Evergreen

The snow fell in soft, silent waves as the Cooper family’s SUV wound its way up the mountain road. The destination: a remote cabin surrounded by a pristine evergreen forest. Jeff Cooper had booked the cabin for his wife, Diane, and their two kids, Emily and Sam, hoping to rekindle the family’s bond after a difficult year.

“It’s beautiful!” Diane said as they arrived. The cabin looked like something out of a postcard, its log exterior dusted with snow and framed by towering pines. The kids tumbled out of the car, their voices echoing through the still forest as they began a snowball fight.

Jeff smiled. This was exactly what they needed.

But the forest was silent—too silent. No birds, no rustling of animals, only the soft creak of the trees swaying in the wind. Diane noticed first. “It’s... so quiet,” she murmured.

“It’s peaceful,” Jeff countered, brushing off her unease. “That’s the whole point.”

The first sign of trouble came that evening. Sam, seven years old and full of mischief, had wandered into the woods to explore. When Jeff found him, the boy was standing stiffly in a clearing, staring at a massive evergreen tree. Its needles gleamed in the moonlight, and its bark seemed to ripple like breathing skin.

“Sam?” Jeff called, uneasy. The boy didn’t answer, his wide eyes fixed on the tree. When Jeff shook his shoulder, Sam blinked as if waking from a dream.

“Did you see them, Dad?” Sam whispered.

“See what?” Jeff asked.

“The eyes. The tree had eyes.”

Jeff laughed nervously and guided Sam back to the cabin, chalking it up to a child’s overactive imagination. But that night, as the family gathered by the fire, Sam stared out the window, his face pale.

“They’re watching,” he whispered.

The next day, the forest grew darker, though the sky was clear. Diane noticed the trees seemed closer to the cabin than before, their branches stretching like skeletal fingers. Emily, thirteen and skeptical, scoffed. “Mom, trees don’t move.”

But that night, the scraping began.

At first, it was faint, like nails dragging across wood. Diane woke Jeff, her heart pounding. “Something’s outside.”

Jeff grabbed a flashlight and stepped onto the porch, his breath visible in the icy air. The beam cut through the darkness, illuminating nothing but the towering evergreens. He exhaled in relief—until he saw the gouges in the cabin’s walls. Long, deep scratches, as if from claws.

He didn’t sleep that night.

On the third day, Emily screamed. The family rushed to her room, where she stood by the window, trembling. “It’s the trees,” she stammered. “They’re moving.”

Outside, the pines had closed in, their gnarled branches pressing against the glass. One tree stood apart from the others, its twisted trunk splitting into what looked disturbingly like a face—hollow eyes and a jagged, grinning mouth.

Jeff grabbed an axe and stormed outside, his frustration boiling over. “This is ridiculous!” he shouted, swinging the blade at the nearest tree. The axe struck the trunk with a sickening squelch, and black sap oozed from the wound, smelling of decay.

The ground trembled. The tree’s branches lashed out, wrapping around Jeff’s arm. He screamed as needles pierced his skin, drawing blood. Diane rushed out with a kitchen knife, hacking at the branches until they released him.

“Back inside!” she yelled, dragging Jeff into the cabin. He collapsed on the floor, clutching his bleeding arm.

As night fell, the trees surrounded the cabin completely, their shapes pressing against every window. The family huddled together, the fireplace casting flickering shadows on the walls.

“They’re not trees,” Sam whispered. “They’re alive. They want us.”

Diane tried to comfort him, but her own terror was barely contained. The scratching began again, louder this time, the sound of claws raking against the cabin. Then came the whispers—low, guttural voices in a language they didn’t understand.

The cabin shook as the largest tree, the one with the face, pressed its grotesque form against the front door. Its hollow eyes glowed, and its mouth opened wide, revealing rows of jagged, needle-like teeth.

“They need blood,” Emily realized, her voice trembling. “That’s why they’re here.”

Jeff, pale and weak from his injury, gritted his teeth. “We’re not giving them anything.”

But the trees had other plans.

Branches burst through the windows, shattering glass and showering the family in shards. The pines’ limbs snaked into the cabin, grabbing at the Coopers. Diane screamed as a branch coiled around her leg, dragging her toward the door. Jeff swung the axe wildly, cutting her free.

“Run!” he shouted.

The family fled to the attic, barricading the hatch behind them. Below, the trees invaded the cabin, their guttural growls shaking the walls. The Coopers clung to each other, their breaths visible in the freezing air.

Then the whispers grew louder, resolving into words. “Blood for spring,” the trees chanted. “Life for the forest.”

Jeff’s face darkened with realization. “They won’t stop unless they get what they want.”

“No!” Diane sobbed. “There has to be another way.”

But Jeff knew there wasn’t. His family’s survival depended on a sacrifice. Before anyone could stop him, he opened the hatch and climbed down.

“I’ll give you what you want,” he called, his voice shaking. “Just leave them alone.”

The trees paused, their branches retracting slightly. The largest tree loomed over Jeff, its jagged mouth widening. With one last glance at his family, Jeff stepped into its grasp.

The cabin grew silent.

When dawn broke, Diane, Emily, and Sam emerged to find the forest still and the cabin empty. Jeff was gone, but the trees had retreated, their menacing forms now motionless.

In the clearing where Jeff had last stood, a single sapling grew, its needles glistening with black sap.

The Coopers fled the cabin, never to return. But every winter, when the snow fell and the nights grew long, the forest whispered with hunger, waiting for its next visitors.

Waiting for more blood.