LONESOME PINE by: Catherine J Gardner
Friday, June 12th, 2009As I carved our initials into the purple bark of the white pine, Danny hopped and complained that a needle had pierced shoe, sock and skin.
“Stop griping, I’m nearly done.” I flicked the knife closed and placed it in my pocket. “If the heart vanishes by morning we have to break up.”
Danny snorted.
Two centuries worth of graffiti and Somersworth legend rose several feet above us. Branches swayed as the gentle breeze billowed and morphed into a howling banshee. Pinecones fell like bombs and, in succession, two split against Danny’s shaved head.
Blood trickled down his forehead. I clung to the tree as the wind howled along Old Wood Lane.
“Jeez, the local weatherman couldn’t forecast his way out of a snow storm,” Danny spat on a leaf and pressed it against his wound. “I’m going.”
A horn beeped as tires skidded to a halt beside them. Danny wrenched open the car door.
“Wait.”
He grinned and held out his hand as I battled the wind. The Lincoln’s door slammed shut and we fell laughing into the back seat.
“What’s up with you two?” Jack asked as he turned around in his seat. “Hey, watch you don’t get blood on the leather, man.”
I checked his wound and picked out a few slices of pinecone. It looked nasty.
“We should take you to the clinic.”
Jack groaned, Danny grunted and the Lincoln stalled. Jack slammed his hands against the wheel, scratched the key against the ignition and let out a stream of expletives. He got out and began kicking the tires.
“And you say I overreact,” Danny winked.
Danny shuffled out. I followed. The wind rushed through the old white pine. Its branches rose up like arms and as they shook needles stabbed down. If a tree can hold a grudge against a person then the old white hated Danny. Spikes poked from his arms, legs, t-shirt and cheeks. It looked as if he’d had a fight with an angry acupuncturist. Blood bubbled and gave his skin a purple tinge.
“You don’t look good.”
As he pressed his hand against the tree, to steady his balance, he sank ankle deep into the earth.
“Oh look,” I pointed, “the tree has erased my initials but not yours.”
Danny whimpered. Where the needles had pierced his skin, branches were erupting. They were growing needles of their own.
—
©2009 Catherine J Gardner
Catherine J Gardner is a writer of all things odd. You can find her stories online at New Bedlam, Arkham Tales, and Three Crow Press. She also has stories forthcoming in Postscripts, Fantasy Magazine, and Space & Time. Her chapbook ‘The Sour Aftertaste of Olive Lemon’ is to be published this July by Bucket ‘O’ Guts press.You can find her on the web at http://fright-fest.blogspot.com.
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