It was deadline night. The newspaper was being put to bed. Phones rang with last minute comments, and fingers pounded along the keyboard. Cigar smoke rose out of the editor’s office and into the small room, where the reporters hunkered down and finished writing their story.
First year on the job, Kingston Linders was assigned to the police blotter. He was itching to tango with politics, but the senior reporter had that gig. He would love to do community events and issues, but that was also taken. And he was the rookie, so he got what he was stuck with. And every day, horror stories came over web and fax, and he had to dig through them.
Shaking his head, he flipped through a small stack of papers. He left these for last to do a humorous piece on crimes done wrong. One fax read about a man, who smiled for a picture in a camera shop that he robbed. Another was about a driver, who was pulled over for driving in the HOV lane, but the reason why he was pulled over was because the police did not buy the mannequin in the passenger seat as a real person. Lastly, a guy walks into a fast food restaurant, orders food, finishes and robs the place. Stories like these made him laugh, and it kept his mind from returning to the ones that he would like to forget.
“Kingston.”
George was a round guy with a husky voice, and he always seemed to have a lit cigarette in-between his fingers. His eyes were small, bloodshot, and he had spent his last couple of nights sleeping on the couch at home. It still wasn’t clear what started up a bitter argument between him and his wife, but it didn’t matter. He was the one forced to apologize, and until then, the couch would be his bed.
His heavy footsteps walked up to Kingston, who leaned back in his leather chair. George waited until the seat was swiveled toward him, and then he stuck a piece of paper in the young man’s face. Smoke from his cigarette made Kingston’s eyes water, and he tried not to cough.
“You know, they did pass that law to not smoke indoors.” He watched George walk away. “Might want to put that out.”
“That law don’t abide here.” He gestured toward the editor’s office, where cigar smoke continued to puff out in large, white clouds. “You should actually think of starting. It eases stress. Trust me.”
“No thanks.” Kingston’s eyes fell down onto the paper in his hands. “Great.” Sarcasm echoed in his voice. “Didn’t need this one.”
“What came over the fax machine?”
Veronica reminded him of the girl in the Archie comics. She even had the personality, and she was very close to the local politicians and community members. And she did not care for him. She even voiced her dislike to the editor, but his referral stood. Now, they shared a small room together, and around her, he still felt like he was walking on egg shells.
“Just another one, Veronica. On that road again.”
“You should go out there, King. Check it out.” He glared at her. “Might be something to it.”
“Do you know how many people have died on that road?”
“Speedsters.” He looked over at George. “They were all speeding.”
“They all died at the same time in the same way. That’s not strange to any of you?” He looked at them. “The cars just flipped into the air and crashed into the same damn tree. How do you explain that?”
“I don’t believe in the supernatural.” Veronica returned to finishing her story. “They were all speeding along a dark road, and they all lost control of their car. It’s just coincidence that it was around the same curve. That’s all.”
“I think he’s scared, Veronica.” George glanced at her. “I know he passes that road on the way home, but he goes the long way to avoid it. Don’t you, King?”
“At least, I’m not the one sleeping on the couch,” he muttered.
He didn’t need this, and he really disliked it when these two double teamed him. And yes, he was the rookie, but how about showing him the ropes? But instead they rather choke him with it.
Turning his back on them, he looked down at the fax. The latest death happened last night around the same time and with the same tree. The road was always dangerous, but it became more so after a freak accident with a local high school teen, Kyle Handrier. Now, it claimed eight lives so far, and a chill ran down his spine. But why should he be afraid of this road? Maybe, there was a story, a story that he could ram down the throats of George and Veronica. Maybe then, they would show him some damn respect, but what if there was no story? What if he came back empty-handed, wasting nothing but time on that road?
“I’m done,” Kingston said. Usually, he would help proofread and edit the final pages before they were sent out, but now his mind was turning, hungry to find its groundbreaking story. “I’ll see you guys in the morning.” A knot formed in his stomach, and a warning flashed in the back of his mind. This could be the worst idea he ever had, but there was no such thing as the supernatural. So, why did this story bother him so much?
Rising from his seat, he felt his legs grow weak, and he stumbled away from his desk. Moving past the other two reporters, he nearly tripped, and when he looked down at his shoe, the laces were untied. It was strange because he always double-knotted his laces, but maybe he didn’t do it as tightly as he usually did. And he quickly leaned down to tie his shoes.
“Where you going, King?” Veronica’s voice was like nails against a blackboard. “Not staying tonight?”
“Off to investigate that road?” George wore a Cheshire cat grin. “Think there is a story to find?”
“I think so.” Kingston turned toward them. “I just want to run it by the editor first.”
“Don’t worry about him.” George jumped out of his seat. “You go, and I’ll tell him for you.” He noticed the look on Kingston’s face. “You can trust me, Kingston. I’ll tell him.”
“I’ll tell him.” He started to leave the room. “I’m passing by there anyway.” He shot George a look.
