The Arborist

by P. T. Phronk

  I nodded, let him continue. Amy looked restless but stayed silent.

  “Then Jay started coming around to our houses at night. He’d throw rocks at our windows to wake us up, like in the, you know, movies, and tell us we owed him. He kept saying he’d, you know, he’d beat us up if we didn’t get the money. I know he got into trouble with the drug guys, and needed the money pretty bad. Maybe he needed our company even worse. He doesn’t go to school, doesn’t see people much. He really liked me. Enough to be creepy. But I couldn’t be around him. I just wanted to give him what he asked for and get out of this.”

  Todd stopped. Amy opened her mouth to talk, but I held up my hand. Wait.

  “I stole your camera, dad.”

  It was my turn to be surprised. I was so sure that the figure in the yard, Jay, had been the one who stole it, that I was speechless, an inanimate object unable to process meaning.

  Amy broke the silence. “Fuck, Todd! You should have told us! We’d call the police and that idiot would be in jail. Mind you, you’d be spending some time grounded too, for getting us into this mess.”

  Todd teared up from his mother’s words, but it was me he looked at. “I’m sorry, Dad. Once it started I couldn’t stop it, and I just wanted things to go back to normal.”

  I got up and embraced him while he cried. “We’ll deal with it, son,” I told him. “Nature will run its course, and soon this will be nothing.”

  “I didn’t know what Jay would do if I didn’t pay him,” he mumbled into my shoulder. “I don’t know what he’ll do now that you hit him.”

  Amy was saying something to both of us, but I wasn’t paying attention. Neither was Todd. As he cried on my shoulder, I told him that I understood. Because I did. I’d gone through this cycle several times before.

  Was I not going through it now? With this tree? Maybe I would have been able to intervene earlier if I wasn’t so focused on its mystery. As soon as the bulge burst then it would be solved, I thought, and then it would be time to focus on fixing the family.

  Amy became louder.

  “Shut up, Amy,” I said. I’d never said anything like that to her. But she did it. Her face continued to say something, but her voice stopped.

  That was better. We just needed a quiet environment for a few days, so the family could move on with a new stage of life, after dealing with its demons.

  CHAPTER 15

  THE MOONLIGHT ONLY HINTED AT its red colour. My tree was inside my bedroom. It loomed from the corner by the window, branches spreading and scraping against the ceiling. Velvety antlers of a massive entity.

  The whole thing swayed slowly, as if pushed by a gentle wind that only it could feel. Its belly hung in front of it, softly gurgling. I never saw so much expression in an inanimate thing before.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  Its branches creaked as it swayed. When I listened closely, there were words among the creaking, the scritching, and the scratching:

  Huuurt.

  “No.”

  Hurtem. Hurtem. Proootectme, said my tree.

  “I can’t hurt my family. I already hurt them enough with what I did. And I was very cruel to Amy.”

  My tree’s belly gurgled suddenly: GOODGOODGOOD.

  “Maybe you’re right.”

  Its branches tapped out decipherable patterns. Prooo, tct! Tct! Tct!

  “Protect.”

  Ysss, hissed its belly.

  I closed my eyes, trying to block it out, convince myself it wasn’t real. But I could feel its presence there, as strong as if an intruder had entered the room and was standing at the foot of the bed, staring, breathing. When I opened my eyes, the room was empty, but outside the window, I could still hear the creaking of branches.

  CHAPTER 16

  AMY LOVED CONTROL. I WOKE up to a tinkling sound, and found her collecting all of her jewelry from the little metal tree on the dresser that was designed to hang rings, bracelets, and necklaces on.

  “So I can lock them in the safe box,” she explained when she saw me staring. “These things are worth a lot of money and I don’t want them going anywhere. Oh, and can you do me a favour?”

  “No,” I said.

  She continued as if she hadn’t heard me. “I’ll be late coming home from work again. The new business thing is really taking off, I think—you know, with everybody so uneasy lately. Gotta strike while the iron is hot. So I just need you to call the locksmith and book him in for tonight. Get every locked changed, even the garage one.”

