"Following the gaze of his partner, Gundu stared at the ground and couldn't believe his eyes. With the big, bright moon low on the horizon behind them, the Naynab cast long and menacing shapes across the ground — Shadows that swayed to and fro in the fierce wind. Among the shifting silhouettes, Gundi could make out one... two... then three figures with eyes staring at him.... When a DIABOLICAL village sage schemes to have the great old Naynab tree in the south-west corner of the village CHOPPED down for personal gain, a defiant young boy must find a way to SAVE the tree... and maybe more! The GHOSTS IN THE TREES is a short story and the first book in the Shadows, Trees & Odd Mysteries series that follows the MYSTERIOUS myths, ODD occurrences and TERRIFYING tales that revolve around the little-known Naynab trees."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Shadows, Trees

& Odd Mysteries

 

 

The Ghosts in the Trees

 

 

 

 

 

Written by Malcolm Fernandes

 

WWW.MALCOLMFERNANDESBOOKS.COM

 

 

Shadows, Trees & Odd Mysteries

The Ghosts in the Trees

 

*

 

Copyright © 2019 Malcolm Fernandes

Cover Copyright © 2019 Malcolm Fernandes

All Illustrations Copyright © 2019 Malcolm Fernandes

 

All Rights Reserved

 

First published in India 2017

under the title Roots of the Naynab - The Ghosts in the Trees

 

This edition published in 2019

MF05272019STOMTGITT200.39/e/PB/hhcAMZNALLED01#

Kreative2

 

This is a work of fiction. All names characters, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

 

The moral right of Malcolm Fernandes to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with national and international copyright law. No part of this publication may be re-produced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the author.

 

eBook ISBN  978-93-5351-770-0

 

Paperback ISBN 978-93-5351-807-3

 

 

For more information, visit: www.malcolmfernandesbooks.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For Flavy, my love and best friend

……………… and anything we dream possible.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

— Prologue —

 

An excerpt from the lost and faded journals of the explorer Remaor ‘Rem’ Namdliv — Dec. 7, 1806

 

“In so many of these specimens that we have encountered, there is but one thread of character that reveals itself time and again. Besides the general physical appearance of the Naynab, it is their ability to take on peculiar guises, to achieve varied, unexplained, mysterious and seemingly supernatural purpose. From the basis of consistent and documented observations we have made, as well as the writings in the ancient scrolls of the Simaws that we discovered on our journey here, it is also my inference that in a time long before man and his enterprise, the Naynab were once far more prevalent across the worlds than they are today and flourished across lands of dessert, mountain, forest, snow and maybe even more.

“While it is true that a vast majority of the Naynab we have encountered appear as regular trees in all regards, I believe we have only scratched the surface in as far as bearing witness to their significance, their ability to function as beings higher than just foliage and the variety and depth of the secrets that they hold.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

— CHAPTER ONE —

 

A Terrible Storm

 

Present Day

 

HAVE YOU HEARD silence? But not just any silence — a deafening silence? The type that makes you feel as if the world and everything in it were ten-thousand-year-old statues. Everything! The heavens, the waters, even the breeze around you. The type of silence that surrounds you and pulls down on your eardrums, like a blanket of the thickest, yet softest wool that wrenches out even the slightest flutter or faintest whisper, so you hear nothing — absolutely nothing.

…

…

…

Now imagine: what would the opposite of such silence sound like?

That’s how it felt that stormy summer evening, when pandemonium reigned. Dark inky clouds covered the sky from horizon to horizon and a relentless droning rumble filled every moment in between monstrous roars of thunder and titanic crashes of lightning. The wind howled as flashes of blinding white light lit the whole town in brilliant bursts. No more than a fraction of a second later, the deafening snaps and booms of thunder screamed through the air, making the world and ground below tremble in meek response.

They say the lag between light and sound can tell you how far away the storm clouds are. Today, it seemed like the storm clouds were right above Park Street and the cozy home where Oddy and his family lived.

“What are you thinking about, Grandpa?” Oddy’s tousled head appeared from behind the doorway as he scurried into his bedroom. Oddy saw Grandpa standing at the window, intently looking at the torrent outside. “Grandpa?” the boy called out again over the rumble in the sky.

“Oh, there you are,” Grandpa replied, looking startled.

Oddy caught sight of Grandpa’s curly white hair glistening in the rapid bursts of light that flooded the room.

“This room used to be my old office when we first moved here, you know,” Grandpa said, smiling at the thought.

Oddy rolled his eyes. He had heard that line before.

“I see you,” Grandpa croaked, shooting the boy a quick sideways glance.

Oddy shrugged playfully and pulled out a black, leather-bound journal from under his bed. It was Grandpa’s, and Oddy had found it in the attic inside a dusty box at the bottom of a pile of old boxes.

 

The Previous Day

 

Oswald Taj, who everyone called “Oddy,” was a bit of a bookworm. Huddled up in his bedroom, he had his head buried in a mystery book he found at the junk shop — for over three hours straight. That’s when Mum called out from downstairs and asked him to feed their dog, Sala, a bowl of boiled chicken in rice from the kitchen. Enthralled by the story, Oddy absentmindedly ran down to the kitchen, took out the tray of corned beef from the oven instead and fed it to his dog before rushing back to his room to carry on with his reading. Sala lapped the food up and went off to her corner for a nap. All was fine until dinnertime when Mum entered the kitchen only to find her baking tray on the floor — spotlessly clean of its contents, as if the corned beef was never there. Needless to say, Mum was livid. All that was left for the family’s dinner was mashed potatoes, peas and, of course, boiled chicken in rice, and she wasn’t impressed. She stomped up to Oddy’s room and took him to task.

Oddy lost track of the story he was reading and uncharacteristically got annoyed about the fact that his Mum was mad at him.

“You told me to go into the kitchen and feed the dog,” Oddy snapped.

“Yes, I did. But why would the dog food be in the oven?” Mum yelled back.

A heated argument followed. Minutes later, Oddy stormed out of the room in a fit of rage and climbed up to the attic with the determined intention of spending the rest of his life up there alone.

The attic was cramped with stuff. It was dark and gloomy. A thick carpet of dust covered the floor, and cobwebs lazily stretched across everything. Turning on the only bulb that lit the attic in a dull yellow light, Oddy spotted a rusty old tin can under his feet.

“Why couldn’t she feed the dog herself? She told me to take the tray out of the oven and feed the dog,” cried the boy, in a rage, not seeing that he was the one who made the mistake.

He swung his foot at the tin can, sending it clanging and rolling under a dusty cabinet.

“I can’t live in this house with these people!” he cried, his face flushed with anger, as he flumped down on the floor frowning.

Now Oddy had the mind of a wanderer; he couldn’t stay still for too long and soon forgot all about the matter. Bored, he poked around the busy attic moving this and that, peeping into old bags and pulling things out in search of books, or toys, or anything interesting. Then he spotted a stack of large, dark tin boxes in a crowded corner. The stack appeared different from everything else in the attic. Oddy slowly edged toward the cramped space and examined the unknown containers one at a time.

They were mostly filled with files and papers of various kinds: old bills, letters, and other nonsense. He reached the bottom of the last metal box and was about to give up, when he saw something that piqued his curiosity.

It was a dark package, neatly wrapped in a thin sheet of transparent plastic — the kind that is used to pack things airtight and keep them safe from moisture and mold. Oddy carefully lifted the cover open and spotted a large, black leather-bound diary of some kind. His eyes lit up as he browsed through the aged yellow pages.

“This is Grandpa’s journal!” he exclaimed. “It’s got his handwritten notes and stories!”

Excited, Oddy put the journal in his sweatshirt and climbed back down.

 

Present Day

 

Back in his room, Oddy opened the journal he found. Between school and his chores, he hadn’t had the chance to look at it yet.

“Will you read me one of the stories from your journal, Grandpa?” asked the skinny, frizzy haired boy as he sat on the ground, looking up in anticipation.

It was nearly bedtime. Oddy and his family had just finished dinner and he loved the stories his Grandpa would tell him. Ten-year-old Oddy thought he was too old for tales. But Grandpa’s stories were so thrilling and just flat-out strange — the types that were filled with curious people caught up in even more curious circumstances. Oddy was sure the stories in the journal were equally captivating.

Outside, the menacing storm brewed on and the wind wailed as it squeezed through the narrow slats and rattling shutters of Oddy’s first-floor bedroom window.

Lights, sounds and all the action fit for a very scary movie!

But Oddy wasn't scared.

 

 

 

Oddy was afraid of many things. Going to school was one of them, intensified by the fact that he found himself in trouble almost every day for something that he did or did not do — or something he forgot to do, like feeding the dog or completing his homework.

