Mom! The Tree Ate My Homework!

by Jeff Baker

AUTHOR’S NOTE: “Hacking-Cough” is pronounced “Hocking-Cogg.”

Lord Hacking-Cough and Clive crouched behind the neatly-trimmed hedge.

“There it is,” His Lordship said pointing.

“Good Lord, M’Lord!” Clive breathed. What a monster!”

“A Fantastic Prehistoric survival…” Lord Hacking-Cough said. “Reminiscent of the horrors in the Archives of the Thomas Stevens Family of their ancestors encounters with living Pliocene Relics in the lands to the North. But this is hear and now. A genuine kite-eating tree!”

The top branches of the tree were swaying slightly.

“See how it moves!” Lord Hacking-Cough whispered.

“I think that’s the wind,” Clive said. “It’s rather blustery today.”

As if in answer, there was a sudden gust of wind and a couple of crumpled scraps of paper blew onto the immaculately manicured lawn. With a sudden sucking sound the paper nearest the tree was drawn up into its branches. There was a moment of silence as the winds seemed to pause and in that silence they could hear the rhythmic crunching of paper from the branches of the tree.

“Good Lord!” Clive breathed.

Lord Hacking-Cough gripped the long pole of the tree trimmer with grim resolve. He glanced through the telescopic sight mounted on the pole.

“Clearly some terrible arcane influence eminates from that tree.” Lord Hacking-Cough said.

“You don’t mean it somehow caused the wind?” Clive said, his face ashen.

“If it is the species I think it is,” His Lordship said, “its grim nature becomes apparent after dark in the pitch-blackness of a cloudy, starless night sky. There will be pinpricks of unearthly light at the tips of the topmost branches which will wave and sway when there is no breeze.”

They stared up at the tree. A thick trunk that rose eight feet from the ground surmounted by a distorted crown of green leaves and scraggly branches like an elderly matron wering a fur at an opera. The grotesque was topped by bare branches and a badly trimmed stalk of trunk pointing ominously skyward as if at some unknown fixed point in the heavens.

His Lordship stood up, gripping the tree trimmer.

“It is now or never,” he said as he strode forward, stepping over a low part of the hedge, nearly tripping and then stalked toward the tree.

As if in response, the wind suddenly rose and the sky grew darker.

As he approached, His Lordship thought the wind was trying to push him away but he realized to his horror that the unearthly wind was drawing him toward the tree!

With fierce determination, Lord Hacking-Cough aimed the tip of the long pole of the trimmer at the tree. With a PLONK the blades sank into the trunk and did nothing. The blade sinking deep into the grey wood. But the lengthy pole prevented His Lordship from being pulled any closer. He braced himself against the pole, steadying himself as best he could. Then he began digging his heels into the ground and pushing backwards, trying to escape the tree and its gale force winds.

Suddenly, Lord Hacking-Cough felt strong hands on his shoulder and his arm, pulling him back—Clive! Ever-loyal Clive was risking all to pull them both out of range of the tree and its unholy vortex of wind!

When both men were back behind the hedge again, Clive shook his head.

“We may have underestimated the power of the Kite-Eating Tree.” Clive said as the sounds of the trimmer pole shattering and being sucked into the upper branches echoed across the yard.

“This is clearly not one of the sub-species of tree that subsists solely on paper and wood from kites.” Lord Hacking-Cough said. “Paper…” he breathed.

With a flurry of excitement, His Lordship riffled through his inner jacket pockets and pulled out a folded sheet of legal size paper with printing on both sides. He held it up to the still raging wind.

“Hope this will be enough,” he said.

With a SNAP the paper was torn from his hand to the green, leafy crown of the tree. Clive was certain that those leaves concealed a maw…

The two men watched, holding their breath in suspense. There was an unearthly, shrill whine mixed with the roar of the wind and with an amazing suddenness the wind and noise stopped and the tree shuddered as its leaves turned a dusky grey, then black.

In the silence, the two men heard a chattering sound, as if of teeth.

Then all was quiet.

The two men let out long breaths.

“I think it’s dead,” Lord Hacking-Cough said. “Finally.”

“Yes.” Clive said. “But what was that? The thing you carried in your pocket? Some ancient formula from the Lypodecht or the Sigsand Manuscripts?”

“Far darker than that,” His Lordship said. “I suddenly remembered that I was carrying in my pocket one of the tax forms this country subjects its citizens to. The tree wasn’t able to ingest it any more than the taxpayers can.”

“Good Lord!” Clive breathed.

The two men stared across the lawn at the silent tree.

—end—