The Bleeding Tree, Page 3

  ***

  Bay slowly opened the door to his home. It was quiet and the first thing he saw was Mark laying on the couch with a beer bottle dangling from his hand. His eyes were closed and snores escaped his half open mouth. Bay creeped past his stepfather and made his way to his room. The door was busted from the incident earlier, but everything was still there. His stepfather hadn't even bothered to close the window and the cold air grabbed at Bay's arms. He shivered and closed it.

  Bay grabbed his blankets and huddled in them the best he could before letting his eyes close. He woke to pounding on his door. Bay staggered to it carefully before opening it just a little. Standing in front of him were two police officers. Bay drew in a quick breath before one of the officers pushed open his door. He heard crying behind them and registered it as his mother.

  “What happened?” He managed before collapsing onto his bed. The officers glanced at each other and then to him.

  “I'm sorry to tell you this, Bay.” The officer glanced at the floor and back to Bay. “Your stepfather is dead.” The words hung in the air for a moment before Bay could really understand what the officer was saying to him.

  “What happened?” He whispered.

  “We aren't sure. You'll have to stay in a hotel until we can clean up.” The officer sighed and really looked at Bay. He got the idea the officer was looking for a reason to blame him. They knew about the fighting in his house, but never did anything about it.

  “Get a few things and we will escort you and your mother to the hotel,” the other officer said putting his hand out to help Bay. Bay ignored it and grabbed a bag in the corner of the room. He shoved some clothes in it and followed the police through the house. One was holding his mother so she wouldn't see the mess Bay's stepfather's murder had caused, but Bay wasn't so lucky. There was a sheet over the body on the couch and blood stains streaked along the wall. His stepfather's arm was still hanging over the bottle of beer dripping blood into it. Bay felt sick but at the same time he felt relief. He'd secretly hoped his stepfather would just drop dead one day so his mother and himself would be free. He just never thought it would happen or be this bloody.

  The officer drove them past main street and to the hotel on the other side of town. It was a large brick building with an awning out front. The doors were a dark brown color and the paint was in good repair. Bay liked the idea of being here already.

  “The city will help pay for your stay until we can get the house cleaned up for you.” He smiled. “It's the least we can do after your loss. And don't worry, we are going to catch the guy who did this.”

  Bay watched the officer. He was a good person and probably would stop at nothing to make sure Bay and his mother were safe.

  Bay absently scratched at his hand. The skin was hot and red. When he touched it, he expected it to hurt, but instead it sent warmth and comfort through him. He sighed and threw his bag on his bed. His mother just sat at the foot of the other one and stared at the wall.

  “Are you okay mom?” Bay asked, not moving from his place. She didn't answer. He glanced at his bag. “We're going to be alright, you know.”

  “No, we're not.” She looked at him, disgust twisted on her face. “How can you act like it's no big deal? He was your stepfather.”

  “He beat the crap out of us all the time, mom. You're still defending him?” Bay shook his head.

  “That didn't mean you had to kill him.” She turned away from Bay.

  “What are you talking about?” He stopped messing with his clothes and stared at the back of her head.

  “Don't act like you didn't do it. I saw you with the knife standing over him.” She shook her head. “You slit him open like it was some kind of game.”

  “I was sleeping in my room, mom. There's no way I killed him.” He walked to his mother who jumped up and backed away from him.

  “I saw your eyes. They were blood red and empty.” She put her hands in front of her. “You killed him.”

  Bay backed away from her and she took a step towards him. “They're going to figure it out, Bay and then you'll be gone too.”

  He backed into the door, staring at his mother. She sat on the bed and rocked. “You killed him,” she whispered over and over. He opened the door and ran as fast as he could through the town. He glanced at the bulletin board in the center of town when a photo caught his eye. The girl from the caretakers house was staring back at him. In bold letters, the photo said Missing. He dropped his gaze and felt terror rising in his throat. He had to know. He stopped again only at his house to get his bike. The cops were gone and he stared at the living room door, wondering if he had the guts to go inside.

  Bay slowly walked to the door and turned the knob. The living room was a mess with little paper tents in certain spots and blood staining the already ruined carpet. The body was gone but the blood soaked the couch all the way through and the smell of metallic burned into Bay. He coughed and put his sleeve to his face. Bay followed the blood pattern along the wall. It was large and he thought he could see specks of blood on the ceiling. He closed his eyes and begged himself to remember.

