The Tree of Screams by Doug Klein
It was finally going to happen. For years it had been a place John and Pamela had always wanted to go. They had gone on all of the ghost tours around town, and found most to be nothing more than a service for tourists. Last year they had even rented the "haunted" room in the local Belmont Hotel for their Halloween party, and the only scares were of alcohol poisoning after a long evening. But now, they were determined. They would deal with the two and half hour drive out of town. Through the hills and out towards old Haven Valley, where the local farmland used to reside. Now a derelict landscape of hollow structures and abandoned vehicles, it still held on to a timeworn legend. It was home to the fabled Screaming Tree, a haunt that only the bold and brave ever dared to test. The two were giddy with excitement as the rusted highway signs informed them they were close, and they drove on as the afternoon sun shone down.
Screaming Tree had several versions of the legend attached to it, but the main premise always remained. Two men had taken a young girl out to the land, hoping to pull in some ransom money. Or at least one was hoping for money, the other, well he was of a different type of evil. He had taken the girl, and tied her to a large, ugly, twisted oak tree. When his partner in crime protested, the vile man slashed his throat and deposited his body into the river. He returned to the girl, and relished her tears and her screams. He cut her several times with his knife just to drag out one shriek of pain and terror after another. She bled to death tied to the tree as the townsfolk arrived just moments too late. The killer never tried to run, he seemed entranced, and the townsfolk engaged in their own type of justice. The killer was brutally beaten and maimed. He was crucified in a field and set ablaze, and the townsfolk never spoke of him again.
The tree remained at the far end of the valley, a few miles down Willow Road until it gave way to a dirt path that meandered for a bit and eventually went past an old slaughterhouse. It was said that on Halloween, if one was brave, they could approach the tree and hear the girls screams coming straight from the tree itself. At least this is what John and Pamela were going to find out. They had just pulled off on the Willow Road exit, and were beginning the journey into Haven Valley.
"God, it’s so creepy here. Pamela said as she slung her arm around the head of John's seat to get leverage and peer out every window of the car. She took in the vast valley, its desolations and decay.
"When did the river dry up?" She asked as they were passing the skeletal remains of a once vibrant farmland.
"Like seventy or so years ago. There was an earthquake that caused a huge landslide a few miles upriver. It ended up making a sort of natural dam and the river diverted east. After that this valley dried up and the people hit the road." John smirked while he spoke, proud of his ability to remember the article he read the night prior. Pamela smiled and shook her hair in the wind.
"If you could only remember birthdays like you remember river facts." She rolled her eyes and let out a laugh as John feigned a look of shock. He could only hold it for a moment before he joined in with the laughter. He turned back to the road, which had started to get a bit rough from the lack of maintenance over the years. Pamela kept her eyes out into the valley, and found herself finding something to count. Scarecrows. She had seen four or five as they had entered, but nearly every empty plot seemed to have a few still manning their posts.
"Its so strange." Pamela muttered to herself. She turned to ask John about it, but thought better of it. The last thing she needed to do would be to get him started. He might not shut up until December. She jolted in her seat a bit as the car went from the barely paved road to nothing but dirt. They were almost there.
John had slowed a bit as the dirt path was even less forgiving on his car's shocks than the road had been. After a few bumps and bounces, they found themselves passing a large red building. Panels of wood were missing from the walls, and all the windows were broken out. Despite the damage, it was clear, this was the slaughterhouse. Both John and Pamela realized it, and gave each other a sideway glance. Eyes now out to the field behind the structure, the imposing oak could not be mistaken. Gnarled, twisted, and devoid of any leaves, it looked like it was in a constant state of torment. The car crawled to within twenty feet, and then John put it in park. The two exited the car and carefully approached the decrepit tree.
"This is something from a nightmare. What could make a tree grow like that, out here?" Pamela had lost all inhibitions with her questions, this time truly hoping John had an answer. This time, he did not. He snapped a few photos with his camera and then both of them stood in silence. The drive up here they had felt only excitement and anticipation. All that lingered in the air now was dread. Pamela rubbed her arms as if there was a chill, but the wind had all but died.
"Ok, I think we should go." Pamela said as she slowly backed away from the tree. John hesitated for a moment, but nodded his head in agreement.
"Hey, it is a creepy place though. At least we can go home and tell them it’s a scary tree, but not as vocal as we'd been told." John jested. Within an instant his blood ran cold. A guttural growl emanated from the tree behind him. The intensity of the growl grew, changing into a feminine shriek. The volume increased, as did the pain within the howl. A tempest of terror and anguish in a chorus of screams and wails was making the ground itself tremble in fear. John threw his hands to his ears, and Pamela had fallen to her knees, screaming back at the wall of sound. As quickly as it had come, it dropped to dead silence instantaneously. They both spared but a brief moment in the calm before throwing themselves into the car. John fumbled with the keys but got them into the ignition. He turned it, but the car did nothing. No coughing, or sputtering, it was dead.