Take what happened earlier today for instance. Oddy was a happy lad when the day began. That was until his friend, Chatan, asked him if he brought his English textbooks to school.

“Why? Today’s Friday. We don’t have English class on Friday,” Oddy replied confidently, as the two entered the classroom.

“So, you didn’t read lesson seven and complete the exercise at the end?” asked Chatan.

Oddy felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. “What did I miss?” he asked warily.

“The extra class Mr. Amble scheduled today. And the homework he asked us to complete,” said Chatan.

Oddy sighed loudly. He had gotten into trouble with Mr. Amble before for something very similar.

“Today isn’t going to go well,” he slumped in his seat, in dismay.

He was right.

As it turned out, Oddy was the only one in class who did not come prepared, and Mr. Amble did not have second thoughts about expressing his disappointment in front of everybody. As a bonus, Oddy got a note to have his parents meet the principal first thing on Monday for repeatedly not doing what he was told to, and lagging behind in more than one subject.

Mrs. Borde’s math class scared him too. And it wasn’t just the numbers and equations. Oddy was terrified of being asked questions in class. In one of his first classes of the year, Mrs. Borde asked him to read out the answer to a problem involving a girl named Tara, cookies and fractions.

Those dreaded fractions. Even though Oddy knew he could figure the problem out, he needed more time. He got nervous and it made him confused — so much that he spluttered some gibberish. The gibberish annoyed Mrs. Borde, whose eyebrows popped up like hairy black caterpillars and eyeballs bulged through her inch-thick-soda-bottle glasses. Shaking her head, Oddy saw her face twist to display shock, anger and disappointment, all at the same time.

“We covered this last year. Who let you pass your final exam?” the quirky woman bellowed in her peculiar sing-song manner.

“You did,” called out someone from behind, as the class burst out laughing.

“Who said that?” snapped the teacher, and laughter quickly drowned to giggles and snickers. “I’m warning you,” Mrs. Borde returned her attention to Oddy. “If you don’t pull up your socks and catch up with the rest, Mr. Taj, I will personally recommend that you be sent back to a lower grade,” she barked, as the class cracked into a chorus of laughter again.

That sort of thing had happened once too often, and now Oddy thought he had become a bit of a worryguts.

Then there was Mickey.

Even walking down the school corridor turned Oddy into a bundle of nerves, thanks to Mickey and his gang. Everyone thought Mickey was the coolest boy in school — especially the girls. But to Oddy, Mickey was the meanest bully in town.

“Hey, Oddy!” Mickey called out in the crowded school corridor earlier today. “I’m going to be thinking of you all day tomorrow. I’m going to the zoo, you know.”

Everyone laughed.

“Speak up,” King, another boy whose real name was Kingsley, called out. “Come on, you like to talk, don’t you? Go on. Say something smart.”

Oddy said nothing.

“Freak!” shouted someone else, as the roar of laughter continued.

Oddy quietly put his head down wishing he could sink through the floor and disappear as he made his way to the exit.

He walked his bike dolefully that day as he was in no hurry to get home either — not with that note to his parents in his pocket. So, instead of going home from school, Oddy decided to take a detour, climb up the small hill that overlooked the town and sit on the roof of the old house at the top. It wasn’t actually a house. Well, it may have been at one time, but not anymore. A lone skeleton of a building stood on top of the hill some people called the Devil’s Perch. Now just a dilapidated structure with broken walls, a small section of the roof was still held up by crumbly old pillars. No one lived there anymore or went to the place. A perfect spot to hide out and get away from people, Oddy frequently went there and climbed up the roof to be alone and look out over the town and surrounding areas. And lately he had been going up there more often.

Oddy sat there for a while, until the sun hung lower above the horizon before being swallowed up by an army of black clouds that threw the town and everything around it into a grim overcast glow.

Yes, Oddy was afraid of many things, but not storms. Especially not thunder storms.

There was news that a storm was coming in later that evening. People hurried home from school, and work, and other places as enormous clouds steadily rolled in from the west like fluffy pillows of tar-black.

But that didn’t bother Oddy too much. Besides books, Oddy liked storms. Oddy loved to watch bolts of lightning spider across the skies and the grand show that went with it. Oddy thought he was indeed odd that way. He grew anxious around things that most people were comfortable with but had an uncanny affinity for other things that many were usually scared of, like spiders, and lizards, and snakes, and other crawly creatures. He was even fine with dark, spooky places and, of course, thunder storms.

Given a choice when a storm came, he'd sit by his window all night looking up at the sky, eager to witness a spectacle. If he had the chance, he'd climb up to the roof to catch all the action. Better still, he’d climb up to Devil’s Perch. But Mum wouldn't allow it — for reasons of safety, of course.

The predictions about the raging tempest that day were more than accurate. By late evening it felt like Park Street was in the eye of a blitzkrieg.

After dinner that night, Mum warned Oddy about going up to the roof. He said he wouldn’t, and for once, intended to keep his promise. Besides, it was bedtime and tonight was different. It was the weekend and he was allowed to stay up later than usual. For most kids that meant TV or video games. For Oddy, it meant burying his head into a book. And tonight, it was Grandpa’s journal.

Oddy hadn’t told Mum about the note to meet the school principal yet. He figured if he told her about it just before going to bed — say around Sunday evening — he’d have the excuse that because of the storm, he forgot about it. It would save him the monstering, and the weekend at least. So, Oddy hurried up to his room as soon as dinner was over.

 

 

 

Back in his room, Oddy looked up and saw Grandpa eye his journal.

“You know, I want to tell you something, Oddy. I can see something is troubling you,” said Grandpa. “Just remember, you’re not the only one who gets in trouble at school or gets picked on and what not,” he added, grabbing a wooden stool from the corner and pulling it closer. “Everyone gets in trouble from time to time. Sometimes, even bigger trouble than you might think. And I’ll let you in on a little secret — even grown-ups do too. You just have to learn to deal with it and try to learn from your mistakes so that you don’t repeat them. And I know you can. I know you will,” Grandpa patted the boy on his shoulder.

Oddy bit his lip, nodded, and listened to his grandfather. In fact, he knew every word of advice Grandpa gave him, even before it was spoken, because he had heard it so many times before. He understood every word he was told and it also made sense to him. But he was just the type of boy who remained absorbed in his own thoughts and his own world. And though he tried, it was like he had a special knack for getting into trouble anyway. To Oddy, trouble not only followed him around everywhere, but it also sprung and popped up at will — anytime and anywhere. What was worse was the terrible feeling that followed. And it always felt crushingly devastating, maybe even worse than the tempest outside. Today was a bad day at school, and he felt horrible. How in the world was he supposed to make the heavy knot in his stomach go away? And it was there, all right.

Oddy heaved a heavy breath, in silence.

“So what story do you want to hear today?” asked Grandpa, changing the topic.

“Any story, Grandpa. It’s been months since you last visited, and boy have I missed your stories!” Oddy replied, still anxious but feeling a tiny bit better after reminding himself that Monday was still a couple of days away.

Outside, the trees bent and swayed wildly in the howling wind. Just then, there was a loud cracking sound followed by a violent crash and the blaring bip-bip-bweep of a car alarm going off. Well, it would have been blaring, but the chorus of rain patter and the rushing wind nearly drowned the crash out. Oddy and Grandpa rushed to the window and peeked outside. A large section of a tree had smashed down Mr. and Mrs. Pettyraj’s car six or seven doors down the street. The two looked through the window trying to make out what was going on as large drops of rain splashed and trickled down the window pane, making everything on the other side appear murky. In the dark, they could make out flashing yellow tail lamps and spotted two figures running out in the torrent and shouting at each other. Although Mrs. Pettyraj’s loud voice and bossy tone was muffled by the pouring rain, it could still be heard through the window.

Then the street, the house, and everything went black and became one with the night sky.

“Powers out!” exclaimed Oddy.

“Hang-on, let me get the —"

“— Flashlight?” Oddy grinned, as he flicked the switch on his penlight throwing a small beam of yellow light around the room. “Stay prepared, especially when you know a storm is coming,” added Oddy with a cheeky grin as he walked over to the nightstand and switched on the emergency lamp that stood in the corner.

“The student is becoming the master, I see,” said Grandpa, in his weak imitation of an old kung-fu sensei, chuckling at his own joke.

Oddy stared at him straight-faced. Grandpa was cool, but sometimes he would hilariously try to act cooler than he really was.

“OK, so where were we?” Grandpa asked, clearing his throat. “Oh, yes, a story,” he added.