“No respect. I tell you.” George looked at Veronica. “Kid has guts, though.” He made sure Kingston was out of the room. “I wouldn’t go near that damn road.”
“What if I paid you a hundred dollars to go?”
“If you want me to go there, Veronica, I’ll take you with me.” He laughed at the sour look on her face. “Yeah. I thought so.”
It only took twenty minutes from the office to reach Raloe Road. It was a long, dark path that wrapped around the outside of town, and there used to be stores that would gather on each side of it. But then the malls came, pushing business away from that area, and people took to the main roads and highways to go to wherever they were going. But some locals still took this road because nobody would be driving up their bumper, flashing their lights, or just plain cutting them off, and during the day, the scenery was absolutely breathtaking. But at night, it was a very different story.
Once on the road, an unsettling feeling rattled Kingston’s nerves, and the knot grew tighter in his stomach. His hands shook as they clutched the steering wheel, and a cold sensation touched the back of his head. He kept his eyes focused straight ahead because he would not become another damn statistic in proving how deadly this road really was, and he would break this story. He would prove to those back at the office that he was worth the salt that they were paying him. He would have the last laugh.
Bright lights flashed behind him, and he wondered how the driver got so close without him seeing them. The car was now illuminated, and the engine could be heard right behind his bumper. He was only doing sixty, but the guy behind him was in an obvious rush. He quickly began to pull off the road to let the other driver pass, but when he looked over his shoulder, there was no car behind him.
“What the hell?”
Getting back onto the road, he checked his rearview mirror. There was a driver behind him because he was blinded by his brights, so did the guy zoom past him? He would have seen him, and he certainly heard that engine. So, where did he go?
“Maybe, this was a bad idea.”
If he turned back now, they would laugh at him, and the double teaming would never end. It was hard enough trying to learn the ropes and be the best that he could be without dealing with those two, and the editor was no help. One day, he was Kingston’s best friend, and the next day he would threaten to fire him. And that was how the first year went, and if he could find work elsewhere, he would have just left. But he was stuck, trapped like he was now driving on this road.
“This isn’t even worth my paycheck.” He gnawed on his lip. “However, I am here, and there is no turning back now. I’ll break this story, and it will make front page. And once my name gets out there in town, maybe a larger newspaper will pick me up. Yeah, I’ll get more money, cover politics and community, and leave the police blotter to the rookies. Yeah, I can do that. I just need a good, juicy story to break ground with.”
Someone walked in front of his car. Kingston slammed on the brakes, praying for the car to stop, but it was too late. And the man was struck by his car, disappearing underneath, and the car came to a halt. And it took a long moment for Kingston to pull himself out of the car. “Holy shit,” he said. “Holy shit.”
Slowly, Kingston knelt down beside the car. He took a deep breath and then looked underneath it. Nothing. Nobody was there. “What the hell,” and in response, something moved in the distance, something that caused fear to cut right through him. “Okay. I had enough of this.”
Kingston jumped back into his car. The slamming of the door sent vibrations right through him. The locks snapped in place, and for some reason, that bothered him. He sat there for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts, but his brain refused to work. And he felt like something was drawing closer, something was coming for him.
Kingston threw his car into reverse and hit the gas, but the car refused to move backward. He hit the gas again, and the tires squealed against concrete. It was no use. He had no choice but to go forward, so he slowly put his car into drive. He crawled ahead, doing only 20 miles, and the darkness stretched out before him with open arms. And then he realized. He was approaching the curve, the place, where all those others had died.
Suddenly, something heavy pressed his foot against the gas pedal, and the car flew forward. He struggled to lift his foot up, but something held it down. He kept his hands on the wheel to prevent losing control, and he fought with the lock on the driver-side door, trying to snap it open. The car was approaching the curve. If he didn’t do something now, he would be dead, but hey, at least, his death would make the front page. And that thought angered him so much that he found the strength to lift his foot, snap the lock back, and throw open the door. He released his seatbelt and hurled himself out onto the ground, and a deafening crash filled his ears. That could have been him. That was almost him, but now, he was left alone in the dark near the debris.
Struggling to his feet, Kingston stared at what was left of his car. It slammed straight into that damn tree, that tree that had claimed those other lives. Strange. It was like the tree was staring right back at him, and its menacing gaze made Kingston step back. But it was a tree. It wasn’t a monster. It was a tree, but why was it looking at him like that?
“I would run, if I were you,” someone said from behind him. “It’s not done with you.”
“What?” Kingston’s breath caught in his throat as he recognized the teen standing behind him. “Kyle Handrier?”
“The one and only,” and the kid took a bow.
“Jesus.” Kingston stumbled away from him. “You’re… You’re dead.”
“Sad but true.”
“Stop. Okay. Just stop. What the hell is going on!”
“You want the short story, Mr. Reporter, or the long story?” Kingston blinked at him. “Okay. Short story. I died because I was stupid, high, and speeding. Unfortunately, because of me, that tree got a taste of my blood and liked it.”
“What?”
