Twisted Tale: Bloody Boughs

Bloody Boughs

Old Bear stirred from his sleep, cocking one drooping ear toward the sound that dared stir him from his slumber. He waited patiently in the silence of the early morning hour, not yet bothering to lift his head from the warm comfort of his bed by the woodstove. As his name would suggest, Old Bear was getting on in years, and did not want to bother getting out of bed for a squirrel or a rabbit unless they decided to poke around in the seeds.

The old dog kept time by the sound of his human snoring softly in the next room. He counted to ten and, when he did not hear the rustling again, he relaxed and set to falling back to sleep.

There was a time – when Bear was not so old – when he would have gone to the window to investigate almost every noise that woke him in the night. After all, his job was to help take care of his human, Charley, and by extension the nursery.

He’d been a pup then, or at least that was how it seemed these days, and so bursting full of energy. Nowadays the fur on his wide muzzle contained as much grey as it did black, and in recent months his eyesight was beginning to fail him.

It was just the two of them – Old Bear and Charley – living in the nursery of the tiny cabin on the outskirts of town. In the spring they planted flowers, which other humans would come throughout the summer to buy, and in the winter, they sold Christmas trees of all shapes and sizes.

There had once been three of them – Old Bear, Charley, and May – but that was a long time ago. Old Bear missed May, who had always been quick to scratch that favourite spot behind his ear. From time to time, Old Bear would stare longingly at the reclining chair – one of a matching pair – where May once sat and read books by the woodstove. Old Bear’s bed was placed conveniently within arm’s reach for convenient affection.

Charley missed May too; Old Bear could tell. Some of the spark died out of him when May was gone. These days he walked slower, talked slower, and his once dark brown hair turned almost completely grey. He still managed to run the nursery all by himself, but now he did so with a pronounced slouch to his shoulders. No, Charley was just not the same man without May, but with Old Bear to keep him company he managed to get through his troubles day by day.

Nestled safely in his plush dog bed, Old Bear dozed on the edge of sleep, at least until he heard the sound again. This time it was not a mildly suspicious rustling outside the cabin, which could have easily been a rabbit or a squirrel. There was no way something that small could make the racket that caused Old Bear to bolt upright in surprise.

Perhaps this time the noise warranted further investigation. With a groan, Old Bear rose from the warm sanctuary of his dog bed, and padded over to the big bay window which faces out toward the nursery, where row upon row of coniferous evergreen trees grew.

At his full height, it was easy to see Bear’s resemblance to his namesake. His wide head, covered in coarse brown fur, easily came hip height to a full-grown man, and he moved with the slow ponderous gait of an apex predator only just emerging from hibernation. First time visitors to the nursery sometimes found Old Bear’s size intimidating, but Charley always joked that the dog must be part rug, since he spent most of his day sleeping.

The ledge of the windowsill was low enough that Old Bear didn’t have to lift his head to peer outside through the glass. He squinted, trying to make out shapes in the darkness. Twin porch lights on either side of the front door illuminated the porch, and a few yards beyond where this year’s stock of trees were planted. In recent years Old Bear’s eyesight had begun to fail him, so he couldn’t make out much beyond the first or second evenly spaced rows of evergreens. On such an overcast night, when the moon was completely obscured by a thick layer of clouds, the halo of light beyond the porch abruptly fell off into darkness.

Old Bear could just make out a stand of trees where the branches swayed, sending clumps of pine needles and freshly fallen snow in all directions. Beyond the flurry of movement, a shadow bolted from the cover of the trees, and disappeared into the night before Old Bear could make out much more than a vague shape.

Whatever lurking outside in the dark was like nothing the old dog had ever encountered before. He’d scared off the odd scavenger, even a cayote on occasion, but none of them were big enough to disturb the tops of Christmas trees six or seven feet tall.

Old Bear lowered his head, raised his hackles, and growled. It was a low throaty sound which reverberated deep within his barrel chest.

Outside a branch snapped, sharp and quick, sounding like a gunshot in the otherwise silent night. Oddly enough, Old Bear didn’t see a single animal bolt from cover. Not a single rabbit, or even a bird, was startled by the sound because they’d already sensed the danger and fled for their lives. They all had the good sense to steer clear of whatever monstrously enormous thing was shaking trees and snapping branches as it trudged through the snow.