Oddy saw the wrinkles around Grandpa’s alert eyes narrow, and his bushy eyebrow hairs come forward. Grandpa stood by the window looking out for several moments, stroking his thick white beard as if deep in thought.

“All right, then, a story is what I have for you, young man,” he said, with a gleam in his eye.

Just then, the sky lit up in a blinding white flash once again. Against the dark silhouette of Grandpa standing in front of the window and the large tree outside, the light glistened on his wavy white hair and beard, making for a spooky sight.

BH… BHOOOOM!

A deafening crash echoed across the room a split second later, rattling the little metal warplanes on the nightstand.

Oddy’s eyes lit up.

“Boy is this going to be good or what!” he thought.

— CHAPTER TWO —

 

The Naynab Tree

 

 

“IT IS SAID, in many a legend that human beings have a special bond with the earth, the skies and all life they provide a home to,” began Grandpa, softly. “We’re connected to everything: the birds, fish, insects, animals, plants, and trees! Especially the trees. They give us life, and they give us sustenance in more ways than one. They give us everything we would not normally have. And they do this in our lives, and as stories of old have it —” Grandpa lowered his voice to a whisper, “— and even in death.”

“A long, long time ago, there was an old village. Like in most villages in the old days, the people here lived in harmony with each other and in harmony with nature. It was a time when the birds and butterflies could be found all over, and flowers and green trees were everywhere. The people from this quiet, little hamlet lived peaceful lives, for the most part — except for one thing. On the south-west border of the village was a giant Naynab tree. This tree was a massive specimen, and for its size, the Elders of the village believed it to be more than two hundred years old. It was a beautiful tree with branches that spread vast and wide in all directions.

“But village folk looked upon this one tree with fear and terror. You see, the tree had a bad reputation. They said that the tree possessed sinister powers and that it, well, sheltered evil. Some people in the village even tried to stay away from the tree, especially after dark. They said bad things happened around it.

“Now, not everybody believed that but village folks are a superstitious lot, and lore of the unexplained and the mysterious was everywhere.

“In this village lived a shy, young boy. His name was Jim, and he was ten. Jim lived with his father and mother in a cottage not far from the village square, and not far from the old Naynab tree.

“Now, like most boys his age, Jim loved sour candy but hated macaroni and spinach soup. He loved his superhero cartoons but had trouble getting up early. He went to school every day but never did his homework on time. In every way, Jim was like all other children, except in one — Jim liked trees. In fact, he loved them. He was fascinated by them. Jim spent much of his time climbing and playing on them. He and his father had even built a little tree house on a large Rain Tree near their home. It’s probably the reason why Jim often found himself alone. He spent his spare time playing on trees, reading books and well, that’s it, while his friends were off roaming the streets, playing pranks on unsuspecting people and generally causing a ruckus. And it’s why Jim was the butt of many a joke and prank himself — especially when there was no way of avoiding his friends — usually at school or when father forced the boy to go outside and play like all the other young boys and girls his age.

“‘Just look around. Kids your age are busy like flies on poop,’ father would often tease. He thought it was funny. Mother didn’t though. She used to punch him in the arm and tell him to leave her son alone. Mother was supportive that way.

“Jim often did as he was told. But no one wanted to hang around Weirdy-Nerdy-Jim. In turn, the boy kept to himself, remaining quiet and staying aloof.

“This one time, Jim gave into his father’s prodding and went out to play Seven Tiles with his friends. Seven Tiles was a fun game that most village kids played in the old days. It’s a ball game played between two teams. One team is required to knock a set of seven stones stacked one above the other and then try and put it back together while the other team tries to prevent them from doing so, with a ball. As the game progressed, someone threw the ball to Jim, but the ball bounced just in front of him. It hit a pebble and ricocheted off of it, flying out of reach and past him in the direction of the great Naynab tree. They were playing in a clearing near the tree, you see. The ball bounced a few times and then disappeared behind the tree’s giant roots, and Jim chased after it. As he spotted the ball wedged between two root knees, he bent down to pick it up, and at that moment, the size of the tree caught his eye. He looked up, and for the first time, he noticed the tree’s massive stance.

“It was huge! Its heavy trunk was clad in an unusually patterned coarse, dark bark that twisted upward. On one side of the trunk grew a large, heavy kidney shaped burl before splitting into giant limbs that spread out in all directions.

“Looking up, Jim just stood there mesmerized by what was in front of him. He was so entranced by it that he did not notice the many calls and taunts from his friends. Jim absent-mindedly picked the ball up and threw it to them, not taking his eyes off the vast underbelly of the tree. Then, to everyone’s amazement, he started to climb the tree. On reaching one of its massive branches he sat down on it and stayed there for the rest of the evening as his friends gave up trying to call him down and began teasing him like they usually would.

“In the end, well, they gave up and continued with their game.”

 

— CHAPTER THREE —

 

A Close Call

 

 

“SOON, JIM STARTED spending all of his free time on the great Naynab tree. He'd love to be around it, either sitting on its giant roots or climbing up its branches and looking out over the village. As days went by, Jim continued to spend as much time on the tree as he could.

“As usual, one summer day after school, Jim was perched high up on one of the Naynab’s many limbs. He watched the bright, afternoon sunlight filter through the canopy of the tree, and he loved how the light and shadows of the swaying foliage made magical patterns all around.

“Suddenly he heard the sound of a large vehicle approach. It stopped near the tree below, a little out of Jim’s sight. He heard car doors open and slam shut and footsteps approach the tree. Curious, Jim strained to see who it was. As the newcomers neared the base of the tree, Jim could hear them talk.

“‘Dis it?’ asked one of them in a booming gruff voice.

“‘This is the famous tree,’ replied another, who spoke as if his mouth was full. The voice sounded familiar, but Jim couldn’t quite recall who it belonged to.

“‘When can we begin?’

“Begin what? thought Jim, straining to get a peak of the newcomers below.

“‘Soon enough,’ replied the second man. ‘Most folks here believe this tree is cursed and will do anything to get rid of it. All, except for the village council.’

“Jim froze. What were these men talking about? He crouched lower and stayed out of sight. There was a gentle breeze in the air and as the leaves that blocked Jim’s view rustled and swayed, for a brief second, they moved far enough to allow him to spot the men below. There were three of them.

“Jim gasped, as he got a good look at the man who had just spoken.

“It was the village Sage!

“The Sage, whose name was Mortimer Slylough, was chief advisor to the village council on all kinds of things. From matters of local governance to developing roads and buildings, taxes and giving away loans, and even matters of myth and the mystical, the Sage was trusted by many, and as such, held a lot of power.

“‘Soon —’ the man turned away and spat out the tobacco he usually chewed, cruelly smiling to reveal a hideously uneven set of brown teeth and gums, ‘— this tree will no longer be a problem.’

“‘Good, handle this an’ we have a deal, mista. And I ain’nt remind’n’ yer… dat the reward… is substantial,’ said the man with the gruff voice.

“‘Oh, trust me. Only I can get this done for you,’ snickered the Sage, confidently.

“‘Trust?’ the gruff-voiced man sneered. ‘I don’t trust no one. Not in our business, Mista,’ the man walked around the tree examining it. ‘But tell me, how’d you plan on removn’ dis tree anyway? Axe’em down at night, when the peoples sleepn’?’ he guffawed in an odd manner that sounded like the bray of a mule.

“The smirk on the Sage’s face abruptly disappeared as if he realized that his master plan wasn’t such a master plan after all.

“‘As a matter of fact, yes,’ the Sage put his hands on his hips. ‘There’s always some random fool with a few screws loose who can be blamed for bringing down the oldest tree in the village. And, after that, the council will be the only ones we will need to convince to clear the place out. And I can take care of all of that for you,’ the Sage smiled cruelly.

“‘Well, your plan better work. We don’t have the time,’ said the third man in a squeaky, nasally tone.

“‘Oh! Shut up, Bean. Din’ asks yer to talk,’ snapped the gruff-voiced man sharply making his partner apologetically put his head down.

His boss then turned to the Sage again. ‘Yer better come through. Our client’s losin’ a ton of money on dis highway construction project and we need this turned around… fast,’ he added.

“So, Jim realized, that is what the Sage is after. He had to get a better look of the two men. Using the dense leafage as cover, he ducked down to lie almost flat on the tree. Jim started to crawl out farther and rested his leg on a small branch. He pushed himself forward. Just then, the branch gave way under his weight and broke off with a loud SNAP!

“Startled, the scheming men stopped their conversation and looked up in the direction of the noise. Jim held his breath and pressed himself to the tree hoping that the men wouldn’t spot him.

