That Tree
The neighborhood kids always avoid that tree. For that tree has a bark that is as bad as its bite. Because it’s bark IS its bite.
Picture this:
July 2012 AD, hell.
The devil – Sate-man, as he likes to be called, to keep up with the times – is on the warpath. Hell is hot on any given day, but on this particular day in July, it’s extra hot, with zero chance of rain or even wind. Sate-man would just go above ground, but he’s got paperwork – it’s always the gotdamn paperwork, isn’t it?! – to sign so the demons can go about their business.
Fuckin’ ingrates, he thinks, can’t do a damn thing – and I mean that literally, a damn thing, hah! – without supervision. I tell fuckin’ Laziness to attach himself to Martha like red on Trump and Laziness says he needs an affidavit! An affidavit?! What the fuck?! What the hell – hell! - is this world coming to when a demon can’t even do its damn – damn, hah! – job without filing a form first?! Sheez!
So, Sate-man is slaving away under a pile of paperwork, when he soon feels parched. He rings for his butler, Alfredthazar, who enters and asks what his master would like. Sate-man says he needs some water – a lot of water – and he needs it NOW. Alfredthazar nods and says the demon-dogs have just returned with a few buckets of such liquid; would his wickedness like them to bring him some? Sate-man nods and Alfredthazar is off. Sate-man goes back to work.
An hour later, Sate-man realizes he hasn’t received his water. He rings for Alfredthazar, who enters and stands quietly.
“Do I really have to ask the question, old man? Where the fuck is my water? What happened to Cerebruston, Tripoly, and Spot?”
Alfredthazar clears his throat. “I’m s-sorry, your eminence. The dogs got detained and, well…”
“And?”
“They ended up drinking the water and had to go fetch more.” Alfredthazar was suddenly inordinately interested in the intricacies of the design on Sate-man’s floor, as he studied them intently.
“They WHAT?!”
“I…I…I’m sorry.” Alfredthazar was still scanning the floor, unable to look Sate-man in the face. “They ran into a cat and well…” he let the words trail off and prepared for a thrashing.
“They ran into a fucking CAT?! Send them in here as soon as they return and they better have the gotdamn water!”
“Yes, sir.” Alfredthazar moved faster than Sate-man thought possible for someone of his age and all was quiet again.
Fifteen minutes later, Cerebruston, Tripoly, and Spot came padding in. Sans water.
Irate, Sate-man started yelling at the trio, who cowered under his wrath. The leader, Tripoly, tried to interject with whining and intermittent growling, but Sate-man was not to be calmed. He continued ranting and raving and telling the poor canines what half-assed pooches they were. Demon dogs, indeed. “More like pussies!” he yelled.
Tantrum done, Sate-man handed down his verdict. “The three of you are now banned to a tree above-ground, inside of which you shall live for 1000 years.”
Cerebruston tried running, but Sate-man flicked his wrist and the dog was frozen in place. He continued, “You will be able to see the outside world, but no more interacting with it. No more pats on the head, no more treats, no more smiles flung in your direction.” He glared at each of the dogs, who bowed their heads, tails between their legs. “You will, however, be able to bark – bark, hah! - at young passersby – adults will not be able to see or hear you, all the more torture for you! - and, should they touch the tree, you’ll bite them, causing them to die and immediately be sent here...You might as well benefit me somehow during your banishment.”
And with that, the trio was banished to that tree.
At first, the children didn’t know anything was different about the tree, but then one day, young Timmy Witmore and his cousin, Chauncey Landers, were playing under the tree, when they suddenly heard barking.
“Timmy! It sounds like it’s coming from the tree!” the five-year-old redhead said. Chauncey ran his hand over a branch, then suddenly yelped. His hand was red and bleeding and swelling up. They ran for Chauncey’s home and told his parents what happened. They rushed him to the ER, but it was too late. Shortly thereafter, the boy died. His parents just thought he sliced his hand on a bark and got infected and that the dog barking was a coincidence. But Timmy knew better. As children do, he told all his friends. Some didn’t believe him and they had to investigate for themselves. Upon hearing the barking, they’d run away, frightened.
And so, the neighborhood kids always avoid that tree.