The Trees Have Eyes

by Tobias Wade

  “What I don’t understand,” Daniel started, “is why the first alert told us to cover our windows. Don’t they want us to see them?”

  “Oh, that’s because of the sunlight. It burns them right up, just like the fires do. Same reason they come out in the blizzard.” She lowered her voice further, and glanced around the room. “They want to be safe in your house. Because after… they want to live in it. Breed in it. Make it their own little den. And then do it to the next house, and the next, until they’ve taken over the entire town—”

  “Kendra, that’s enough.” Mark clapped a hand on her shoulder. “She likes to tell tall tales, this one. Sorry if it caused you any trouble.”

  “Dad! Were you eavesdropping?!” She sighed, and rose from the seat.

  Mark removed his hand. The shirt shifted, and the rip pulled open, exposing some of his chest.

  Underneath it was a tattoo.

  A tattoo of a sword, stuck in stone.

  Of Excalibur.

  No way. As they made their way from the table, I turned to Daniel. “He’s one of them.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “He’s the Excalibur guy! The guy who said they’re attracted to fire, who lied on that message board. Didn’t you see the tattoo?”

  “But he can’t be one of the ice shadows. We’re surrounded by fire.”

  “He isn’t. He’s just under the influence of one.” I stood up, and scanned the room. Wait—

  Where had he gone? Kendra was standing by the food table—arms crossed, leaning against the wall. But she was alone, and there was no trace of dear old Dad.

  “Kendra! Where’s your dad?” I said, running up to her.

  “No idea.

  “This is really important—”

  “We think he may be compromised,” Daniel said, immediately.

  “What?! No. Absolutely not.” The anger flared, and her voice grew to a shout. “I saved him. He was going to look out the window, but I stopped him! Just in time!”

  I opened my mouth to respond—but movement from the window caught my eye.

  Outside, the orange glow had faded. Where fires once stood, there were only dark shadows of ash. Over one of the remaining fires hovered a figure, holding something large and metal.

  A bucket.

  Hisssss!

  Water splashed over the fire. It sputtered, sparked, and faded to nothing.

  And then the shadows at the forest’s edge began to close in. Shifting and swirling, racing to the house. One leapt forward, mouth stretching larger and larger by the second—

  “They’re coming!” I shouted. “He put out the fires! They’re coming!”

  In one swooping motion, it engulfed Mark in black smoke.

  As quickly as it happened, the smoke dissipated. Mark stood stiffly by the fire, his head hanging to one side. Then he began walking towards the house, his feet moving mechanically across the snow. They bounded after him, following him, their faces—

  Daniel yanked the curtains shut.

  The silence of the house grew into a roar of chaos. Footsteps thundered, plates crashed, people screamed.

  And a strangely familiar sound joined the din—

  Tap, tap, tap.

  They were here.

  And we were in chaos. Running, shoving, screaming. We were all going to die here, in this hut, if someone didn’t take the lead…

  “Follow me!” I shouted.

  I raced to the basement door. The thumps of footsteps followed me, shaking the staircase.

  The damp air blew over our faces, dusty and stale. Click. A lightbulb flicked on overhead, and we were all bathed in a dim, yellow glow.

  “What’s the plan?” Daniel said to me.

  “We’ll wait here until morning,” I said, hanging my sweater over the tiny window. “The storm will be gone, and the sun will be out.”

  “Yeah, unless they get to us before then,” Kendra interjected, her voice oddly monotonous. And why was her head tilted like that? “You saw what they did to Dad.”

  “Trust me,” I said. “This will work. I promise.”

  But now others had overheard, and panic rippled across the room. “Tha’ woman is right,” someone called out from the gray shadows of the basement. “If they get in upstairs, they’ll easily break down this ol’ door. And then, we’re trapped here, like pigs ready for slaughter.”

  “They won’t break down the door. They can break through glass, sure—but not a solid wooden door.”

  “Rebecca, if they can stop a car,” Daniel whispered, his face hidden in the shadows, “don’t you think they can break down a door?”

  Another voice jumped in, coming from the silhouette of an old woman. Her back was strangely crooked, and her eyes glittered in the dim light. “We’re sitting ducks. We need to go back upstairs!”

  “Yes! We have to go back upstairs—”

  “Absolutely!”

  No.

  They must have seen the shadows.

  All of them.

  “We need to stay here! It’s the only place we’re safe!” I screamed. “Don’t you get it?!”

  A silence filled the room.

  Then Kendra lifted her arm—

  And pointed straight at me.

  “She saw them, didn’t she?”

  Daniel stared at me—tears welling in his eyes, glinting off the dim light. “I thought I pulled the curtain in time. But I—I must’ve been too late.”

  Someone grabbed my arms. Another thrust my face under the light. Kendra bent over me, her face contorted in a frown.

  “Her pupils aren’t contracting with the light.”

  I pulled and wriggled. “I’m just trying to help! To save you all! Let me go!”

  Click. The door opened, and I was carried up the staircase. “Wait—where are you taking her?!” Daniel yelled behind me. “You can’t do this! There’s a way to break the trance, isn’t there? She did it with me! Took off my glasses, and—”

  “Sure, if you wanna cut out her eyes so she ain’t seein’ no more,” the man holding me spat.