“‘Who’s there?’ shouted the man called Bean, edging towards Jim’s position.

“Jim dared not breathe, as he approached — closer and closer. Suddenly, there was another louder SNAP! as a branch on the other side of the tree broke off and fell to the ground. At the same time, a couple of long-tailed, green parrots screeched, fluttered and flew out from the leaves.

“‘It’s just the breeze n’ the birds, you idiot,’ snorted the man with the gruff voice.

“‘Right, sir,’ replied Bean, as the accomplice returned to the conversation with his co-conspirators.

“Jim sighed in relief. That was close, he thought to himself.

“‘So, where were we? Oh, yeah. We need this handled immediately,’ the gruff-voiced man added to the Sage. ‘When can ya get this done?’

“‘As soon as you make your… err… contribution,' replied the Sage, with a conniving grin.

“Now, feeling a little safer, Jim poked his head out to spot the men below. The one with the gruff voice was a large, beefy man with a goatee, thick sideburns and seemed to be the one in charge. The other squeaky-voiced henchman was shorter, had a scar on his face and close-cropped hair. Both men wore formal jackets and trousers, the kind Jim only spotted on businessmen from the city.

“Jim hadn’t seen many outsiders before, but he did see a few, and he presumed they were OK. But these men seemed like unruly characters one wouldn’t want to mess around with.

“‘It’s settled then! If yer can get dis place cleared out and the council ‘ta approve construction, we can work somethin’ out and make a... contribution tha’ll be worth yer while. Half now and half after the jobs done,’ replied the gruff-voiced man, handing over a tan leather bag to the Sage.

“But before the Sage got a hold of it, the man pulled the bag back. ‘I don’t have to tell yer what’ll happen if yer decide to cross us, now, do I?’ the man added in a grave tone and looked the Sage straight in the eye. ‘You take dis money. You make dis happen — fur yer own sake.’

“The long-bearded, long-haired Sage, who wore his regular brown, tweed cloak and a red scarf around his neck, cleared his throat and slowly reached out grabbing the bag. He pulled the zipper open and peered inside to find wads of rolled up notes. Raising his staff, his face stretched into a conniving grin.

“‘Everything’s possible for those with faith… and the means,’ he exclaimed. ‘You will have your land cleared out in the next twenty-four hours.’

“The sage then shook hands with the two men, they got into their vehicle and drove off.

“After making sure the men had left, Jim sat up straight on the branch and stretched his legs out. The leaves rustled in the afternoon breeze as he sat there motionless. His pulse was racing. Jim looked down and found his hands trembling, but not from the cold. It wasn’t cold. Not from the rain either, cause the sky was spotless. Jim was worried. He had never trembled without any reason before.

“But there was a reason now. It was fear. He rubbed his hands to his pants and nervously looked around. He realized that the Sage was going to put his devious plan into action, sometime tonight. He had to do something. But he couldn’t do it alone. He was going to need help.

 

— CHAPTER FOUR —

 

Midnight

 

“THAT NIGHT, AFTER making sure his parents were asleep, Jim pulled a loaded satchel around his shoulders and quietly left out the back door of his home to make his way to the old tree. He wouldn’t normally leave home without asking his mother and felt guilty for sneaking out, but there was no way that she would allow him to leave home in the middle of the night. This was, however, an exception — one he knew he would have to explain later.

“As he approached the tree, he looked around and saw no one. Cautiously, he scrambled up the bole, ducked behind the foliage, laid down and waited.

“The night was a clear cold one, and the bright waning gibbous moon floated low over the horizon. Jim waited in anticipation. Hours passed, and nothing happened. He almost drifted to sleep when suddenly he heard a rustle in the bushes below. He peered into the darkness, as muffled voices approached the tree.

“‘Looks like it’s game time,’ Jim said to himself. He checked his watch. It was midnight. As the sounds below got louder, he quickly picked himself up and edged into position.

“‘Here it is,’ someone said.

“‘Shushhhh. Keep your voices down, you fools,’ snapped another person who Jim recognized as the Sage. ‘No one is going to be around, but I don’t want you two attracting any unwanted attention. If we don’t get this job done properly, we don’t get paid. YOU don’t get paid. GOT IT?’ barked the Sage.

“‘All right, all right. We heard you. Now, where do we begin?’ asked the third man.

“Jim peered through the leaves and saw figures in the dark approach the tree. There were two men along with the Sage. Hired hands, Jim guessed. He could make out their faces in the moonlit night, and they too looked like outsiders. One man was tall and brawny and the other of a more average height and build. Both men were bearded, and except for the difference in sizes, they looked alike. Brothers? Jim wondered. Maybe, or maybe not. They were even dressed alike in dark clothes. Not like the suited, booted ruffians he had spotted before. More like the regular kind of ruffians you’d find on the streets, but ruffians nonetheless.

“The two men carried a heavy-looking, extra-long duffel bag that they laid down near the base of the tree. One of them kneeled over, zipped the bag open and pulled out what was the longest crosscut saw Jim had ever seen. The saw had handles on both of its ends and a long, clean, menacingly-toothed metal blade that glinted in the moonlight.

“Ok, this is it, Jim thought, as he nervously glanced around. As if getting ready for an epic duel, he pulled his cloth satchel open and took out his secret weapon — his camel-skin Djun-Djun drum. Holding on to it with care, he moved into position and waited.

“‘Hurry up, you two,’ the Sage squealed, obviously growing impatient. ‘I don’t want this to take forever.’

“‘Listen, your holiness! You hired us to do a job, and we’ll do it, but you need to stand back and leave us to it,’ growled the shorter man. ‘Unless you want to do it yourself,’ he added with one eyebrow raised. ‘Why is this job so important anyway?’

“The Sage grunted. ‘Aww, enough with the ranting. I’m not paying you to ask questions, so shut it. I’ll stay out of your way. Get on with it, you two,’ barked the Sage, who clearly had no intention of letting his men in on the full plan or the money. He walked away and sat himself down on a stone at the edge of the clearing that surrounded the tree.

“The men removed their denim jackets and threw them on the ground. Edging away from the Sage and closer to the tree, they spoke to each other in hushed voices.

“‘I don’t like the look of this, Gundu. This place gives me the creeps, and this deal doesn’t seem to be on the up and up, either,’ complained the large man.

“‘Listen, Dulard. All we have to do is chop a tree down and get paid a ton of cash. CASH! You hear me?’ repeated the thug called Gundu.

“‘Yeah, but why do we have to do this in the middle of the night?’ asked Dulard. The burly man anxiously looked around. ‘I’ve heard rumors about this place, you know.’

“‘I have too, but don’t tell me you believe all that mumbo-jumbo now, do you? Let’s get this done fast, get our money and get out of here.’

“‘Sounds good to me,’ replied Dulard, nervously scrutinizing the towering Naynab as his friend walked around the tree and surveyed the area.

“With no one talking and no sound except the shrill chirping of crickets in the night and a cold, chilly breath of wind, the place fell eerily quiet. Dulard scratched his beard and kept nervously looking around. After making their plans, the men picked up the massive saw and came up to the tree trunk.

“They were about to make their first cut when suddenly a bone-chilling screech filled the air.

“‘What was that?’ cried Dulard, as the two men froze.

“‘I don’t know,’ replied his companion, who was also startled. ‘I think it came from there,’ he said pointing away towards a thicket of tall, white-trunked Eucalyptus trees that appeared ghostly enough.

“‘Aww, come on now, you two,’ cried the Sage, approaching his two men. ‘THAT was just an owl. Don’t tell me that you two idiots are afraid of birds now, are you?’

“‘Of course not, we —’ Gundu tried to straighten himself up but was cut off by a sudden and powerful gust of wind that appeared out of nowhere. Before any of the men had a chance to react, the flurry got stronger. Dulard’s jacket, that was lying on the ground, caught a draft and was swung ten or maybe fifteen feet into the air. The leaves and branches of trees around swayed wildly in the wind.

“‘What’s going on?’ yelled out Dulard over the wailing of the wind that was now so strong the three men had difficulty standing upright. Dulard tried to hold on to his footing, but in the process, he let go of his end of the saw. The end of the metal tool came down in a loud clang, but the commotion was nearly drowned out by the wind.

“‘Why you —’ his accomplice struggled to let his end of the heavy saw down as gently as possible.

Gundu turned toward the Sage who was holding on to his wildly fluttering robe, his long hair and wind-tossed beard.

“Then, in an instant, it all stopped. The windstorm came to a sudden halt as abruptly as it had begun leaving the three men baffled.