"What the fuck! The fuck is happening right now?!" John pulled out his phone. The screen remained black. It would not function, it would not turn on. John threw it against the dash in a fit of rage and despair. He looked to Pamela to see her eyes fixated on the rear-view mirror, her lip quivering. John moved his head and gazed out the back of the car. In the field of weeds and dead grass, several scarecrows were now moving towards their car at an even pace. John couldn't register what he was seeing. Figures in tattered clothes with burlap sacks over their heads were coming their way. Their bodies moved with an inhuman quality to them, legs bending in awkward directions and some with their torsos swaying back and forth as if nearly falling off of their lower halves. Pamela's screech of fear snapped John's attention back to the front seat of the car.
"Come on! We've got to go!" John ran out of the car, and Pamela followed suit. They took off running towards the slaughterhouse as the scarecrows diverted their course as well.
"What the hell are those John? What are those?!" Pamela had tears running down her cheeks, catching flight in the wind that was whipping across her face as she ran.
"In here! Come on! Quick!" John reached back and grabbed Pamela's hand. They ran along the wall of the old slaughterhouse and found the door gave no resistance. They pushed their way in and stood looking around.
"What are we going to do in here! They’re coming!" Pamela shouted at John. John had started pacing towards each wall. The entire place was nothing but an empty shell, with no protection to offer them. The building was only lit from the sunlight falling through the weathered roof. The rows of the stalls that had once held cattle now stood as ruins of a lost time.
"I don't know! I thought maybe there would be something here we could use to defend ourselves. There’s nothing. Fucking nothing!" John was out of breath and still pacing. Pamela moved close to him and grabbed his arm. He turned to offer some retort but she put a finger to his lips.
"Shh. Shh." She whispered. Her body was shaking terribly, and John bit his tongue. An eerie stillness permeated in the slaughterhouse. There was a strange scraping sound coming from the corner of the slaughterhouse. A hole near the bottom of the wall let in an amber glow of the autumn afternoon. It was soon blotted out by ghastly shadows. Out of the shadows and into the broken rays of light from the decaying roof came the scarecrows. The scarecrows were canvases of gore, with blood stains covering their tattered clothes. Wounds were apparent, and entrails were hanging freely from exposed viscera. Sharp points of broken bones stuck out from where they moved strangely.
"Oh, fuck no!" John yelled as he grabbed Pamela and turned to head out the door. He ran straight into a large scarecrow. John stumbled backwards, and was unprepared as the scarecrow moved forward, brandishing a sickle, and with a circling swipe, cut a deep gash into his stomach. His innards tumbled out in a wave of blood, and he fell to his knees. Pamela lunged at the scarecrow. She landed on its back, near its shoulder, and began striking it with her fists.
"You fucker! You killed him! You..." She was tossed violently from the scarecrow’s back and hit her head on the ground. Darkness embraced her.
Pamela woke with her vision somewhat blurred. She was concussed, but she still looked around and processed the carnage in front of her. John was standing up now, in front of her. They were surrounded by the scarecrows, but they stood completely still, save one who had his hands on John. Pamela's haze was still lifting, but she reached out towards him.
"No...stop...John..." Her head throbbed. It made her wince and she shook her head and looked back. To her horror, the scarecrow in front of John stepped away for a moment, and she saw what was left of him. His intestines hung from his wound, and his eyes were glazed over. He was wearing different clothes. They were dirty and shredded. The scarecrow stepped back to John and placed a burlap sack over his head. It ran twine around his neck and pulled it tight, tight enough that it embedded within his neck and blood flowed down his disheveled attire. The scarecrow backed away and John, or whatever he was now, moved to Pamela. Tears welling up, she put her hands up. The scarecrow that was once John yanked her to her feet and turned her around. It was then she realized she was back at the Screaming Tree. The grotesque oak now loomed over her, and it had split itself open in its deformed trunk. A black void opened within it, and she was guided forward by the husk that had been her partner. As they got within inches of it, the tree screamed once again, but this time it was several different screams all at once, and all feminine in tone. Pain, sorrow, rage, and it all came through at once. Pamela screamed back as decrepit decaying arms lunged out of the void. Several of these corpse like limbs engulfed Pamela, digging their nails into her skin and wrapping around her entire body. She screamed once more as she was pulled into the tree, and her scream melded with the tree's, adding one more harmony of terror to its frightful tone. The tree sealed itself after and silence blanketed the valley.
All the scarecrows present made their way to their posts in the field, while one lingered for a moment before setting to the task of making a post of his own.
