“Ah, there you are - my children. Let me read you a story,” cooed the old man, taking a seat on a moss-covered wooden stump. There was no moon to illuminate the night, and the woman, spying from afar, could see no children in the dark. She wondered if he was only imagining them. Yet, he spoke as if they gathered near. Despite the lack of light, it didn’t bother the man; he didn’t seem to even look down at the text within the open book in his hands, but spoke as if he knew its content by heart.
“There once was a girl who loved climbing trees,
to listen to gossip from folks on the gravelled streets.
She would sit on a branch, legs swinging to and fro,
watching people passing by below.
The fool believed that none of her presence were aware,
that they could not spot a figure so far up in the air.
But the trees stood bare of any leaves,
making her obvious to any who sees.”
His voice rang out even more as he spoke with greater emotion,
“Every rumor was meant to reach her ear;
intentionally spoken aloud - few words sincere.
People enjoyed messing with the girl,
while the old tree got sick of her swinging and twirl.
One day, with one branch, it delivered a harsh peck,
whipping her off its limb, so she snapped her neck.”
A chill ran down the woman’s spine. This was far from a children’s story. But the old man wasn’t finished,
“There she lay, upon the street,
open for all - reduced to meat.
Any attempt at burial stood no chance,
for nature’s friends had other plans.
From the woods, the tree summoned tiny beasts,
all devouring her remains in a grotesque feast.
The girl’s light dimmed as humanity’s pests tore her skin.
Just one sharp fall turns their innocence to sin.
Those who gnawed on her are forever cursed,
scouring for another victim to soothe a forbidden thirst.“
There was a pause, as the old man seemed to drift off in thought by the sick mental image. Then, he calmly continued retelling the poetic story into the night.
“People passed beneath the branches like before.
But - glancing up - noticed the girl was no more.
None knew her name, nor where she came from,
only realizing their favorite toy was gone.
Shrugging it off, they continued their way,
all in the dark of what happened that day.
In that gravelled path remain her skull and bones,
none had lifted a finger to search beneath the stones.”
With a loud snap, the man shut the book that he had barely read from, turning his gaze from the woods to stare right at the woman. Startled, she almost slipped off the branch she was sitting on, while a wicked grin grew on his face. He stood up, called out into the night with arms and book raised into the air, beckoning for his children to come forth, “My lovelies, enjoy your feast. Dig in, fill your stomachs, grow big and strong.”
At his command, the silent air was cut by chaotic chittering of a thousand crickets. They were everywhere: leaping up and down the ground, snapping at her feet from below. Others rained over her head from wooden arms stretching above, while some had already sunk their tiny teeth into her shoulder. She cried out, but the swarm drowned her scream. In her frantic flailing, she lost balance and fell from the branch, hitting the ground with a heavy thud - the sound, and the woman, swallowed by the crickets.
Created early 2023
Image from Jannis Nöbauer on Unsplash.