“‘What was that all about?’ asked Dulard, nervously picking himself up and dusting his jeans.

“‘Well, it probably was just what it was… a strong gust of… uhh… maybe a storm’s coming our way,” Gundu speculated.

“‘All the more reason to get back to what you are hired to do,’ the Sage interrupted, straightening his messy hair and clothes.

“The two men stared at each other.

“‘I still don’t like this one bit,’ Dulard shivered. He cautiously glanced around and turned to go retrieve the jacket that was lying on the ground several feet away. Before he reached it, the wind began to wail again.

“‘What? Not again!’ he yelped over the wailing, now much louder.

“This time they could hear a faint thumping sound that enhanced after every few seconds. As the wind picked up speed, the thump... thump... thump, steadily grew louder.

“‘What’s that? A drum?’ cried Gundu. ‘Who’s banging on drums in the middle of the night?’

“‘Looks like it’s coming from that direction,’ pointed Dulard. ‘No wait,’ he turned. ‘Now it sounds like it’s coming from over there.’

“‘Well, I’ve had it with these delays. It’s just the wind and probably some kids having a jolly good time in the woods. I’m going to look for these imbeciles. And while I do that, you men had better begin the job you’ve been hired to do… NOW!’ barked the Sage, pointing to the tree.

“With the wind still howling, the two men had no other choice but to make their way over to either side of the tree. As they did so, the banging of the drum grew louder.

“‘Get to work,’ the Sage commanded them and went off into the darkness.

“The men looked at each other, put their saw into position across the mammoth trunk of the Naynab and pulled across to cut through the bark of the tree. As soon as the metal pierced the trunk, a gush of crimson oozed out of the tree.

“‘What... is that?... Is that blood?’ Gundu cried out.

“‘It’s ALIVE! It’s ALIVE!’ shrieked Dulard.

“At that very moment, an ear-splitting crack of thunder that seemed like it was right above the old Naynab tree exploded across the sky. It startled the two men so severely they dropped their saw again and fell behind.

“Already terror-stricken, Dulard tripped on a large root and stumbled to the ground. He scrambled to get to his feet. But before he was able to pull himself up, he saw something that made his blood run cold. Shaking, he slowly stood up pointing at the ground.

“Gundu, who also was thrown to one side, got up and tried to make his way over to his associate.

“‘Dulard… Dulard… This place is jinxed. I think your right,’ he yelled out over the wind. ‘What’s the matter, Dulard? You look like you’ve seen a —’

“He did not get to complete his sentence. Following the gaze of his partner, Gundu stared at the ground and couldn’t believe his eyes. With the big, bright moon low on the horizon and behind them, the towering Naynab cast long and menacing shadows across the ground — shapes that swayed to and fro in the fierce wind. Among the shadows of its thick trunk and foliage, Gundu could make out one, then two, then three figures with eyes staring at them.

“Spellbound, the two stared at each other.

“‘GHOSTS!’ they howled out in unison. Shivering, the two turned tail and barreled into the woods.

“‘Where are you cowards going? GET BACK HERE!’ barked the Sage, who was making his way back to the tree.

“But it was of no use. He had no choice but to watch his men disappear into the darkness. Enraged, he charged to the tree and rounded up the things the group had brought with them.

“‘This is not over. One way or another, this tree is coming down,’ he yelled as he fled the scene, barely able to lift up the saw and the other things his men had left behind.

“‘... and we’ll be waiting,’ muttered Jim, perched high on the tree along with his widely misunderstood friends who lived there.

“The Sage hadn’t spotted them, but Jim knew that whatever he was going to do to keep good on his vow to the people that hired him — he would have to try again. And try again, soon.

 

— CHAPTER FIVE —

 

The Challenge

 

“THE NEXT DAY, there was news that the village council had called for a meeting at the old Naynab tree. Jim wondered what it was about. Knowing that the Sage was a member of the council, he guessed it was probably him up to something.

“At the gathering, all six Elders who represented the six divisions of the hamlet were present, as were the village folk, local assistants and the village Sage.

“So was Jim.

“The Chief Elder, who was seated in the middle of the council, called for silence and said, ‘This tree has been around for a great many years. Why should we cut it down?’

“‘It’s a cursed tree, Sir, and its evil has grown and will continue to grow,’ replied the Sage, who was seated opposite the Elders. ‘It has been written, and through divine intervention, I see that we can be rid of it, but only if it is brought down before the night of the first crossing — the Furana. This is the night when the north star aligns with the center of the four-cornered pyramid in the constellation of Sagittarius. This alignment occurs only once in a hundred years and will do so tonight. If this demonic tree is not brought down by the stroke of midnight, all hell will break loose, and its evil will persist in tormenting the good people of this village for another hundred years.’

“The words of the Sage caused a commotion. Jim stood in the crowd, nervous. With his influence over the council, he knew it wouldn’t take much for the Sage to get everyone to agree with him and bring down the oldest tree in the village, and the home of his friends.

“Jim wasn’t sure what to do. But he had to do something — say something — and fast. But speaking? Speaking to people was one of Jim’s deepest fears. Sweat trickled from his forehead as he recalled the last time he spoke, or tried to talk, in front of such a big crowd. It was a disaster.

“You see, about a year and a half ago, after much prodding from his parents, Jim decided to participate in a contest — an elocution contest — an event to be held in front of the entire school. ‘Why I like trees’ was his topic. He put in the work, prepared his notes and ran mock drills in front of the mirror. But when the time came, Jim found himself standing on stage, in front of more than a hundred people, and he just went blank. You see, he didn’t practice in front of people. Now, in the crowd he saw his friends, his teachers, the headmaster, the principal and other people he had never met before, all staring at him, probably already judging him and calling him a loser. Jim froze and just went blank. Not a word came out of his mouth. He stood there on stage for what seemed like an eternity, until people called on him to get off with taunts and laughter. It was a bad day, but the endless teasing and humiliation that followed were worse. Now, every time he tried to speak in public, the images of that dreadful day came rushing back, and he’d feel the same pain. So, Jim decided he would never do that again.

“The memory of that day came rushing in as Jim stood in the crowd. Lost in his thoughts, his palms sweaty and heart pounding, every inch of his body screamed at him to run. And he almost did.

“Then, someone bumped into him and shouted, ‘Bring it down!’

“‘Yeah! Bring it down,’ yelled another.

“Jim looked at the ground and took in a deep breath. They are going to bring this tree down, he thought to himself. He shook his head. He had a decision to make.

“After a brief discussion with his council, the Chief Elder stood up. ‘It is decided then,’ said the Chief Elder in the commanding voice of the leader of the hamlet. ‘Bring in the axemen and —’

“‘— Prove it!’ interrupted a voice from the crowd, cutting the Chief Elder off and startling the council and all around.

“‘Who said that?’ asked the Chief Elder, standing up and searching the crowd. As the village folk looked around, Jim stepped out from behind and approached the council.

“The Elder pointed at Jim, ‘Was it you who spoke, young man?’

“‘Yes sir,’ replied Jim, trying to sound bold.

“The crowd immediately broke into a commotion as the Elder called for silence.

“‘Go on. Explain yourself,’ he ordered.

“Jim pointed to the Sage. ‘If you say that this tree is evil and should be brought down, prove it.’

“The Sage scowled and looked like he was about to blow his top.

“‘How dare this little imp doubt the gods!’ he yelled. ‘No man, especially not a boy, has any right to question the divine,’ he screamed pointing his staff at Jim and appearing enraged at the boy’s challenge.

“But as he spoke, he hesitated just a bit, and his eyes betrayed his intended display of rage by only a fraction of a second. Jim noticed the slight hesitation and recalled the Sage’s true intentions. Was it anger or was it fear of being exposed?

“‘Why?’ he quickly added.

“The crowd stood stunned at the boy’s defiance. Many couldn’t believe their eyes. Challenging the Elder council and now the Chief holy man of the hamlet was unheard of.

“‘Why should we not question with the very mind the divine has given us?’ asked Jim.

“The Sage looked around but did not respond. Instead, he raised his arms, closed his eyes, turned his head to the sky and started yelling out in tongues as if going into a trance and speaking to his gods. It was several minutes later that the Sage abruptly stopped.

“‘Can you prove that this place does not hide evil?’ he asked the little boy.

“Jim stood still for several moments. He said nothing. Then suddenly, he ran to the base of the Naynab tree, he looked up for a moment and then to everyone’s surprise, started to climb it. The village council and all around looked up in confusion.

“‘What are you doing? Boy!’ yelled out one of the Elders.

“‘Watch your step before you slip and fall!’ called out another.

