WEEPING WILLOW

 

 

 

WEEPING WILLOW

By Randy Romero

 

 

 

Amy Larson didn’t leave much behind for her son, Eric. A few used books, an ancient record collection, and a weeping willow tree that he could see perfectly from his bedroom window. The willow was a large, deciduous tree with a stout trunk, topped by a graceful crown of branches that drooped down, almost touching the grass.

Autumn had turned its healthy green leaves a sickly brownish yellow. Its branches hung even lower than normal. Its leaves shedding with every gust of wind, big or small. Yet through all that, it maintained its dramatic, elegant appearance.

His mother loved that tree, would sit for hours underneath, reading or sketching in her notebook. The tree was special to her, so it was special to Eric by proxy. It pained him to see its current state, but he knew in the spring, the leaves would blossom again, and it would return to its majestic state.

It was just Eric and his dad now. Frank Larson wasn’t a reader like his wife. He wasn’t fond of music or the arts. He was fond of cheap beer and TV dinners and using his fists to solve his myriad problems.

Eric and his mom used to spend copious amounts of time together. Read together, draw together, listen to music together. His mother was a Beatles aficionado. They once sat and counted all the “Judes” in the song, “Hey Jude”. He couldn’t remember the exact number, but it was a lot.

Eric Larson sat awake in his bedroom, reading comic books. The door was closed but his blinds were open. His bedroom windows faced the backyard, where he had the ultimate view of his mom’s favorite tree.

But that night, the skies were weeping. The rain came flooding down and made its presence known. He could hear it beating down outside his windows, accompanied by the occasional flash of lightning or crackle of thunder.

Dinner that night was a microwavable mac and cheese that Eric had heated up himself. His father worked late at the factory and decided to have a liquid dinner. He was passed out in his bedroom by nine o’clock. Not that it mattered. Frank and Eric had little in common and little to talk about or discuss. Eric immersed himself in comics he bought with money that should have been going to his school lunches. He always put a few bucks aside every week for comics that he stashed under his bed. He was also saving up for a new bike.

Eric was too old to believe in Santa Claus. And he had no hope his father was going to surprise him that year with a bicycle. So he decided he was going to buy it himself. He tucked a dollar away here and there, saved all his pocket change, recycled cans and bottles, checked the return slots of every vending machine he came across for stray coins.

Rain tapped against his window and the sky lit up with a sudden burst of lightning. And in the transient moments of this bright flash, he saw it.

Brooding behind the weeping willow, but not well enough to conceal itself. The sky flashed again, and he got another terrifying glimpse.

It was tall and abnormally thin, with jagged, asymmetrical claws and crimson red eyes. Its skin was as gray and rigid as the bark of the tree. It scaled it ways up the stout tree limbs and arched branches, trying to camouflage itself against the tree. But Eric could still make out its glowing red eyes in the rainy darkness.

His throat was too dry to call for his father. He turned away in fright, and when he dared to turn back, the red glow had vanished. He couldn’t spot the creature anymore, if it had ever been there at all.

He turned his back to the window, thinking that if he turned away again and then looked back, the creature would return. No such luck. The sky blinked once again and Eric got a good look at the weeping willow. Nothing was there.

His eyes frantically searched the backyard whenever there was a flash of light, but he didn’t see a thing. He chalked it up to his overactive imagination. Too many comic books and monster movies he probably wasn’t supposed to be watching at his age.

He tucked his comic books away and tried to put the horrifying image in the back of his mind. He tried to convince himself it was nothing more than his imagination. He saw what his ten-year-old brain had wanted him to see.

He crawled under the covers and shut his eyes. Piercing screams shattered the dreadful silence that had ensued since Eric first laid eyes on the creature.

The terrifying shrieks were followed by a series of even more unnerving sounds. The sounds of crunching and snapping, and the wet tearing sounds of flesh being ripped from bone.

He cowered in the dark under his covers as his bedroom door creaked open. He peeked out and saw it standing outside its bedroom. It was taller than the door itself. He couldn’t see its face or its sharp red eyes as it stood motionless in the hallway.

Then it turned and disappeared down the hall. Eric listened closely as it descended the staircase and vanished into the night, leaving him unscathed. Leaving him to wonder for the rest of his life why it had spared him. Was it truly a monster, or had it been a guardian sent by his mother to free him from the chains of his father? The question would haunt him until the end of days.