  Bay could see flashes of something. Blood on his hands. A knife from the kitchen. His mother screaming. He snapped open his eyes and ran from the house. He grabbed his bike and made his way to the caretaker's house, passing by the twisted tree on his way. It held it's branches out to him, like a hug begging him to come to it. He turned away and felt a sharp pain in his hand. Bay jumped from his bike and ran into the caretaker's house.

  The old man was still sitting in the chair Bay'd left him in. He glanced up and a smile crept to his lips. “You did it, didn't you?”

  “Did what?” Bay answered. “What did you do to me?”

  “I didn't do anything. You did,” the old man slid his gaze down Bay's arm and stopped on his reddened hand.

  “What happened?” Bay yelled.

  “You were marked by the tree.”

  “What does that mean?” Bay yelled again in frustration.

  “It owns you now.” The old man smiled and sighed. “You have to do what it wants.”

  “What? What does it want?”

  “More blood.” The caretaker cocked his head to one side, looking into the boy.

  “You knew, didn't you?” He shook his head. “That girl on your wall, who is she?” Bay snapped.

  The caretaker followed his gaze to the photo over the couch. “She was like you. A poor girl with no purpose. I gave her a purpose.”

  “What happened to her?”

  “The same thing that will happen to you,” he smiled and stood from his seat. “She served her purpose.”

  “I killed my stepfather didn't I?”

  “Yes and you'll kill again and again until the tree decides to release you or...” The old man stopped and shrugged.

  “Or what?” Bay said, calmly.

  “No one knows.”

  “I have to leave, get out of town.” Bay ran his hand through his hair. “Then it won't be able to control me.”

  “It won't let you. It owns you now.” The man repeated. “Everyone in this town knows what that tree is. We protect it. Feed it.”

  “For what?”

  “We are all trapped here. Cursed by that tree. It run's through us. If we let it die, we all die.” The caretaker ran his hand over the little girls photo. “She wasn't supposed to be a part of this. It called her because we weren't doing what we were supposed to.” He glanced at Bay. “And now you.”

  Bay stepped back, tripping on an axe sitting next to the wall. He grabbed it and glanced to the caretaker.

  “I'm going to kill it and set everyone free.” Bay stormed from the little shack hearing the caretaker laugh.

  He ran as fast as he could through the heavy snow drifting in front of him. When Bay got to the tree he felt his heart race and his palms became sweaty. His hand burned and it felt as though his own blood was boiling and turning against him. He lifted the
axe and felt scratching on his back. Bay ignored it, bringing the axe down hard on the trunk of the tree. It spit red blood into the white snow, melting it instantly. Bay raised the axe again, his back burning as though acid had been sprayed on him. He brought the axe down a second time, making the tree scream through the air. Branches pulled at his hands, scratching to the bones before ripping the axe away.

  Bay fell onto his back into the snow and pushed away from the tree's bleeding trunk. The branches scratched at his legs, ripping flesh and skin. He screamed at the pain and dug his hands into the snow, pulling himself from the tree. A dull laugh caught his attention and he glanced at the tree who seemed to be smiling at him.

  Bay, my boy. You can't run from me. If you won't find food for me, you'll feed me.

  A root covered in mud and dark blood wrapped around his ankle, pulling him towards the tree trunk. He dug his hands through the snow into the dirt, begging it to give him something to hand onto. His nails scraped through the dirt and rock, breaking nails, before it fell away. He felt himself going under the dirt and reached up digging his hands into the trunk of the tree, leaving a bloody handprint before the ground swallowed him.

  The air became quiet and the tree still.

  ***

  “They say Bay killed his stepfather,” the whispers filled the air as Mark was laid to rest in the cemetery not far from twisted tree in the center. “Now no one can find him. I bet he did it and is hiding now.”

  The little brown haired girl didn't want to think the worst of her cousin Bay was the only one she knew in this town. She caught sight of the twisted tree and couldn't look away. It was striking against the hard concrete of the headstones all around it. He almost sang to her and she smiled walking closer.

  An old man was whistling and digging a fresh grave not far from her. She watched him for a moment before he turned and noticed her.

  “What is this tree?” She said laying her hand on it's trunk.

  “They call it a bleeding tree.”