The Tree

Kit stomped his way through the woods. Twigs snapped beneath his feet as branches brushed his pant legs. Rain pelted the leaves overhead in a steady drip, drip, drop, plop, drip. It wasn't coming down hard yet, but if he stayed out too long he would end up soaked. His mother would not approve... nor would her husband. But that really wasn't the problem.

He stopped and scanned the terrain. His stomach twisted. He didn't know where he was anymore.

Kit raised a hand to his forehead, brushing aside damp bangs as he shielded his eyes from the intermittent spray. Droplets slid down his face and off the back of his hand. One trickled along his neck and beneath his collar. He shivered.

Around him the trees were dark and tall—taller and thicker than they were along the edge of the woods where he hung out with the other boys. He was familiar with that area, having been there many times with them, and sometimes they ventured deeper into the trees to explore; but this time he was farther away and alone. This time he left the group behind, intentionally running from them. They were all jerks anyway. Why should he stay with them any more than he had to? His mother would never know that he went off on his own—at least that was what he thought at the time.

Now he was not so sure. If he wasn't able to find his way back before the other boys returned to the neighborhood, she would know something was up. She would ask questions and find out he disobeyed. He was supposed to stay with them at all times. It was part of the deal. He could play in the woods only as long as the older boys were with him. The problem was that none of the neighborhood kids liked him—none of them were what he would consider a friend.

Kit brushed moisture from his eye before it could join the rain on his cheek. Henry was the only exception. He was the only one willing to be nice to a curly-haired kid that spoke with a stutter and wore thick glasses.

Unlike the other boys, Henry did not tease him. He was a few years older, like like the rest of the group, but instead of making fun of him, Henry stood against the other boys when they started to tease. It didn't matter what they picked to focus on: his off-brand clothes, thick glasses, or his unfulfilled desire to be more outdoorsy, it was all fair game to them. But Henry...

Kit clenched his jaw. Henry was gone—moved away two weeks ago to another city and now Kit was left to defend himself. It was not something he was good at. He lacked the stature and courage to stand up to those taller and more confident than him, even when Henry was around. His mother hoped that by sending him out to play with the older boys that would change. But how could it when her new husband was no better than the boys Kit ran from now?

Thunder rumbled overhead as Kit turned around. He hadn't been traveling in a straight line. He knew that. He tried not to so it would be harder for the others to follow him—not that they were actually doing that.

As Kit studied the dripping leaves and trunks that darkened with moisture, he could hear no voices and nothing was being pushed aside to make room for travel. No birds sang. No squirrels skittered in the trees. The rain above and around him was all that existed... well that, and the cold.

He trembled. The more his clothes got wet the colder he got. It meant he needed to find his way home, although a part of him didn't want to. But that sentiment didn't matter. There was nothing out here for him and nowhere else to go. He didn't have other friends or homes to hangout in. He didn't even have relatives in the same state. And he wasn't a scout that knew about wilderness survival and could just stay out here on his own—though he begged his mom for the chance to join a scouting troop. The expense deflated his dreams, as had his mom's husband.

A crack of thunder echoed overhead. Then the rain doubled. The drizzle gave way to a downpour. In less than a minute the dark spots on Kit's shirt disappeared in an icy wash. He groaned as the fabric clung to his skinny arms and prickled flesh. His glasses were no longer useful, streaked as they were with trailing drops.

Kit pulled them from his nose and spun about. Nothing but trees. Trees, trees, trees, and more trees.

He huffed, spitting water from his lips as he glimpsed something dark in the distance. He put his glasses back on and squinted. It looked like a large misshapen tree.

Kit stumbled through the growing mud toward the towering trunk. He didn't remember seeing such a large tree when he first looked around, but here it was. He stopped at its base. Its branches were thick and hung low, creating a space for him to shelter.

Kit pressed his back against the rough bark. His teeth chattered as he tried to wipe water from the lenses of his bifocals. Behind him the tree felt study and strong—two traits he never possessed.

If only I were a tree. If only I had roots strong enough no wind could push me around.

He returned his glasses to his face then peered through the leaves. Rain still leaked through the canopy but it was a lot less and there were places he could stand and not get wet. Unfortunately, he was already soaked. Would his mother come looking for him? Would her husband even let her search in the rain or would she have to wait?

Kit wrapped his arms about his torso. The bark on the trunk felt rough but warm through his t-shirt. He clamped his jaw so his teeth didn't chatter.

Beyond the boughs of the tree the rain continued in a constant whursh. It splattered the ground, making everything beyond the dry ring a slick puddle. If he tried to leave before the rain stopped he would only manage to trip and fall. Fully drenched in mud would be a lot worse than the wet he was now. But he couldn't stay here. His mom's husband would get mad.

Kit pushed the hair clinging to face away. He should've just stayed at home today. It would've been better than getting lost in the woods. It would've been better than listening to the jeers of the other kids.

Shorty. Freak. Stanley—that was what they preferred to call him—Stuttering Stanley.

He brushed back the tears. He wished they would all just go away and leave him alone. He wanted to be left alone and away from all of them: his mom, her husband, the older boys. They were mean and hurtful and he didn't want to be around them ever again.

The tree behind Kit moved and Kit stumbled a step forward. A low rumble emanated from the trunk as the notches on its bark shifted. Kit pulled his glasses from his nose and tried to wipe them clean. He blinked through the stained lenses at the bark once more. He was imagining things. He had to be. He was cold and wet and tried... and a little hungry.

He put his glasses back on and glanced at the rain that didn't have any intention of slowing. The grinding sound bubbled from the tree again and Kit turned back in time to see the trunk untwist itself about a foot. Then it stopped.

"Hello? Is someone there?"

Kit could hear his breath enter and exit his lungs. He could feel the thundering of his pulse in his head. He had to be imagining things.

He took a step toward the tree then stopped as the tree unwound itself another foot. The bark that grew in a winding pattern curved to the left at first but now it was almost straight. The trunk itself was also at least two feet higher than before.

Kit blinked. Then he took a step closer.

The tree responded by unwrapping itself until the bark formed straight vertical lines. A gap appeared between the two lowest branches. Like a crooked mouth without teeth it sat dark and open.

Kit moved another step closer. His breath caught. There was an actual hole in the trunk of the tree now, a space just large enough he could climb through. The though terrified him in a way that did not make sense because this was clearly a dream. Trees didn't just come to life and move about. And they certainly didn't have hidden mouths or tunnels that could open. He must have hit his head and was even now lying out in the rain somewhere unconscious. It was the only thing that made sense. And yet...

Kit shook his head. He pinched himself then stamped on his own foot. Nothing he did woke him from whatever dream he was trapped in. But trapped wasn't really the word for this. He was intrigued more than he felt trapped. This was something exciting, something different and beyond himself, a door to something more. Maybe. Or maybe he was just hoping.

Throwing all caution to the wind, Kit moved to the side of the tree and placed a hand on the bark. It was still warm, warmer than before. It didn't move and the mouth remained open—a dark tunnel to something or somewhere else.

He reached a hand into the black hole and for a moment nothing happened.

And then, he was pulled inside.