Old Bear, on the other hand, did not have that luxury. It was his responsibility to watch over his home, so he could not simply run away.

Stepping back from the window, he filled his massive lungs, and let out a single warning bark. He did not bark often, he was not one of those yappy lap dogs, but when he did, everyone around him took notice.

The snoring from the bedroom stopped with a surprised snort; Charley was awake. There was no need to bark a second time. Old Bear knew that Charley would be groping around in the dark for his slippers and house coat. When Old Bear spoke, Charley knew better than to ignore the warning.

Charley emerged from the bedroom, groggy and bleary eyed, mumbling, “What is all the fuss about, boy? Racoon get into the seeds again?”

Old Bear blew air out his nose in a huff in response.

Right on cue, a second deafening crack, far louder than the first, caused them both to jump. This time, they knew, it was too loud to be a branch. Old Bear had only heard a sound like that once before in his life, and that had been when a storm had felled the old oak tree out behind the house. That kind of thunderous noise could only have come from the splintering of a mature tree trunk.

Charley wasted no time gathering his coat, a lantern, and his trusty .22 caliber hunting rifle from the cabinet. The old gun was dusty, and hadn’t seen much use since Charley gave up his early deer hunting trips, but the weight still felt familiar in Charley’s aged hands.

Whatever manner of beast was out there in the dark ruining their trees was about to get a nasty little surprise.

Wrapped snuggly in his heavy brown work jacket, Charley flung open the front door, letting Old Bear take the lead.

“Go sniff it out, boy,” Charley urged his furry companion. “Go get it.”

Old Bear loped across the porch, jumping easily over the three short steps leading up to the traditional wrap-around porch. His muscles and joints protested only a little – it had been some time since Old Bear had put his body through its paces – but he did not break stride as he plowed through the foot of fresh powder.

Charley lagged behind, cursing loudly about the cold and the snow. The light of the lantern careened back and forth with each laborious step he took through the soft snow.

Old Bear did not wait for his human companion. He would catch up once he reached the shelter of the trees, which created a natural windbreak, and protected the ground between the rows from the worst of the snow. By then, Old Bear would have sniffed out the intruder, and hopefully be able to keep it from causing any more damage to the trees.

The cool winter breeze changed direction, bringing with it the scents of the countryside, and the citrusy aroma of pine boughs. Great barrel chest expanding, Old Bear breathed deep, searching for anything out of place, and found it. The scent was pungent and musky, like the rancid breath of an animal who feasted on carrion. The smell was not unfamiliar, most scavenging animals carried with them the odor of rancid meat, but never this strong. This stink was strong enough that even a human would be able to follow it with their pitifully dull senses.

Turning his nose toward the source of the stench, Old Bear soldiered forward, seeking out his quarry. The crashing through the trees seemed to have stopped, but the trail was far from cold.

As Old Bear pushed his way between the dropping pine branches, he emerged in a narrow row between the trees, wide enough for two grown men to walk side by side. The ground here had been swept almost completely free of snow, leaving a wide rut with high banks on either side, as though someone had come through with a broom to clear a path. Pine boughs up to six feet off the ground were snapped clean from the trunks of trees, littering the ground in a thick carpet of dark green, which looked pitch black by the dim light. What few branches were left hung only by splinters, swaying in the breeze, and leaking thin streams of sap like blood.

An entire stand of trees…ruined.

Lowering his nose to the ground, following the scent, though the trail was not difficult to follow. Whatever was skulking through the nursery was not concerned about hiding its tracks.

Behind him, Old Bear could hear Charley pushing through the first row of trees. The light of the lantern illuminated the trail of splintered wood and pine boughs. A moment later he heard a string of cursing. Bear couldn’t blame the man, each of the trees made up his livelihood. To see so many stripped of their branches was like a slap to the face.

Old Bear slowed his pursuit, allowing his master to close the gap between them a bit. The light of the lantern, and the thought of the hunting rifle, helped settle the growing sense of unease that the old dog was beginning to feel deep in his stomach.

