Roots

Most families like ours burrow into the ground and stay there forever. Sometimes the older ones will reach up into the sunlight but only if the ground allows it. Our family, on the other hand, is made to live both on the surface and underground. We can also move of our own fruition by the light of the moon.

We used to be a beautiful grove of pear trees. One an artist would paint in a perfect circle in the lower corner of a landscape. The sun would rise behind Us and cause the dew to glisten on the too-green grass. A red barn would sit across from Us, and a tiny farmer would make his way to harvest our fruit for a new batch of sweet pear jelly.

Now, the fruit We grow can no longer be called a pear. If you were to eat the discolored, swollen bulges hanging from our branches, it would at once be the most delicious, savory treat you’ve ever tasted, and the last thing you’d ever eat.

We are no longer a grove of beautiful pear trees. We live in the same field, but there is no grass. The barn across the way is now a wreckage — a pile of splinters waiting to rot and become one with the Earth. We stretch our fingers out of sodden red earth and reach all around us, searching for new family members in the night. There are hundreds of Us, but we always want more. No one visits Us anymore, and We’re starving.

But now, you are here.

You think We can’t hear you as you and your friends drink in the cornfield several yards away, but We can. We stretch far underground and can almost touch the old dirt road leading to Our home.

We’re hiding under dead grass, discarded husks, and inedible moldy kernels. We’re watching and waiting. For you, Billy.

We could grab you from here. We could reach out from the ground and drag all three of you home. But, where’s the fun in that? We prefer willing victims. Victims who think they’ve made it out alive.

“I dare you.” The girl says.

You shake your head. “No way!” You say.

“Double dog dare you.” She says now.

“What are we in preschool?” You ask. “I’m not going over there.”

“They’re just trees, Billy.” The boy says as he stumbles toward you and whispers in your ear, “They’re not gonna kill ya.”

“You guys know the stories!” You yell.

“Come on, Billy! Don't you want to impress Victoria here?” The boy now puts his arm around the girl.

She hits his arm. “Shut up, Sam!”

She sighs. “What did we come all the way out here for then? I’ll go.”

“No Victoria!” You yell, sounding a little too protective, We suspect.

“I’ll go,” You agree.

You trudge through the muddy and overgrown field, not knowing We are beneath you, feeling the vibrations with each step closer.

You reach Our trunks and branches and let out a deep sigh of relief. You think you’ve made it. You can’t tell that We’re slowly curving around your feet and ankles, not yet touching you…until the very last minute.

We tighten. Lashing Ourselves around your legs, torso, arms, and hugging you to the largest trunk— The Feeder.

You scream.

“Billy?!” The girl yells.

“Oh, he’s just playing around!” The boy says, unsure.

You slowly sink into the tree, struggling to get free, but We have your body completely in Our clutches. We slide Ourselves across your mouth so you can’t scream anymore.

The bark makes crackling noises as The Feeder absorbs you. Until only your face remains visible, and We slide away from your mouth, letting you have one more shout, before shoving Our rotting fruit into your gaping maw.

And you stop. You disappear. And You become one of Us.

We listen for the boy and girl, but they ran away after the last scream. That’s too bad, We could have used them.

With You, We just barely reach the road.