The Hollow

The tree stood where it always did, surrounded by brown grass and dirt. It stood straight as an arrow, wide as a school bus. If you looked for the top of it, it would seem as if it never stopped—perhaps it didn’t.

There sat the boy. Scuffed-up sneakers and oversized, stain-filled rags covered his body. His legs were pretzeled together as he leaned against the tree, digging his hands into the dirt. The coldness of the earth made him feel comfy. He felt the wiggling of worms between his fingers—slimy little noodles thrashing around in his hands. It made him laugh. And hungry.

He toyed with the Velcro straps on his shoes, feeling the warm air gently tussle his hair and shirt. The breeze brought the smell of rotten eggs, dog poop, and the stinging sensation of a skunk. Typical.

He opened up his pack and pulled out some broken crayons and an old notebook. Flipping to an empty page, he began to draw. As he created, his tummy growled: a picnic table full of grapes and sandwiches, potato chips, and chocolate milk to wash it all down. For dessert, he drew a cherry pie with his bright red crayon.

As he finished coloring in the pie, his mouth started to water and his stomach twisted and stretched inside him. He laid back against the tree and closed his eyes. Tears began to form, and his arm wiped them away just as quickly as they sprouted. He took a deep breath and… something strange happened. A smell entered his nose—a good one.

He sat up and looked around. Nothing. Yet the scent remained: fresh-baked cherry pie. The smell grew stronger, and his stomach grew angrier. He stood up and looked around. Who would have a picnic here? He must be going crazy—his teacher always did say his daydreaming was out of control.

He looked back at his drawing and shook his head. They’ll be looking for me soon, he thought. Maybe I want them to find me this time. He was hungry, after all.

He stood, wiping the dirt from his shorts with the dirt on his hands. As he started walking back, he looped around the tree and, for the first time, realized how wide it truly was. It felt like forever to walk around it. When he reached the other side, he saw a hole at the bottom of the tree. It was just about his size sitting down, arched like a round door. The bark on the inside was bright red—almost cherry-colored.

He peeked his head inside and looked around. Everything was red, and the bark seemed soft—squishy, almost. He poked it with a dirty finger. Solid. What did he expect? A tree made of cherry filling? That’s what Ms. Harper had warned him about.

Still, the tree made him smile. He sat on his butt, back to the tree, and scooted himself backward into the hollow, pretending it was a spaceship. He closed his eyes and thrashed around in the hollow, fighting aliens, using thrusters and boosts to escape laser beams. He laughed and shouted, plummeting through space.

His eyes opened instantly when the scent hit him again—fainter, but still strong enough to make him question reality. He decided to crawl out of the tree and leave. His belly couldn’t handle this torture anymore.

As he stood, he almost screamed. His heart raced when he looked down and saw bright green grass engulfing his sneakers. All around him was green and white—dandelions and grass stretched out forever. He was surprised by his own imagination. If I close my eyes tight enough and open them again, he thought, this will all be gone. So, he didn’t close them.

He looped around the big tree that somehow felt even larger this time. As he walked, he scanned the rest of the area—only grass. No other trees, no houses, no animals. That struck him as odd. There were no birds chirping, no buzzing bugs—just the breeze and the rustling of leaves.

As he rounded the tree, his heart nearly stopped.

A huge lake sprawled out before him, stretching as far as he could see. The water was completely still. When he walked closer, he couldn’t see through it. It was like a mirror. In it, he saw clouds, the sun—and his own reflection. But something was different.

His reflection smiled back at him, wearing clean clothes and a big grin.

Startled, he stumbled backward and hit a root, landing hard on the grass. He dug his hands into the earth. No worms, no dirt—just more grass. He pulled and pulled until his fingers were green and his nails packed with grass. His breathing sped up, sweat forming on his brow.

Enough, he thought, and shut his eyes tightly. He waited. Then opened them.

The lake was in front of him still, the torn-up grass was all over his shoes. His eyes started to water. He wiped away the tears and decided it must be the hollow. He popped up, brushed himself off, and before he could turn around, he heard it.

The voice that made his heart plop into his stomach.

“Oh, there you are.”

He turned around slowly, unsure of what to do. He could run. But where? He could scream. Who would hear it? The first thing he saw was an unlaced tie and a white dress shirt. Black pants and freshly polished black shoes. The boy moved his eyes up to the man’s face. He had green eyes and dark hair, a freshly shaved face with a friendly smile on his lips.