  “I need you to stop talking,” I said. This wasn’t shaping up to be an ideal morning, so I would have to create one.

  “Excuse me?” she said.

  I felt something snap (crackle, pop, creak) inside of me, and every flap of her vocal cords seemed to jab at the inside of my skull. “Just shut up. Close your mouth. Stop. Talking.” I stood and my fist clenched.

  She looked from my fist to my face. Her nose scrunched up like she was miming the emotion of disgust for the benefit of a child. But she didn’t say anything, and that was all I had asked for. As I got dressed and followed her downstairs, we were both silent. Maybe she thought that the silent treatment was something I’d regret soliciting, but the quiet of the morning was music to my ears.

  When she left without saying goodbye, only pausing for a moment at the door to stare at me with pleading, tear-filled eyes, maybe then I did feel some regret. But this was good for her, even if she didn’t know it. And I needed this. I needed to start shaping this little habitat better for myself, to better manage my … issues.

  I checked my email, but that, too, was far too upsetting to allow into my mental environment, so I shut my computer down.

  A bitter calm fell over me, and I was hardly surprised when my first instinct was to put on some coffee and inspect my tree. I filled the coffee filter almost to the top to make it strong. When it wasn’t strong enough, I poured black coffee back into the water tank and let it filter through the grinds again. I got the biggest Thermos I owned and poured the thick sludge into it. Cream and sugar were distant memories.

  I grabbed a lawn chair from the sun room before hobbling outside. The mornings were getting brighter, and my tree looked absolutely beautiful in the orange-tinged light. The bulge was enormous. Bark that had once been folded into ridges was now smooth all the way around the trunk at the point where the bulge emerged. It again clicked with me that the tree had been designed to expand all along. It was silly to ever think that this natural bulb had been a disease. Indeed, it seemed to be the reason for the tree’s very existence. The rest was camouflage.

  I was afraid to touch it, because the bulge was so tight that it seemed like it was about to burst. It would not be long at all before it did, and then, finally, I’d know. I’d know what the purpose of the tree was, and why it had sprung into my life so suddenly. I lightly—very lightly—caressed the bulge, and there was no doubt that there was movement inside. In addition to the occasional gurgling, there was a constant vibration that communicated its simmering life.

  I even thought I could see the movement. Every once in a while the entire thing seemed to jiggle. As if something inside was getting into a more comfortable position.

  I thought back to my email.

  Message from rurban@ubnf.ca: IMPORTANT INFORMATION

  Message from urbanrobert@satcast.ca, marked urgent: READ NOW (Re: tree)

  Message from robbyrob@hotmailer.com: Wesley, YOU ARE IN DANGER. PLEASE RESPOND.

  The guy was getting desperate. Robby Rob? I would not respond; not now, not when I was so close to discovering the answer to this mystery that was entirely my own. All mine.

  I sat beside my tree for at least an hour, maybe two, before going in to warm up and get more coffee before heading out again. The day passed. It got darker, and it got colder. At one point I noticed Todd’s bedroom light. I hadn’t even heard him come home. There were no lights on in the rest of the house.

  My fingers went numb from the increa
sing cold. I yelled up at Todd’s window, trying to get his attention so he could bring me some gloves and a coat. I didn’t want to leave the tree now, not when it was so close to the end. I yelled for Todd again, then heard bass thumping out of his window: he had turned his music on. That damn rap music.

  Fucking kid. I loved him, but damn that fucking kid.

  So I went to look for some warm clothes myself, moving as fast as I could with the crutches, occasionally stepping with my bad foot and sending bursts of pain shooting up my leg. I grabbed my coat and stuffed the Thermos into one if its oversized pockets, then looked for my boots, which I liked to leave out by the front door, but Amy always put them away in the closet. Messing with my environment. As I rummaged for them, Todd came down the stairs.

  “Dad? You okay?” he asked.

  “Didn’t you hear me call for you?” I asked, scowling.

  “I didn’t.”

  “I was back in the yard calling you, you must have heard me,” I said, as I tossed a pair of boots out from the back of the closet.