The rancid odor only grew stronger as they followed the path of destruction farther away from the house. It was the kind of damp rot that they could taste on the backs of their throats. The potency of the smell sent Charley into a coughing fit. He tried covering his nose and mouth with the sleeve of his work jacket, but it didn’t seem to help.

Nothing smelled this bad, at least…nothing living. They had to be getting close.

Then the trail ended.

Old Bear stopped in his tracks, confused by what he was seeing. Before him was a high snow drift where the snow had been swept up and dropped like debris caught in the wake of a storm. The ground on his side of the drift was carpeted in a thick coat of needles and broken trees. On the opposite side of the drift was a blanket of pristine untouched powder.

The old hound swiveled its head back and forth in confusion, seeking out a sign of where to look next. His sense of smell was no longer of any use to him. The rancid stench was so pervasive, pressing in on all sides, that even his superior sense of smell could not pinpoint the direction it had gone.

The fur all down Old Bear’s back stood on end. He could feel the eyes of something watching him in the dark. This sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach was not something Old Bear was accustomed to feeling. Being a large breed of dog, wild animals, and even humans, were intimidated by his size. On the rare occasion when he felt the need to behave like the apex predator he was so distantly descended from, his opposition would usually back down without much of a fuss. The inflated sense of confidence fled like a yelping pup under the scrutiny of the unseen gaze in the dark.

A branch rustled, the movement was so subtle that it would have been easy to miss, even on such a still night. It could have just as easily been a breeze filtering through the boughs, if it weren’t for the fact that no other trees so much as stirred.

Cautiously, Old Bear stepped toward the tree, keeping his head low in a defensive posture. He growled deep in the back of his throat, trying to portray an air of confidence he did not feel.

Were more branches on one of the trees moving? It was difficult to tell in the dark, but Old Bear could swear that they were rising and falling in a slow rhythmic pattern; like shallow breathing.

Come to think of it, this particular tree seemed to be crowded in closer to its neighbors than any of the others. Each year, Charley would carefully till and measure out new rows of trees to be planted. Each sapling needed enough space around it on all sides, so it would grow healthy and even. This tree though, it was packed in tightly between its fellows, branches tangled and intertwined to create a wall…or a perfect place to hide.

A pair of eyes leered out from between the branches, their glistening surface catching the swaying light from Charley’s lantern as he struggled to catch up. Each one was as wide around as a teacup, and shot through with a million tiny red veins which disappeared into irises as black as hunks of coal. They followed Old Bear, unblinking and full of hunger.

Jumping back, Old Bear began to bark, bearing his teeth and snarling.

The sudden noise seemed to startle the thing. The tree which it had used as a hiding place shook, showering the ground with a fresh carpet of pine needles. With a shriek and a flurry, the pine boughs pulled away. It moved so quick that Old Bear yelped in surprise. One moment it was there, and in the next breath it was gone, tree and all, leaving behind a ragged gap and a trail of displaced snow.

Each tree in the row shook and bowed. Their trunks let out groans and cracks as some threatened to be uprooted from their beds. One after another, like a line of toppling dominoes, each evergreen shrank away at the passing of the thing in the night.

Part of Old Bear was relieved that the thing was running away, that is, until he realized that it was fleeing back the way it had come. Back towards Charley.

The LED lantern flipped into the air, creating twisted shadows like claws which crawled over the snow to try and snatch at Old Bear’s paws. The light turned once, twice, three times before the corner struck the ground. The bulb flickered for a heartbeat, and just like that, Charley was gone, along with the thing that had been pretending to be a tree.

The night was deathly quiet, and Old bear was alone. He lowered his head and whined, but there was no answer. Not even a scream. What is a dog to do when his master is gone and all that is left are a few drops of blood on broken pine boughs?

Author’s Notes:

I am not usually the type to write anything Christmas themed. It is no secret that I am a Halloween kind of girl. I challenged myself to write a horror story for the holidays, and oh boy was it tough for me. In the end, I decided on a story from the perspective of the pet left behind after the monster attacks, and I am happy with the result.

Also, don’t forget to check out my new Wattpad account where you can receive alters on all my new stories. Check it out!

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-Jessie T.