  “Daniel! Don’t let them take me! Please—”

  Thump.

  ***

  My eyes fluttered open.

  Pitch black.

  No. Those men must’ve thrown me in the forest. And I’m here, in the darkness, with the ice shadows. My heart started to race. Am I one of them, now? A flitting, demonic shadow, with glittering white eyes?

  No. Wait. The last thing I remember was someone talking about cutting my eyes out.

  I began to panic. I don’t have eyes anymore. That’s what they did—no, no, no—

  A sliver of light appeared. And the door creaked open.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Daniel!” I tried to stand up, and failed.

  “Sorry about that,” he said. I looked down; thick rope wrapped around my body, tying me to the chair. “They were going to throw you outside the house, but I… uh… persuaded them to lock you here instead.” He rubbed his knuckles.

  “Is everyone okay?”

  “Yeah. Except for Kendra’s dad.” He bent down, and began working on the knots. “The sun came up a few hours ago, and it looks like the shadows are gone.”

  “But what about… everything—”

  Kendra poked her head in. “The people want to talk to you,” she said to Daniel. “Oh, Rebecca, you’re okay!”

  “I am,” I said, smiling at her. “Wait—what people?”

  “Some official-looking people. They drove in this morning, said they’ll be ‘cleansing’ the area. I think that black-haired woman is one of them.” The rope unraveled, and I stood. “Anyway, let’s get you downstairs. We got bagels.”

  I held took his hand, and we made our way down to the kitchen.

  ***

  Later that afternoon, we drove the six hours back home. We spent the rest of our honeymoon indoors—catching up on sleep, re
st, and quality time. Life has been pretty uneventful since then, and we’ve been having a fantastic time.

  Except that, sometimes, when I look out the window late at night I see two glittering eyes in the forest behind our house.

  And I have the urge to open the door.

  How to Resurrect a Sister

  WARNING

  If the ritual is not performed correctly, serious side effects may occur. For example, you might bring the body back, but not the soul.

  Like Pet Sematary? I shuddered, lit the candles, and began to read.

  “O, Name of Deceased—uh, Natalie Wysocki—hear my call.”

  The trees rattled; the shadows shook over the forest floor.

  “Come out, from the depths of the dead.”

  With a strong gust of wind, several leaves blew across the dirt, and into the ravine.

  “Come forward, into the land of the living.”

  Her death was my fault. I brought her out there. I just thought a hike would be a good distraction from our mother’s recent death. But she ran ahead of me, peered into the ravine. And leaned over a little too far…

  One of the candles blew out. I struck a match, and set it to the wick; it flickered, fluttered, and then went out again.

  Now say, in your own words, a message to the deceased, imploring him or her to join you.

  I had written down a million things that I wanted to say. But in the end, all of them were too formal, too stiff. So I cleared my throat, sat up straighter, and said what came to mind.

  “Natalie, please come home. I love you. And I want you to know that I forgive you, for…”

  For what? There were too many things to name. Stealing my Barbies at seven. Stealing my boyfriends at seventeen. Lying to our mom constantly, telling her everything was my fault. She was the kind of person that, when everyone told me she’s in a better place...

  I didn’t quite believe them.

  “Natalie, I forgive you for everything.”

  Everything—yes, even that.

  When you visited Mom on her deathbed. Alone. And somehow convinced her to change the will. No, Mom wanted it that way, you said, when I accused you. She always planned to cut you out, ever since you divorced Greg.

  “It took a long time, but I forgive you. Because above all, you’re still my sister, Natalie. You held my hand through the toughest times—through my divorce from Greg, through Mom’s death.

  “You are mine, and I am yours.”

  The ceremony has ended, I read, from the glow of my smartphone. Wait for the deceased to find you, and make sure their body is free of spirit-inhibiting substances, such as salt and water…

  I didn’t bother reading the rest. I stood up, blew out the candles, and waited.

  Five minutes went by.

  Then ten.

  Then twenty.

  That’s when the tears started to fall. If your loved one does not come to you within a half hour, it may mean too much time has passed since their death, the text said, printed at the bottom. If needed, please call a grief counselor at 1-800…

  I flung the phone into the dirt and began to sob.

  But then I heard it.

  A soft splash, from behind me.

  From within the ravine.

  “Natalie?”

  Splash, splash.

  It echoed up the rocks, off the trees. I scrambled to the edge. “Natalie!” I cried. “Is that you?”

  Silence.

  I retrieved the phone, and turned the flashlight on. The white light illuminated strands of grass and shards of rock, jutting out from the steep sides. The rest was in dark shadow. I shifted the flashlight, leaning over further, looking for something—anything—that seemed out of place.

  But it was too dark.

  I had to go down.

  Turning my body, I lowered one foot onto a protruding rock. I grabbed a thick root, caked with dirt, to my right. And, slowly, I began the descent.

  It seemed like forever before I felt the cold water, the smooth rocks underneath my feet. I wiped my forehead, and shone the flashlight around me.

  Yes.

  There, standing in the stream, was a dark figure. A white dress hung off her bony figure, dirty and crumpled.