  “No, Dad, I had the TV and music on.”

  “Fuck, Todd, you gotta turn that music down.” I eased myself down and tied a boot on my good foot.

  Todd looked at me, a twitch building in his eye. “Fine, dad. Whatever. Have you seen the news?”

  I was in such a hurry that I barely heard him. My tree could burst at any second. After that, it would be over, and I could spend all the time in the world with Todd. “Listen, I’ll be outside for the night.”

  “Right, of course you will. Mom called. She’s gone to ‘visit her sister,’ she said.” There was a sarcastic tone in his voice. A tear in his eye welled up but did not fall.

  I felt relief at hearing Amy had left. Hurting her had worked. Protect, the tree had said. With her gone, it would be protected from her. More importantly: she’d be protected from me.

  “Fine,” I said, both sad and proud that Todd, too, could see that the landscape had shifted. That he probably understood what was really going on here better than I did. “It’s gonna be fine,” I told him, and I believed it was true. His face remained full of all kinds of hurt. “How’s your problem?” I asked.

  “I’m dealing with it. I told Jay he’s not getting any more money, and I ignore his calls and emails. It’ll blow over. Just gotta stay strong until it does, right? Like a tree?” He smirked. “How’s your problem? It’s almost … you know … ready … isn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” I said, and smiled. “Yeah. It’s happening tonight. Listen, Son, I’m sorry about all this. Tomorrow, we’ll sit down and talk about it. Clear the air, make this home liveable for all of us. You and me and your mother.”

  Todd smiled and nodded, but a tear bulged, burst, then rolled down his cheek.

  CHAPTER 17

  AFTER I RETURNED TO MY tree, Todd’s music resumed its thumping, and anger soaked into my consciousness again. I had the crazy idea that maybe the tree was the source of the intrusive thoughts—that it sucked away the peace from my home and replaced it with obsession. Yet this only increased my desire to see it to the end. To witness the final plan of this red tree with its terrible power.

  The rate at which the bulge grew was remarkable—though I dared not remark on it out loud, for it looked like the slightest disturbance would cause it to burst prematurely. I longed to stroke the smooth red branches, but my tree was now much taller than me, outgrowing even the measuring apparatus, and the branches reached to the dark sky as if they prayed to an unknowable deity. They were as gorgeous as ever: each branch emerged from its parent branch at a right angle, forming a shape that was the same no matter which angle I looked at it from, its gaze following me like the eyes of the Mona Lisa.

  Some of the trees by the ravine had sprouted leaves for the spring, but my tree was unmarred. I couldn’t even see nubs where the leaves should have grown from. At this point, it didn’t surprise me, or even strike me as odd, that my tree didn’t need leaves. It got all the nourishment it needed from its roots.

  An hour passed, and then another. Todd’s music eventually stopped, at what felt like an hour after his bed time, but I didn’t dare check my watch, fearing I’d miss something. The bulge jiggled, and I could hear a gurgling even with my ears several feet away.

  Soon.

  After another hour, the cold started to get to me again. The cast on my leg was not designed for warmth, so my rigid foot, which often felt hot and itchy, now felt like solid ice. My fingers became numb under my gloves. My thinning hair didn’t do much for my head, and my ears felt as if they’d snap like potato chips if I touched them.

  I held out for another hour. It pained me to put any distance between my tree and myself, but the bite of the cold was more immediate. I backed away to the sun room. I’d keep an eye on the yard, and as soon as I saw any sign of activity, I could race back outside to witness the … happening.

  The warmth was welcome, even though my ears and fingers hurt like Hell as they thawed. I remembered that the Thermos I had filled up earlier was in my coat pocket, so I popped it open. There was still a bit of thick black coffee in the bottom, and the Thermos had done its job by keeping it warm.

  I sat in my spot, watching my tree and sipping my coffee. You could say it was an ideal, albeit early, morning. I knew this was crazy, watching a tree well past midnight, yes yes I knew. Half of my mind was aware that the other half had snapped (crackled and popped, too). It didn’t matter. All that mattered was watching my tree do its thing, which would relieve me of my duties. At ease, soldier.