“The tree, dude. I rammed my car into the tree.”
“Yeah. I got that. Thank you.”
“Well, after that, the tree wanted more.”
“It’s a tree!” Kingston turned to point at the menacing tree, but it was gone. “What the hell?”
“I told you to run, and you should’ve listened to me.”
“It’s a tree not a living creature.”
“You need to run.” Kyle Handrier stepped closer to him. “Run!” Then, he was gone.
Kingston’s eyes moved back and forth around the woods that surrounded him. There were many trees, many that seemed to stare at him. Something rustled from behind him. The ground shook a little like something large was moving closer. It was a damn tree not an animal that would go crazy after its first taste of blood, but did this kid really wake it up with his blood? And if so, what did that mean for him?
A sound like thunder was heard, and Kingston’s blood ran cold. The road beneath him shook, and the sky even seemed to grow darker. Something was moving toward him. Trees rustled nearby, and fear grew by leaps and bounds. And something stretched out toward him, and before it could grab him, he finally ran. He ran until he was sure that whatever it was could not follow, but was he really running from a tree?
Out of breath, Kingston fell to his knees, and his fingers touched the ground below him. His heart slammed against his chest, and sweat dripped down his back. Tears stung his eyes, but his breathing began to slow down. As he continued to rest where he was, he felt better. Maybe, he was safe. It wasn’t like the tree could run as fast as him, but then something wrapped around his ankle. And he was snapped backward, slamming his head into that tree. As consciousness began to slip away, he felt himself dangle in the air, swinging back and forth like a toy, and his blood melted into wood. Just as the darkness finally claimed him, he felt himself fall, disappearing under the shadow of a massive monster.
“Kingston?” Pain thundered through his head. “Kingston?”
Bright light penetrated through the darkness, and a series of beeps filled an empty space. Soft ground was felt beneath a bruised and broken body, and eyes struggled to open. Finally, a hospital room came into view, and who did Kingston find sitting beside him? Veronica and George.
“There you are.” Veronica looked like a guilty party. “You had us worried there, King. Kingston.”
“What… What happened?”
“You lost control of your car.” George seemed annoyed. “You crashed into that damn tree, and you were thrown over a hundred feet into the air. I can’t believe you’re alive.” Veronica shot him a look. “I mean… It’s great that you made it back.”
“That’s not what happened.” Kingston touched the bandage around his head. “Kyle Handrier was there. He warned me about that tree, but I didn’t listen.”
“Kyle Handrier?” Veronica looked shocked. “He’s dead.”
“I know.”
“I don’t.” George moved away from the bed. “There are no such things as ghosts or killer trees.”
“It was more than a tree.” Kingston struggled to sit up in bed, but then he saw his right leg was in a cast and suspended in a sling. “I broke my leg.”
“You broke your leg, some ribs, and you had a severe concussion.” Veronica touched his hand. “But you made it back.”
“You’re not responsible for this, Ver.” He saw she didn’t like the nickname. “At least, I don’t remember if you were.” She looked relieved. “Now, somebody needs to cut down that damn tree.”
“Yeah. Good luck with that.” George checked the time on his watch. “Oh. Will you look at that? I have to get back to the real world and take my wife out to lunch.” He patted Kingston on his uninjured leg. “See you back at the office soon.” He left the room.
“I should go to.” Veronica rose from her seat. “I spoke to the editor for you.” Kingston raised his eyebrows in surprise and worry. “You can write about your experience, or at least, as much as you remember of it. It will make a good story.” She walked away from the bed. “Send it when you can.” She left the room.
Kingston rested his head against the pillow, and again he touched the bandage wrapped around his head. His hands were bruised and swollen, and his right leg looked horrible. As he breathed, he felt sharp pain on one side, and this was all because of that tree. But when he does write his story, he would have to make it believable because the moment the reader finds themselves reading about the ghost and killer tree, they would stop reading, and lives would still be lost along that road. The tree had made a mistake letting him live.
A month later, a town work crew headed out early on Raloe Road, and they approached the curve. Their sight settled upon the monstrous tree, and they pulled off to the side of the road. With their tools in hand, they began to cut down the tree, but as the saws began to slice through wood, something dripped out onto the ground.
The saws were silenced, and the men approached the strange liquid. Eyes moved toward each other, and one hand reached out toward the sticky substance. It was like syrup, but much, much more red, and a finger dipped deep into it. It was blood.
“Blood.” The man’s eyes rose up toward the tree, and he could almost swear that it was snarling at him. “Help me cut this damn thing down.”
As the saws roared to life, a moaning was heard, but the men had their ears covered with headphones. As metal sliced into wood, more blood spurted out, and the moaning grew louder. The tree struggled not to fall, but as it finally fell backward and toward the ground, a deafening scream was released. And the men dropped their saws. Its metal flailed against concrete, and the men reached to turn them off. But before they could, a tree limb wrapped around all of them, and they were all hurled backward into the air. And as they screamed, a haunting smile splintered across the wood of the dying tree.