“Jim paid no attention to the warnings. Jumping from branch to branch, he climbed onto the edge of a large limb. Crawling out farther, he began plucking leaves from above and put them in his shirt. A few minutes later he climbed down. As Jim rejoined the crowd, he put his hand into his shirt and pulled out the leaves. To everyone’s surprise, he started to distribute them to the people in the crowd, giving each person a single leaf. There were whispers and murmurs in the group, and many people did not know how to react.

“‘What’s going on? What’s this boy up to?’ they asked.

“Finally, Jim walked up to the Sage and offered him a leaf. The Sage stepped back and refused to take it.

“‘What’s the matter?’ Jim asked the Sage, looking him in the eye. ‘Don’t you want me to prove that there is no evil here? Or are you afraid that you will be proven wrong?’ he challenged the man openly.

“Looking around, the Sage realized that all eyes were on him. Always chewing his tobacco, he nervously pushed the bulge inside his cheek further behind with his tongue — a dreadful habit — and grinned reluctantly, showing off his ugly teeth and with no choice, took the leaf that he was offered.

“Jim then stood up on a chair, turned to the crowd and called out, ‘Each of you has been given a leaf. I will prove to you that there is no evil here, but you will need to keep that leaf safe. Go back to your homes and return at dusk to this very spot.’

“There was a burst of commotion in the crowd.

“‘What are you trying to prove young boy,’ cried out one man.

“‘Are you trying to trick us?’ yelled out another.

“‘No, I am not,’ answered Jim, boldly.

“‘When we’re back here, we will wait at the base of this tree, all night if needed, and we will witness the things this man here says will happen. And, as this man claims, being the Night of the Furana, you should see a lot happen. But have no fear because you will be safe, as long as you have that leaf with you.’

“A commotion erupted.

“‘But what if the spirits take over us? Who will save us then?’ a man called out.

“‘If you’re afraid, you don't have to come tonight, but then you will never know if what you’ve been told is true or not,’ Jim replied, confidently.

“‘Don’t listen to him,’ the Sage jumped in. ‘He is trying to trick you. He is trying to trick us all!’

“‘So, what's my plan?’ asked the boy, calmly.

“‘You are trying to get people here so that their minds and bodies can be taken over by the beasts in this tree,’ screamed the Sage.

“‘But you, the mighty Sage, will be here to save us. Won’t you, sir?’ asked Jim.

“The Sage did not respond.

“‘Or are you afraid of a challenge from a little boy?’ taunted Jim.

“With no choice but to accept the challenge of a boy or face public humiliation, the Sage reluctantly agreed, as the council gave the boy permission to go ahead with making his case.

 

— CHAPTER SIX —

 

The Night of the Furana

 

“THAT NIGHT, THE village folk came to the tree. Reluctant to show up, the Sage also came along with members of the council. Jim made sure that everyone had a leaf in their hand and asked them to wait by the tree all night. While many of those fearful of dire consequences did not go at all, most went out of curiosity.

“The night was cold and chilly, but the sky was clear. The people waited, with leaf in hand, to see what would happen.

“They waited…

“… and waited…

“… and waited…

“… and nothing did happen.

“Dawn came, and with the first rays of a new day, the Sage was nowhere to be found. The boy stood up and called out to the gathering around the tree.

“One of the villagers yelled out, ‘It's true, what the boy said. The leaves have kept us safe. It’s true!’

“‘Yes, it did,’ called out another, as the village cheered in unison.

“The boy stood up on the bench and called for silence.

“‘It’s not the leaf that kept you safe,’ he said. ‘It's you!’

“The people looked confused.

“‘The leaves had nothing to do with the peace and quiet last night. I only gave it to you to make you feel protected, when in fact, there was nothing to harm you in the first place.’

“‘This tree, just like all other trees, is perfectly safe to be around. There is no evil that’s out to get you, here,’ Jim explained.

“The people understood.

“‘This tree has been around for generations before we came and needs to be protected. The Sage, on the other hand, is in cahoots with thugs from the city who want to clear out this area and build a highway through here, and he’s in it for the money!’

“‘We can’t let that happen,’ yelled a person from the crowd.

“‘Yes, we very well cannot,’ said the Chief Elder.

“And they did not.

“A few days later the village council announced they would not grant permission to have the tree taken down. They praised the boy, and he was hailed as a hero, while the Sage was banished from the village. As for the tree, the council soon announced a play park to be built around it. The tree continued to be Jim’s favorite place to hang around.

 

 

 

“Now that the council had made their decision to save the tree and the transgressions of the Sage had come to light, it seemed like all would return to normal. Or so everyone thought — including our young hero. However, there was one person who didn’t quite see it the same way. That person was the Sage himself.

“You see, the day after the phony Night of the Furana, Gundu, and Dulard — the two goons contracted to take down the tree under cover of darkness — sought the Sage out and demanded they be paid their money for the trouble and trauma they went through. Though it was not clear if the Sage paid them anything at all, what was clear is they recounted their story to him. They told him what they saw when he was away. The parts he missed: their ill-fated attempt to saw the tree in half, the red blood-like ooze, the menacing shadows and the ghosts in the tree. The revelation left the Sage unsettled. It was then he started to question if there was a connection between the boy — and the tree.

“Days passed. The deal with the crooked businessmen from the city had long fallen through. However, the Sage had worked an entire village into making him their wise man, for a long, long time. If there was anything noteworthy in this crooked, twisted character, it was that he seldom gave in.  That’s not how he made his fortunes. And banished, though he was, he did make his fortunes. Though for years, this shrewd man showed himself as a person of prudence and the divine, he half-believed the things he preached and was ever more concerned with the material world. Even more than most regular people.

“So, the Sage remained in hiding in the back alleys of the village seething in wrath and consumed with contempt for the boy and the tree that made him lose so much. He decided to find out what the story was and get his revenge.

“He went to the tree, concealed himself in the foliage nearby, and waited. He didn’t have to wait too long as he soon spotted our lad come by and spend his hours on the tree. The Sage himself spent the next several days crouched in the thicket, hiding, spying and trying to come upon anything out of the ordinary. But, nothing happened. He finally resigned and decided it was all a waste of time. He was going to have to be more direct.

“The Sage came back the next day ready to take his revenge. And he was going to have his revenge, for this time he came armed, with a machine. It was a new invention that had made its way to the local markets at the time, and a most disturbing device it was. They called it the Chainsaw, and it wasn’t like any of the old, ridiculously bulky, out-of-shape-new-but-broken-in-two-day ones at all. It was the sleek, new reliable type with a powerful motor that cranked tremendous speed. It was swift and steady, and it was the most dangerous type of them all — the portable type. The kind that could be put to use by anyone, at any time, to bring even the largest, strongest or oldest tree down, one piece at a time. And it fit into an ordinary canvas holdall.

“The Sage spent close to three hours waiting for Jim to leave the scene that day. As soon as the lad did, he crawled out of the bushes and awkwardly made his way up the tree after several attempts of slipping and sliding and stretching really hard to find handholds and footholds and what not for he was not used to it. He had never climbed a tree before, you see. He never had to. Not in his line of work. But he finally managed to get onto one of the largest branches on the great old Naynab tree, and stood up, machine in hand.

“He looked around and saw the tree fan out high above him in all directions in the early evening sun, and scowled thinking about the trouble this tree had brought him. The branches and leaves rustled pitifully in the light, afternoon breeze. There was nothing more ordinary about the calm and quietness of this wretched dump of a place. And he hated it.

“‘What is it with the boy and this tree? And what were those two nitwits so afraid of?’ the Sage gave the tree a death stare as he talked to himself. ‘There’s only one way to find out,’ he grinned. He was banished from the village, but he was going to make it worth the trouble, by any means necessary.

“Bending over, he put the machine down next to his foot and yanked on the starter rope. After several pulls, the loud rumble of the machine cut through the silence of the place causing havoc among the hundreds of birds and critters who cleared out the area. The Sage looked around and smirked as he squeezed the trigger sending the toothed chainsaw into high gear. Lifting the running blade, he brought it towards a tree limb beside him.

“A rotten smile flashed from ear to ear as he hissed, ‘Finally, I’m going to have my —’

“And then it happened.

“SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!

“A horrendously loud cry sounded as something large fluttered above him and startled the Sage so badly he ducked, flailing his arms wildly to stay upright. In the process, he let go of his now-coughing machine, sending it crashing down fifteen or twenty feet below where it smashed into pieces.

