The Trap

Crying came from the treehouse. It was not a child’s crying or a simple sob. It was a sorrow-filled, painful plea; a disturbing moan that raises your hackles and activates rescue mode in a person.

   It was one pm. The sun was out, but gauzy clouds filtered its shine, hiding any detail of the treehouse. It was late April and a fresh canopy of leaves gave even more shade to the area. 

   From my perspective, there was no rope or ladder dangling from the underside of the shadowed alcove. I left the road cautiously. I wanted to help but, I must admit, I was afraid.

   “Hello?” I called upward as I circled the massive oak. I ran my hand over the rough bark, seeking unseen access to the treehouse. I stopped in my tracks because the sobbing stopped. “Hello?” I said a second time.

   The sudden silence after my query, like nothing was amiss, gave me a chill in the unusually warm air. I looked back to the street where I had been walking by on my way home. The moving clouds added to my weird feeling of cold and made my stomach lurch.

   I wanted to pretend as if I never heard the crying; to leave this familiar landmark that I'd seen a thousand times in my walks past.

   A breath embedded with a word disturbed the tiny hairs in my ear. I ducked with a yelp and turned toward the source, searching. The day was calm, but the tension was seething around me. Quiet turbulence. The small breeze was no more and there was no one near. The chill turned to sweat and danger tolled in my stomach.

   I hightailed it away from the tree and the shade and strode towards the sun. I made it four steps before the pain-filled cries began anew. I was not yet clear of the far-reaching branches when terror replaced the fear. Like a startled deer, I sprinted towards the road.

   “Noooo!” The voice had changed: from utmost fearing pain, to rage. My foot caught on a root and my face slammed into the ground before my hands could stop its progress. I scrambled to my feet as the original wailing started again. The cries were so sad and sorrowful now, and a bit frantic.

   I wondered at the cry and the treehouse. Why it had changed as it had and why it had stopped. Fearful of another fall, I walked the rest of the way to the road. I couldn’t stop myself from looking back over my shoulder as the cries continued. Dark clouds were completely obscuring the sun now and I felt rain was imminent. Wasn’t the sun just shining?

   I faced forward and as I did, the cries came from the front too.

   A switch occurred, or maybe I turned around. I don’t think I did, but I kept walking as if it hadn’t. I was walking back towards the tree and the small house residing in its branches. Before I knew it, I was clobbered by a hanging wooden ladder in the nose.

   I was dizzy. I was confused. The ladder that wasn’t there a moment ago, swung away and back, bumping me gently, like a reminder. The cries above lessened and I shook my spinning head.

 “What the…?” I began. I was really disoriented. How did I get so turned around? The clouds revealed the sun beyond the branches and I looked up the ladder. I could now see the trap door, firmly closed. 

   I blinked, shook my head then looked to the road again. At the familiar blacktop and the wooden fence on the far side. I was halfway there only moments ago. I backed away from the dangling ladder. I was leaving this time. 

   “No,” The voice pleaded from above. “Help me!” It was hard for me to determine if it was a child or female. Or both. I stopped, my insides twisting. 

   Everything about this was wrong, but I wanted to help. Would help. 

   “What’s wrong?” I said. “Why don’t you come down from there?”

   “I’m hurt.” The tiny voice said. Definitely a girl...I think. Plaintiff sobs. Distress. I had to help. “Please help me!”

   Should I go up and see what I could do? Of course. I felt drawn to help. Pulled to the ladder. An odd attraction compelling me. I closed my eyes, breathed deep and my resolve firmed. My heart raced and fear gripped me. I looked up again.

   A drop of water plopped on my cheek. I wiped it off, and on my pants, not seeing the smear of red it left behind and up I went.

   “Here I come,” I said but my voice sounded distant and tentative. Ten rungs and the trapdoor was in reach.

   I didn’t hesitate. I pushed against it but it seemed latched from the inside. I pushed again and it moved.

   “Is that you?” The voice asked. No. It’s the Easter Bunny, I thought for some reason and almost said it. I pushed mightily, swinging the ladder with my effort and the door flopped open.

   Through the open square, all I could see was darkness.

   “Are you going to come in or just stay on the ladder?” This girl’s voice didn’t sound hurt anymore. She sounded...impatient. My arms began to tremble from the trouble I had with the door and my weight on the ladder. I pulled myself through into the black.

   Clouds didn’t make it this dark. The only light around was what came from the open trapdoor. I scanned what I could, but saw no one.

   “Where are you?” I asked as I waited for my eyes to adjust.

   “Here.” She said from my left. I went to my knees and crawled that way.

   “Can you walk?” I said, thinking of how I was going to get her down that ladder. I made it about three feet when a noise to my right, like shuffling made me stop and look that way. I saw no movement in the poor light. What kind of treehouse has no windows? I wondered, trying to see anything.

   SLAM! The trapdoor shut.

"Hey!" I yelled then held my breath, listening. My first impression was I was about to die. That I was lured up here by some monster, but the silence was complete. I was alone. I turned and went to the trapdoor. 

   I reached out to find the pull or latch and was met by a cold touch of sharp metal. It bit deep into the flesh between thumb and pointer finger. 

   “Ah!” I yelped and yanked my hand back. As I did, sunlight shone through a window and illuminated the small space. I cradled my hand as I saw what cut me: 

   Someone had placed blades of knives all over the top of the trapdoor. There was no handle, no latch. Only razor-sharp edges. I saw no way to lever the door open. It had to be pushed up from below…

   I examined my prison. There was a window. Light filtered through the tree’s foliage onto a miniature table and chair. They were antiques of their kind. Children’s furniture from ages past. Dolls and broken dishes littered the floor along with coloring books and blocks.

   I looked at the damage to my hand. The cut was deep and I was bleeding badly. I needed stitches. A sob escaped my lips.

    With my good hand, I went to lift the chair and break the window. I’ll not be trapped. The chair didn’t move. It was nailed to the floor or secured somehow. I kicked at it and struggled with it as well as the table, but with only one hand, I had trouble.

   I began to cry in earnest. That girl before me was trapped as I was. I was tricked! She didn’t have to shut the door behind her though!

I cried in silence for a long time before I tore a piece of my shirt and wound it around my sticky wound. It was serious.

The sun shone at the same angle for what seemed like eons. I put my head down and cried.

   “Hello?” Someone called from outside. I began to yell for help, but my voice cracked and mewed. I could only cry out. I cried in the pain I was in and the helplessness I felt. I looked out the window and I saw the source of the voice. It was a young man looking scared and unsure.

   He turned and ran for the road.

   “No!” I managed over my sobs. He had to push open the door from underneath. 

   If I could just get him up the ladder...