The boy said, “Who are you?”

There was a pause. “We’ve been looking for you all over. My wife—she was worried we wouldn’t be able to see you.”

“How do you know me?”

A pause.

The man chuckled and said, “Well, we figured if we left this pie out long enough, you’d be coming over looking for a slice. Would you like one?”

The boy wanted to run at first. It didn’t matter where—he just knew he should be afraid. But he wasn’t. There was a sense of warmth filling his body, and he couldn’t help but want a slice.

He hesitated and said, “Where do you live?”

“Right around the tree! But I’m sure you know not to go into strangers’ houses—you look like a smart boy. I’ll go grab the pie and my wife. She can’t wait to see you. You can have some fruit in the meantime.”

The man walked behind the tree, and the boy watched until the man was gone.

A few moments passed, and he mustered up the courage to move. He figured he would find the hollow and go back home. As he was making his way around the tree, he could smell the pie again. It was stronger this time. His stomach started gurgling and twisting.

When he got to the other side, he couldn’t believe it.

The man wasn’t lying.

Right in front of the hollow lay a checkered blanket with a big pitcher of lemonade and a picnic basket filled with apples and grapes. A plate of bread sat there, and it filled his nose with the scent of fresh baking.

Out of instinct, he ran over to the blanket, plopped down, and was about to grab a piece of bread when he hesitated.

What if it’s poisoned? What if it’s not real? What if none of this is real?

That made his eyes water again. Before he could wipe them, he heard a soft voice. A woman’s voice.

“Oh, there he is! You look so handsome today!”

She wore a white dress with blue flowers on it. She was barefoot and had shoulder-length light brown hair and red lipstick. Her smile was warm and inviting, and in her hands was the pie.

“I know you must be starving. Have some fruit and bread. Then after, you can have as many slices as you want. I know that’s why you’re here.” She gave an assuring smile just as the man came back with a duffle bag. He put it down next to the blanket and sat. He grabbed a piece of bread, cut it in half, and buttered it up.

The man noticed that the boy wouldn’t take his eyes off the bag, so he said, “Oh, that? It’s for after lunch. I have a surprise for you.”

He thought nothing tasted better than the bread… until he had the fruit. The grapes were fat, green, and exploded with flavor every time he bit into one. If this wasn’t real, then he didn’t want to live in the real world. He wanted this—always.

The boy was still hesitant of the adults, and he mostly kept quiet during lunch. Every now and then he would lock eyes with the lady. She would smile, and he would look away.

When the time came for the lady to cut into the pie, he realized he must’ve eaten too much, because he couldn’t bring himself to take a bite. This was all he wanted a moment ago. Now the smell of it made him want to barf.

The woman didn’t get upset or tell him he had to eat it. She just smiled gently and said, “You don’t have to eat it now. We can always save it for later. I think he’s ready for you now.”

The boy looked over to where the man had been sitting—but he wasn’t there. The bag was gone too.

Then he heard a whistle.

He looked over, and the man was standing there with two baseball mitts and a ball.

“Let’s see how good your arm is, bud!” the man said with pure joy in his eyes.

The boy looked to the lady and put his head down.

“What’s wrong? You don’t like baseball?” Her voice was soft and low, as if she could feel what he was feeling.

Before he could respond, she added, “It’s okay. He’ll teach you. Go have fun.”

She started to clean up the picnic area, and the boy nervously walked over toward the man.

The glove was a perfect fit. He had to be shown how to put it on, how to throw the ball, and how to catch it with the glove. But it all came easily to him. Within minutes, he was catching the ball and smiling.

The man never got angry, never cursed when the boy dropped the ball. He just told him to try again and gave him tips on what to do. They were making jokes and laughing. The boy felt like he could do this forever.

As the sun began to set, the man looked down at his wrist and said, “Oh, we better get inside soon. She should have supper ready by now.”

Supper? Didn’t we just have lunch? the boy thought. But his stomach was grumbling again at the mention of more food.

“Where do you live?” he asked.

The man chuckled. “Right behind you, silly. You haven’t noticed our home yet?”

The boy turned around.