“Hands now free, the Sage managed to regain his balance but remained crouched. He slowly raised his head to see a dazzling white-feathered owl hover above him and land on the tree. It twisted its head, glared at the sage with its large, black, piercing eyes and flapped its massive wings fiercely as it gave out another blood-curdling cry.  Within an instant and out of nowhere appeared several more giant, white-feathered birds. They landed on the branches of the tree to surround the Sage above him beating their wings and snapping their beaks.

“‘OOOO-K. OOOOOO-K. Calm down, birdies. I wasn’t going… to do yyy-you any hh-harm,’ the man spluttered, changing his tune.

“Now, the wind began to howl just as it did nights before. It sounded like a hundred howling wolves had congregated at the spot, kicking up dust, dried leaves, and twigs, swirling around the Naynab tree at breakneck speed with the branches and leaves and the tree itself swaying wildly. It seemed like Mother Nature herself had come to defend the tree.

“The Sage did not dare move. Malice now gave way to fear and guilt-ridden terror. Screeching, squawking and beating their wings in a loud commotion, one by one, the birds abruptly flew away.

“The Sage sighed in relief. But, his relief was short-lived, for in the commotion he heard a familiar rumble. As the birds beat away, they revealed a dark sky above — one that turned from day to night with swirling black clouds, thunder, and lightning that zapped inside it — a mouth of a dragon ready to strike in all its rage.

“Then, the man froze. The Sage looked around and rubbed his eyes. Every branch of the tree started to crack and bend as ghostly figures and faces began to take their shape all around him.

“The man stared in disbelief. Shaking, he forced himself to look around and now saw tens, maybe hundreds, of figures form in the foliage around him. He nervously pushed his long hair behind and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

“‘Ha-ha… looks like th-those nitwits were right about the Ghosts,’ he whimpered. ‘But th-th-this cannot be real,’ he began laughing hysterically, slapping himself. Was he losing his mind?

“A moment later, another deafening rumble erupted. This time below his feet, as the man felt the tremor of the earth under him. The Sage struggled to cling to the trunk as the whole tree now shook. With nowhere to run, he lost his footing and was thrown off balance, grappling to hang on. His fingers wrapped around the only branch at arm’s length. But as he leaned his weight on it, the branch snapped, and the Sage keeled over backward, screaming.

“The man stared in wide-eyed terror at the ghosts looming above him as he fell and plunged downward. Expecting to hit the ground in a painful thud, the Sage cringed in anticipation. But, the thud didn’t come as he realized he was still falling and falling and falling for far too long, as if falling into a deep chasm. Time itself seemed to slow down with the tree and sky above turning to a speedy blur, zooming away from him. The man suddenly stopped screaming when he unexpectedly found himself lying on his back on the ground, waving his hands and legs wildly. Bewildered, he stopped.

“Then, with creaks and cracks, the branches and leaves of the giant Naynab began to move again — this time in concert. Their shifting stopped when the ends of every leaf, twig, and branch of the Naynab pointed menacingly at the man on the ground as if passing judgment on him. It was a terrifying sight that showed how powerless and small the man really was.

“‘YOU FOOLISH MAN,’ a booming chorus echoed.

“‘Wh-Who said that?’ the man shivered.   

“‘MORTIMER SLYLOUGH, YOU LISTEN NOW AND LISTEN GOOD. THIS WORLD IS FOR EVERYONE, BUT THIS HOME IS OURS, AND YOU HAVE MADE YOURSELF BUT A PARASITE. LEAVE THIS PLACE AND NEVER RETURN!’

“At that very instant, a bolt of lightning zapped out from the stormy clouds above and struck the top of one of the taller trees around the clearing, snapping a significant portion of it as it hit the ground crashing in a rage of fire and sparks.

“Scared out of his wits, the Sage slowly got to his feet. Holding up the broken tree branch and hoping to put some distance between him and his aggressors, he backed away making for the woods, this time never to return.

“As he ran away, Jim poked his head out from a bush around the clearing and waved at his friends in the tree. After the phony Night of the Furana, he wondered if the Sage would be back. Sure enough, with help, he had spotted the man spying on him that day.

“All at once the rumbling stopped, the sky cleared out, the ghosts began to melt into the foliage with the ruckus dying out as quickly as it had begun. Everything turned to normal as if nothing had ever happened.

“Meanwhile, their plan had worked. The giant Naynab — home to the ghosts — remained standing, and the Sage, well, he left the village, this time for good and was never heard from again.

 

— CHAPTER SEVEN —

 

Home

 

ODDY LOOKED UP from the journal, blinked his eyes, and watched his Grandpa stand up and go to the window. His mind was so immersed in the tale, he had hoped there’d be more.

The storm had settled down by now. The dim yellow glow of the nightlight at the base of the bed meant that the power supply was back up, but the boy remained still in the moody glare of the emergency lamp that still cast deep and long shadows across the walls. The clock on the nightstand indicated that it was almost midnight. Oddy remained in silence for several moments and did not move. Then he looked down at the open journal and found story notes his Grandpa had written.  

“That was a great story,” the lad grinned, finally.

“It’s been a while since I’ve told that one. I’m glad you liked it,” said Grandpa.

Oddy’s expression changed as he slumped down into bed. “I wish it wasn’t over, though,” he sighed. The worry of telling his Mum about school and the dread of Monday came rushing back to him. Oddy squinted and saw his Grandpa draw closer.

“Young man, let me ask you a question,’ said Grandpa. “If there’s anything to learn from this story, what would it be?”

Oddy glanced at the journal. His eyebrows furrowed. Looking out into space, his dark brown pupils dilated and he quietly thought for several moments.

“Help your friends?” he said, slowly.

Grandpa nodded, as if nudging him to go on.

“Well, Jim helped his friends in the tree,” Oddy went on, thoughtfully. “They needed his help and he stood up for them. He was young, almost my age. And like me, he was uncomfortable around people, struggled in school, and everyone made fun of him. But he knew he had to help his friends, even if they were ghosts. And he knew he had to save the tree. So, he did what was needed to stand up against evil, not worrying about the consequences,” Oddy’s eyes twinkled.

Oddy saw his Grandpa smile and nod, and he knew that there was more to learn here.

“All the people in the world — we’re all the same,” his Grandpa said. “On the outside, we seem different, poles apart, most would say. But have the wisdom to look on the inside and you’ll find we’re more alike than we know. We all want the same things. We’re all looking for the feelings of happiness, belonging, and more. We also feel the same anxieties and fears, and we all have our challenges. But we don’t feel the same things all at the same time. And we don’t choose the same ways to get to what we think will bring us happiness or what we think will avoid pain. We then act accordingly. That’s where we have our differences, on the outside. And there’s another one. We all don’t think of ourselves in the same way, and Jim was no different from the rest. He kept to himself most of the time. He lived in his own world and did the things he liked and stayed away from things he didn’t or things he thought he feared — like talking to people, for instance. But it pays to remember that in times of trouble, it’s what you do on the outside that shows who you really are on the inside. Jim’s moment of truth came when he stood there in the crowd wondering what to do. If there’s one thing anyone can learn, it is to learn. Change becomes nothing but an inevitable small step when you have great feeling for the outcome it will bring. Realize that. Nurture it. Standing in the crowd, knowing the injustice that was about to happen and knowing he had to save the home of his friends, Jim learned that he had to… change. He had to find a way and do what was right, in spite of his fears. At the very least, he knew he had to try.”

“Then the question is — what if Jim tried and failed?” Grandpa continued. “It would have made him the laughing stock of the entire village. He would have been humiliated. That was Jim’s biggest fear, standing in the crowd. But in that moment, he discovered another question — an even bigger one — what if he didn’t try? What if he did nothing? Was he ready to see the home of his friends be taken away? Was he ready to see each and everyone in the village be cheated into false belief? And he knew the answer. You see, you cannot get rid of fear. We all feel fear. But we need to learn how to use it to our advantage and know when it’s stopping us from doing what we want to — what we need to do to keep moving forward. Jim learned how to use his fear. And it was easy. Jim took the fear of failing, the fear of ridicule and the fear of standing up, and just put it in the right place, turning it into the fear of not acting and what its consequences would be, for him, his friends and everyone else. And he knew what to do,” said Grandpa. Behind his thick, white beard and bushy eyebrows, Grandpa wore a kind smile.

Oddy frowned.

“Do I tell Mum and Dad about school, tomorrow?” asked Oddy.

Grandpa peered intently at the boy. “Young man, something tells me you already know the answer to that. But you can worry about that —”

“— Oddy!” interrupted Mum.

Oddy looked up, startled.

Mum stood at the door as the bright light from the passage behind her streamed into the room. She had one hand on the doorknob, another hand on her hip, and a worried expression on her face as she looked around.

