spilled so much paint...knocked over a can of nails, then picked them up and knocked them over again...I put the border up crooked...

We decided to finish early.

When she went up to bed I sat on the floor, back against the wall, and stared out at the tree.

My mind still couldn’t...Christ...had I really seen what—

I was getting fucking tired of that question!

Then I was outside again, standing in the cool breeze in front of the tree and I didn’t even remember leaving the nursery. My body was trembling and I could smell an odor on myself.

(Fear...that’s my own fear)

I stared up. It rose above the rain-gutter on the roof. “You’re just a tree,” I told it.

For long moments there was silence. Then the voice. “I need more.”

“No...I...”