  “Natalie!”

  She didn’t turn around.

  “Natalie!” I ran towards her. The water splashed out around my feet, hitting me with cold spray. I flung my arms around her and began to sob.

  She didn’t hug back.

  “I missed you so much,” I choked.

  She didn’t reply.

  “Natalie?” I pulled away.

  She gave me an unblinking stare. “It’s so cold down here,” she said, her voice empty and hollow.

  I took off my jacket and wrapped it around her. “I know. But we’ll get you out of here, and get you warmed up back at home, okay?”

  “Why did you do it?” she shouted. But her gaze was focused over my shoulder, somewhere slightly behind me. “It hurt so much.”

  “Natalie—I’m so sorry—but you’re safe now. Come on, let’s get you home.”

  “No, please!” she whimpered.

  And then she broke away from me. She ran downstream, kicking up icy water behind her, wailing and moaning.

  “Natalie!” I ran after her, slipping over the rocks. “Come back!”

  But she didn’t get far before she fell to her knees, right there in the middle of the stream. “No, please, it hurt so much,” she cried, her face tilted up towards the sky. “Don’t put the fire on me, please, I beg of you—”

  A gut-wrenching scream. She convulsed and spasmed in the water. I ran over, throwing my arms around her—

  But I jumped back, with a yelp of pain.

  Her body was hot.

  Scalding hot.

  Tendrils of steam rose up from the water. She thrashed and convulsed, shrieked and screamed. I was sobbing, crying her name—

  “Demon!” she screamed. “Get away from me!”

  And then I realized.

  You might bring the body back, but not the soul.

  Her soul wasn’t here.

  It was in Hell.

  Splash!

  And then she was still. Quiet. Cold. I collapsed in the water beside her. “I’m so, so sorry,” I said, tears rolling off my cheeks and dropping onto hers.

  She didn’t blink.

  I pulled her slowly out of the stream, and onto the dry shore. I smoothed my jacket over her, and cradled her head in my lap.

  And then, on top of the pain, a terrible fear settled in me.

  Because I knew, whatever hell Natalie was in…

  Was the same place I’d end up.

  “When you told me about the will…” The tears fell hot and fast. “I knew I’d never be able to pay off my debt. Never give Brady the life he deserved.”

  Come over here, Natalie! Look!

  Oh, wow!

  Can you see the stream at the bottom?

  Yeah, I think—

  Thud.

  My hands collided with her back.

  Thud.

  She hit the floor of the ravine.

  Thud.

  My feet hit the dirt, as I ran as fast as I could.

  “I was just so mad.” I rocked her slowly in my arms. “I didn’t think it through. I didn’t realize… life without you would be so hard. I didn’t know I’d miss you so much.”

  I let out a shuddering breath.

  “I didn’t know how much I loved you.”

  The stream gurgled. A soft breeze blew through the forest, rustling the trees high above. We both lay there, on the river bank, still and cold as the water dried off of our clothes.

  And then she blinked.

  Looked up at me, with those beautiful blue eyes.

  “Natalie?”

  She broke into a smile.

  “I’m so, so sorry—please, I—”

  She pulled me into a tight hug
.

  “I've already forgiven you, a long time ago.”

  Gemma Amor

  The Little Man

  “So,” said Louise, rubbing her hands together in glee and taking a deep drag on a rolled-up cigarette.

  “Anyone got any scary stories?”

  It was late on a summer’s evening. In England, this means that it’s warm enough to be outside if you’re armed with booze and a big padded jacket. It was August, but this was no guarantee of balmy weather. The only thing guaranteed about English weather was that you would always be dressed inappropriately for it.

  Eight people sat around a campfire, myself amongst them. We’d been outside all day walking, and our faces had that rich red glow, the glow of exposure to wind and sun, heightened by our proximity to the fire and the beer we’d been drinking since sundown.

  Louise exhaled in anticipation, her thin knees jigging up and down with the cold. She hadn’t eaten a lot throughout the day, but then she didn’t eat a lot on most days. Unless you counted the fifteen cups of coffee she got through, each one brewed until it was as stiff as tar, strong enough to stand a spoon in and accompanied by a rollie. No wonder the woman never sat still. Her insides were probably black as night, coated in an egregiously thick layer of sticky, midnight goo. I shuddered, thinking about it.

  The rest of us groaned, although secretly I was delighted by the suggestion. I love scary stories, and within seconds of the idea being mooted, I was transported back to my childhood when, as a girl guide, I’d stay up late on camping trips. Torch held under my chin as prescribed by that unspoken law of telling scary stories, I’d regale the most disgusting, twisted and sordid tales I could think of to my fellow tent-mates. In those days we camped in large canvas ridge-pole tents, the sort where the guy ropes had to be at perfect ninety degree angles to the roof ridge, or the heavy u-frame would topple and collapse, with you inside. The shadows you could make with a torch against the canvas walls around you were truly ghoulish, and I found that I was good at scaring people.

  “I like the one about the disembodied hand!” a woman shouted after a few moments of indecision, as we all battled against our repressed eleven-year-old selves. I looked across the fire to see June, waving her arms about in excitement.