“Why aren’t you sleeping? Who are you talking to?” she asked.

Oddy looked at her perplexed for a moment.

“No, I was just reading out loud,” he muttered, hesitantly. “How long have you… err… been standing there?”

Mum looked around the room again. Except for the emergency lamp, the lights were out, and Oddy was alone.

She sighed. “You were talking to yourself again, weren’t you?” she asked warily.

Oddy’s face turned guilty. The thought of hiding the journal he had been reading flashed through his mind. But it was too late. Mum had already seen it. She entered the room, sat down on the empty stool next to the bed, and looked at the book in the boy’s hands.

“That’s Grandpa’s, isn’t it?”

Oddy stared at her.

“You found it in the attic?”

Oddy nodded slowly.

Mum’s worried look slowly faded as she forced herself to smile and change the topic.

“Grandpa used to write stories. Never read any of them, myself. He was always possessive about his diaries,” she said, trying to ease the boy and not worry him too much.

Oddy’s habit of talking to himself started when he was three, like most kids, but with Oddy, it stayed and in fact grew over the years. She was worried that it would get out of hand and that maybe was a sign of deeper issues. She often found the boy having in-depth conversations, some even heated, with imaginary friends and Oddy even responding to them. She took the boy to counseling sessions but stopped after the psychiatrist told her it was normal and that there was nothing to worry about, as it does stop with most kids growing up.

And it did, for a while, until now. She felt a worry creep up, but she thought Oddy looked tense and she didn’t want to upset him unnecessarily.

Oddy, on the other hand, was not tense. On the contrary, he was excited because he remembered something. But he didn’t want to let Mum onto too much.

“I miss Grandpa,” Oddy said, sincerely.

“I know,” Mum hugged the boy. “I miss him too. It’s been seven months since he passed —”

“— Grandpa did not pass away!” Oddy cut her off, flatly.

“OK… OK. It’s been seven months since he went missing in the woods. But the authorities did everything they could,” Mum sighed and took Oddy’s hand. “We have to move on. And, you know something? Grandpa would have wanted us to. He would have wanted you to move on. Especially, you. And you know what’s more? Grandpa’s always going to be with us, in our hearts and in our memories.”

“And in his stories,” Oddy added, looking at the journal on his lap.

There was a time when Grandpa did live with Oddy and his family. He moved away and would often visit and spend time with his grandson, reading books and telling him stories. Oddy missed those times, but now finding Grandpa’s journal and going through his writings, brought some of those good memories back.

Mum smiled. “That’s right. Now, I hope you go to bed. You can get back to reading tomorrow. I see you’ve got many more pages to go,” she added, removing the apron around her neck as she got up to leave the room.

Before she reached the door, Oddy called out to her again.

“Mum… I have something to tell you,” he said, preparing himself mentally for what would come next.

Mum turned and patiently listened as Oddy told her about the note to meet the school principal on Monday. To his surprise, she smiled and kissed him on his head.

“I’m happy with your honesty.”

“So, you’re not mad?” Oddy asked, baffled.

“No, I’m not, Oddy. But we’ll talk about it in the morning. OK? Now you sleep tight,” said Mum, as she made her way to the door.

“What was Grandpa’s full name?” Oddy asked.

“Why?”

“I should know. Don’t you think?”

Mum grinned.

“My father — your grandfather’s name was Jayrus Rhurhasyer,” she added, turned to leave and then stopped. “But I remember he always called himself Jim.”

“Jim?” Oddy asked curiously, his eye lighting up.

“He never liked his own name — Jayrus. He once joked that he thought the color of his name didn’t go with his favorite in real life — green,” Mum laughed. “And I think all of his friends made a lot of fun of him too,” she winked.

“Good night, mother,” Oddy called out, faking a yawn.

“Good night, dear,” Mum replied, leaving the room and closing the door behind her.

As soon as Mum left, Oddy pulled the journal open again and stared at the neat cursive handwriting that filled the yellow pages. There were several more pages of writings and notes left and he’d need more time to go through them all.

“Yes, I talk to myself… but only sometimes,” Oddy said to himself, proudly. He always knew he did, but besides other people telling him that it was a problem and the constant bullying it attracted at school and elsewhere, Oddy didn’t stress about it. Especially, not at this moment. Right now, his mind was racing. There were other things that called for more urgent attention.

Grandpa was an avid traveler who frequently went on fishing trips and treks into the wild. He always brought with him souvenirs and stories — fascinating tales but not as fantastic as the one Oddy had just read.

Then a noise outside drew Oddy’s attention to the window. He threw a side-glance in the direction and spotted nothing so he didn’t think much of it and returned his attention to the journal. He examined it more closely, browsing through the pages he just read and reflected for a moment. Then, he looked up just in time to spot a small twig hit the glass pane. He put the journal down, jumped out of bed, bolted to the window and pushed the pane open.

The storm had settled down by now, and the sky had cleared up. The night turned out to be a bright one with the moon high up as thousands of stars dotted the sky. The view from Oddy’s bedroom window was one of peace and quiet. Oddy looked over Park Street and the houses that lined it, the parallel parked cars and the play park around the great big tree outside. Oddy remembered that the large tree opposite his house — the house his Grandpa had built years ago — was indeed very, very large. He scanned the tree and spotted a big kidney shaped growth on the side of its trunk. It dawned on him.

This was the great, big Naynab tree from Grandpa’s story!

Oddy anxiously searched the tree, its dense, leafy foliage and long, spindly network of branches that made up its canopy. He never had paid any attention to the park or the tree before. He always thought parks were for kids. He was one, long ago, but he liked to think otherwise now. More thoughts came to him. The town he lived in was called New Town. Then he vaguely remembered a conversation that happened a while ago. Oddy was getting a haircut when he overheard one of the barbers, Old Man Harris, having a conversation with another older man, reminiscing about the past, about a time when they were young boys. At one point one of them said, “I miss the good old days in the good Old Village.” At the time, it didn’t strike Oddy, but he remembered that New Town was called the Old Village decades ago.

“Also, no highways pass through our town, but there’s one that goes around it. Did this really happen?” Oddy shouted in excitement, peering through the window. “I don’t believe it!”

The leaves rustled in the light, after-storm breeze, and the branches of the Naynab tree swayed to and fro. And as they did, he searched the foliage.

“Hello!” Oddy called out to the tree.

Nothing happened.

“I know you’re there,” he called out again. “I know you were friends of my grandfather. Show yourself.”

Everything was as it was, as several minutes went by. The air went still and the moon slowly became obscured behind a large mass of cloud that crawled over it. Dejected, Oddy almost gave up.

“Pssst,” a soft sound startled him in the night.

Excitement rekindled, the boy studied the foliage again and opened his mouth to call out when he heard another sound.

“Psssssst, over here, young man,” came the distinct sound of a girl.

Oddy felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and a creeping chill run down his spine.

The Naynab had a large canopy, and a few branches and leaves on the far edge of the tree’s crown reached out toward Oddy’s bedroom window.

At first, Oddy thought the wind had picked up, but in seconds he realized that three or four solitary branches within a scanty growth of leaves began to sway more than the others. Then, they began to twist, and when the leaves and branches came into form, a small face with two eyes and a smile appeared.

Oddy gasped at what he saw and frantically rubbed his eyes. It took him all of seven milliseconds to come to the profound realization that his Grandpa’s story was no story at all. It was real. It was an incredible reality.

Oddy gulped, and his worry of Monday disappeared like a drop of water on a searing hot pan. Things were never going to be the same for him again.

And neither was he.

 

— Epilogue —

 

“It’s been six days since we witnessed the specter in the trees, but it seemed like more than a detached apparition inhabiting the trees. It was as if the trees were specters themselves. And not just a few, but an entire forest of strange black growths, inverted in appearance, their twisting limbs reaching upward as if seeking to grasp the stars themselves. Four out of the seven men who were brave enough to travel with me have since mysteriously taken ill and have been left behind to return home.

Will we ever find the Kingdom of The Arudites? I now question the wisdom of carrying on when all we know about this land is from the ancient writings on tattered, half-faded scrolls and the ramblings of a drunken traveler.

It is immensely difficult to bear in mind the eagerness with which we began our journey. And even more difficult to believe that any good for our people can come out of this. As we carry on, the remaining men are at their wits’ end. And with great distress, I must admit, as am I.”

 

Rem Namdliv,

Winter, 1806

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Shadows, Trees

& Odd Mysteries

 

 

The Ghosts in the Trees

 

 

 

 

 

Written by Malcolm Fernandes

 

WWW.MALCOLMFERNANDESBOOKS.COM