  My tree’s bulge jiggled, now visible even from my considerable distance. It also seemed to throb, growing slightly, then shrinking. Breathing.

  What a morning. This was what I lived for. The little moments. Sitting in the warmth, sipping coffee and watching nature. Was it not the reason I moved to this house so many years ago? Before the habitat was corrupted by the weight of family.

  Despite the strongly caffeinated coffee, the room’s warm comfort and the rhythmic throbbing of my tree—ba-bump, ba-bump, ba-bump—overtook me. Staring at it, my head felt heavy.

  I closed my eyes for only a moment.

  CHAPTER 18

  I AWOKE TO CRACKLING, POPPING, and snapping. My eyes opened and registered only darkness. It was still night—surely I had only fallen asleep for a few minutes—but the yard’s light had gone out.

  I looked toward my tree, sure that the bulge had popped and I had missed seeing whatever was inside crawl away, confirming that this had all been for nothing. Images of the baby-things from my dream snapped into my head. However, in the moonlight I could just barely make out my tree, with its bulge intact. Thank God. But I could also make out something else. A figure stood beside it.

  I hesitated for a moment, unmoving, still half-asleep and not entirely sure I had awoken. As I did so, the figure pulled an object out of his pocket. Orange light illuminated him: a black trench coat, topped with a familiar alien head, marred by bruises and slashes. Jay.

  A twinkle to the side caught my eye. Something wet was on the ground. The back light was switched off—he’d walked right into the sun room. He’d been so close. Did he even notice me there, dozing before my tree in the heart of the night?

  Something smelled pungent and sweet, like my coffee, like my tree, but … not. I bolted from my chair.

  Jay lowered his lighter to the ground.

  “My man, Todd. Got your attention now?” he asked, not nearly loud enough for Todd to hear upstairs, and he still hadn’t spotted me. Perhaps the words fulfilled some hidden requirement in his private mental environment.

  He stepped back, kneeling and using my tree as cover for his vicious project. The flame jumped from his hand to the grass, where it formed a blue tentacle of fire that reached toward the house.

  “Old fuckin’ man, try to kill me. Try to keep me from my Todd. He will burn up the chaff with unquenchable fire,” Jay muttered.

  Some of the flammable stuff must have splashed on my tree. As I
burst out of the sun room, the flame leapt, and—God, it happened so fast—it spread up the trunk of my tree.

  It was hardly surprising now, but it was clear that my tree was not made out of regular wood. It burned as if it were doused in gasoline, though I was quite sure Jay’s trail of fuel only led to the house, as the tree was not his target. In seconds, the slithering flames had reached its branches.

  Likewise, Jay’s cheap trench coat was not made of real leather, and the gasoline-splashed synthetic material went up in flames when a branch dripped fire on him from above. My tree, protecting me.

  He spun around, trying to pat out the fire on his own back. Then he saw me, limp-sprinting across the yard. His beady little blue eyes went wide with panic. It almost made me grin. Jay turned and ran away from the house, toward the ravine. The idiot continued patting at his back as he ran.

  I stopped. There were more important matters than chasing that fucking kid down. Again. I looked up at Todd’s window. There was no light on. He’d managed to sleep through this.

  There was a light downstairs, however. The flames had reached the sun room, where patio furniture, insecticides, and leather spray had quickly answered the call of the tentacles of fire.

  I fought back panic and took a moment to think. There was an extinguisher in the kitchen pantry. I could get it and put out the fire.

  A most horrible question entered my thoughts: Which fire? Todd was upstairs, able-bodied, surely about to wake up and smell the smoke. All the doors were locked except the one in the sun room. With my broken foot, could I get around to another entrance, break in, get to the extinguisher, then fight the fire, in time to help? Or was it already too late for me to play a role?

  My tree was only a few meters away. The fire had still not yet slithered around to the bulge. I could reach the garden hose around the side faster than the extinguisher inside the house.