Right where the picnic blanket had been, now stood a big white house with a green door. There was a garden in the front yard, filled with bright-colored flowers of all kinds.

As they walked up the porch steps, the man looked down and said, “Oh. Your shoes—you should take those off here. They’ve got grass all over them. And they’re in bad shape. I have a pair for you.”

The boy took his shoes off and followed the man into the house.

He sat on the couch in the living room, waiting. The smell of supper filled the air and made his mouth water. The man returned, sitting at the coffee table with a shoebox on his lap. He opened it.

“Here, these are your size.”

The boy looked inside. White shoes with red trim. Brand new.

He looked down.

“I can’t wear these… they have laces.”

The man looked confused. “Can’t? Hmm. We’ll have to see about that.”

He put one of the shoes on the boy’s foot and said, “Watch closely.” He began to tie the laces slowly, explaining each step so the boy could follow. Then he put the other shoe on and handed the laces to him.

“Now it’s your turn,” he said, smiling.

The boy’s heart started to thump again. He couldn’t do it. He just knew he couldn’t.

“I believe in you, buddy,” the man said, as if reading his thoughts.

The boy tried.

Then he tried again.

And then—he did it. He really did it. He tied his own shoe!

“Look at that. You did that all on your own. I’m really proud of you, bud.”

Something was happening inside him. He started to breathe heavy, and his eyes began to water—but he wasn’t sad. He looked up at the man. Before he could say anything, the man smiled and said, “Let’s go eat. You can tell her what you just did.”

Supper was fantastic. Every bite was better than the last, and to top it off—there was still pie left. This time, he couldn’t stop eating it. He must have had at least three slices.

The woman laughed and said, “You’re really building up an appetite. I’m glad.”

That night, she tucked him into bed.

He had a room here. His own room.

There were superhero posters on the walls, a box full of toys, and a shelf loaded with picture books and comics. He picked one before bed and flipped through the pages, studying the images as his eyelids grew heavy.

She sat next to him for a moment and watched. He noticed tears on her face, and his chest tightened.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

She smiled and wiped her face. “Nothing. Nothing at all. I’m just glad I get to see you today. Tell me about the story you’re reading.”

He looked back at the pages and said, “Well… there’s superheroes, and they’re fighting, but… I don’t know what it says.”

“Oh. Maybe I can help.”

She laid next to him and began teaching him some of the words.

He fell asleep quickly. The feel of freshly cleaned sheets, the quiet neatness of the room—it was cozy. Safe.

But when he woke the next morning, something felt different.

The sheets didn’t feel the same. There was an odd smell. He heard the ruckus of kids and adults downstairs.

When he opened his eyes, he saw the bottom of a second bunk above him. He dug his face into the pillow.

This time, he couldn’t wipe the tears away.

After school, he ran to the tree.

His thoughts were running wild as he saw it in the distance.

What if I can’t find them?

What if they don’t want me anymore?

What if they’re not real?

He shook his head hard as he ran, as if to knock the thoughts loose. When he reached the tree, he saw the hole he had made yesterday. The brown grass. The smell of rotten eggs.

That was real.

He walked around the tree and saw the hollow. Something seemed different. It looked smaller. He was almost afraid he wouldn’t fit.

The inside wasn’t red anymore. It matched the rest of the tree—dark brown.

He sat on his butt, back facing the tree, and scooted inside the hollow. He could feel the bark scraping his arms, and he had to duck his head to fit. He closed his eyes.

When he opened them, he saw the brown grass.

He tried again. And again.

He screamed and thrashed inside the hollow. The bark scratched his arm, and he saw blood. He crawled out and cried.

He knew it was too good. He knew it wasn’t real—but he had fought to believe. He really did believe.

That’s what hurt the most.

He sat under the tree for a long time. His shirt was soaked from wiping his face. His head hurt. His eyes burned.

Finally, he stood, took a deep breath, and began to leave.

Then he froze.

A whistle.

He turned around—but saw nothing.

He slowly walked toward the tree. To his surprise, the hollow was gone. As if it had never been there.

Lying in front of the tree, in the same spot where the picnic blanket had been, was a duffle bag.

He ran over to it and unzipped it.

Inside was a ball and glove. And a new pair of sneakers with untied laces.

His eyes filled with tears again.

He let them fall.

He sat down, slipped on the shoes, and tried to tie them.