Oh Christmas Tree
By Pippa Bailey
“Run!” Julie screamed.
She dodged the swinging branches and slammed into a deep bank of snow. A wave of frozen white engulfed her as it collapsed. Bitter cold seeped through her jeans and hoodie.
She lay still, and held her breath. Gloved hands pressed tight against chapped lips. Footsteps thundered past her, firing crystal spears from the pine spindles overhead. She winced, body tense. Ice javelins pierced the encircling slush. A lucky escape.
Thunderous footsteps were deadened by fresh snow. No longer able to hear their pounding on frozen ground. Her lungs screamed for oxygen. Whoosh, she released the stale air in a hot cloud that clung to tiny hairs on her face.
She needed out of this woodland maze.
Derrick, her workaholic husband, had decided this was the year they would cut down their own Christmas tree. After a few unhappy online hunts for local venues, he had decided to take the matter into his own hands. Dragging Julie and the kids along. She was less than impressed, but let him have his moment. He’d been watching Bear Grylls’ adventures on T.V recently, and she’d decided this was at least better than him copying the piss drinking.
She didn’t see which way Derrick ran when the creature hurtled towards them a second time. From the first axe swing the energy in the forest changed. Shifted. Like a shadow bore down on the frostbitten pines. It blotted out the winter sun, and quelled all sound, save the blow of blade on wood.
She knew it was too late for their children. With a single blow it had swept them from their mother’s side. Their bodies like ragdolls that spewed blood upon impact with thick branches. They tumbled against rough bark, smashing through waves of white and green. Barbs of wood found soft skin, tore at bare flesh, flayed those children alive. Clouds of red filled the air. Chunks like confetti exploded, showering the surroundings in a thick slather of pungent gore. Their bodies crumpled to the ground. Roots snaked, clawed at them, claimed them for their own. Children reunited with the earth.
The trees in this forest didn’t like to be touched, didn’t like to be cut.
She’d tried to warn Derrick about the damaged sign on the roadside. Private Property. Tres … be felled. Half the sign obscured by snow.
Derrick, assuming it was practically an invite to take his pick. Dumped the car and dragged the four of them down the winding path into the forest. Julie knew better now. Trespassers will be felled.
Tear stains had scorched crimson lines in her frozen skin. She pulled herself from the snow bank, and padded towards path. Desperate to find Derrick, to get out of there.
She walked a short way, dodging between hunched trees. Each twig crack made her shudder. She couldn’t tell which way she’d run. Turned around when she’d hit the snowbank.
Footprints…
That was it, she could follow the footprints. Her size six prints were easy to spot, amid snow-covered detritus. But where were Derrick’s? He’d run in this direction, she was sure of it. Backwards indentations turned from crisp white, to pink. Bloodstained. Still no Derrick.
She found bloody remnants, gouges in the ice that surrounded the roots. Tufts of blond hair peeked from below. Their bodies now entwined with the forest. Hot sour vomit splattered on the ground, frozen in place. She heaved again, leant against the tree, and wept.
Dark air hung low amid the trees, the sun a soft pink glow through the murk. She couldn’t bear to leave them again. Pulling off a glove she stroked the wisp of blond. Like a vacuum they too were sucked beneath the ground. Nothing left. She collapsed to her sodden knees, judders of dry sobs wracked her body.
“Julie?” A voice called in the distance.
She turned her head to source the voice. It was becoming too dark to see far through the trees.
“DERR–ick?” She shouted. Stifling the call with a glove, for fear of disturbing the creature again.
“Over here,” he said, running towards her.
Julie spun around, unsure of his direction. Strong arms scooped her from the ground, held her close. His warmth, the only thing she could feel.
“We need to get out of here,” he whispered, warm lips pressed against her ear.
“I can’t leave—”
“They’re gone baby. There’s nothing we can do.”
“But the trees—”
“I know, I know. I need you to stay quiet. Okay?”
She nodded solemnly. Biting down on her gloved fist, she let him lead her from the tangled grave.
“I can’t do this.”
“Yes, you can. You have to,” he grabbed her tight around the waist and pulled her between bowing trees.
CRUNCH. Something shifted behind them, fallen branches snapped, and creaked. Shadowed mist hid its master, but she knew that sound.
BOOM. Another footstep echoed in the distance. Somehow it heard them. Fear stole her strength. She slumped against his chest. Hands dropped from her waist, looped her arm, and almost yank it from the socket. She yelped.
BOOM. It was speeding up.
They ran, zig-zagging through trees. Her eyes bounced in their sockets, she tried to focus on the direction, but could see nothing through the thick black. Ground shuddered beneath them, torn asunder by the creature that chased them.
“We’re close,” Derrick shouted, pointing ahead to a clearing. His car’s yellow pierced the mist.
She nodded, heart screaming in her ears.
A knotted root coiled out in front of her, tripping them both. Sprawled on the ground she kicked at the earth, pushing herself backwards to the forest edge. To freedom.
Derrick didn’t move.
A trickle of blood slithered from a gash above his eye, droplets resting on his brow.
“Derrick. Get up!”
Nothing.
BOOM… It had reached them.
She scrambled to her feet. Snow rained from shaken branches. A thick blanket coated his body. Blood seeped from the wound.
One great dead hand reached for him, a gnarled twist of sticks. They bunched around his body, encasing him.
“No!”
She stumbled towards the creature that crumpled his body between its spindly wooden hands. It ignored her pleas, hands squeezed tighter.
Pop. Snap. She heard his body break.
There was no scream, no howl of pain. Maybe he was dead before the creature scooped him up. She bellowed at it.
It wrung its hands, and peeled them apart like shelling a pistachio. A mass of crushed bone spikes hung from mutilated flesh. It swirled its fingertips about the bloody remnants, extracting a length of sodden bowel. With a flick of its hand, it coiled the hulk of intestines around its tree-like body, spiralling upwards through branches that littered its chest. Next were the organs. It slipped a pointed finger into the soft flesh, and dangled the offal from tips of spines that stuck out at odd angles. His slivers of bone like a scattering of ornaments were sprinkled about its needled torso.
Julie’s slack jaw quivered. Breath caught in her throat at the sight of this tree-beast adorning its body with the remnants of Derrick’s. She couldn’t process what she was seeing. A tendril of drool, slopped from her mouth down the front of her bloody torn hoodie.
The skin came last. Shredded flaps stuck to its hands. It yanked the skin free and raised it high above its featureless face. Spreading the layer flat before pinning it between two protruding sticks, like a winged angel.
It shuffled in place, the ground beneath its feet splitting. It sank. Planting itself. This newly decorated Christmas tree.
Her heart gave out. She would be fodder, a feast for the worms. Looked upon by the tree who felled man.
Pippa Bailey lives in rural Shropshire, England. Principally a horror writer, independent reviewer, and YouTube personality, her supernatural, and sci-fi stories have featured in several anthologies and zines. Her debut novel LUX is due for release summer 2018.
Find her on:
Www.facebook.com/pippabaileyauthor
Www.facebook.com/Pbaileyauthor
Www.facebook.com/theghoulguides
