The Seven in the Trees

I was never good at stopping to smell the roses. My mother used to say that I should have been born a 30-year-old since even as a kid I was always on the go for the next big thing. I was a thrill-seeking goal-getter from the start, boring quickly of my accomplishments before racing off for the next shiny thing. It was the pursuits and the challenges that fed me. You could tell me there was a toenail that everyone wanted at the top of a mountain, and I’d leap for the chance to claim it if it meant being the first to do so. I always had a squad of friends because of how sociable my addiction for quests allowed me to be. They all described me as the “bright and fearless conqueror” that they aspired to be like and the “life of the party.”

Of course, none of that was particularly accurate. I hadn’t conquered any more than the average 25-year-old girl fresh out of college and, of course, no one was truly fearless. In fact, now that I had infinite time to reflect, it was probably peace and tranquility that I always feared the most, as strange as it sounds. It was like I was using my endless pursuits to drown out what existed in the still and silence. There had always been something about it that made me uneasy. Perhaps it was that strange loud hum that often accompanied the silence or the mystery that lived in the stillness that I didn’t like. Too many unanswerable questions resided there, and it was too expansive. I needed the comfort of the tangible lest I be left alone to discover that there was nothing special to find on the inside–which is what, “really counted.”

It was that unresolved angst that led me to Greyson that rainy night. It was less than two weeks before Thanksgiving, and both my roommates had traveled back home to visit with their families early. This left me alone in our apartment, much to my disappointment. I suffered through it for the first few days by binging on Netflix shows and exercising when I got off work, but those activities could only sustain me for so long. I’d decided before work was over on the third day that I would head over to The Barnyard–a local bar that my roommates and I frequented nearly every other week to either catch a band or exhaust ourselves with awful karaoke.

Although it wasn’t abnormal for me to go out on my own to do things like hike or watch a movie, this would be my first time going it alone in such a crowded place. I wasn’t intimidated in the least, however. I was so desperate to not be left alone to myself for a third night that not even the rain deterred me. I didn’t intend to make new friends or anything. I just wanted to grab a beer and kill most of the night with loud noise and distractions. In fact, when Greyson first approached me, I clenched my jaw and fought the urge to grumble. Why did women have to spurn advances everywhere they went? Why couldn’t we just sit on a park bench or bar without also having to answer to whether we wanted to commit to a complete stranger?

A double take would soften my resolve however, as Greyson wasn’t the typical–look at me, I’m a twenty-something-year-old fresh out of college and I’m a bar–kind of guy I’d instantly assumed him to be. It was his eyes that took hold of me first. I’d never seen such striking blue and green eyes in my life. They were so deep; it was almost like they were digitally enhanced. He had those long dark eyelashes that women would die for too, but even more remarkable was his perfectly blended salt and pepper hair. Yes, that’s right. He was a full-blown man, probably in his late 30s to early 40s rather than the fellow newbie, who was secretly too afraid to admit that they had no idea where to go from here. He was tall, with an athletically striking physique that would have merely said–jock–had he been a fellow newbie, but said–zaddy–instead in all the best ways.

One look at him and you knew instinctively that he was entirely aware of who he was and what he wanted, which was precisely what threw me off guard because here he was introducing himself to me. No, I wasn’t so low on confidence that I couldn’t believe someone as immaculate as him was giving me the time of day. I was just someone who had gotten so used to recurring environments and scenarios that I didn’t know how to react when someone flipped the script. It took practically the entire night for me to stop re-enacting cringey scenes of the never been kissed introvert even though I had never played that role before. Maybe that was what I enjoyed the most–the challenge of another exhilarating distraction.

I was almost positive that he wouldn’t call the next day since I hadn’t been my usual queen of swords self but, to my relief, he did! I couldn’t have been more excited. How refreshing it was to have met a guy who did exactly what they said they were going to do without leaving you to wait and wonder for days in a game to feed their own ego. We went hiking that day, followed by talking endlessly at a nearby bookstore that had a coffee shop inside. Our chemistry was like Pop Rocks, and I don’t care how juvenile that sounds because that was exactly what it felt like–a sweet, fun, and surprising experience. We had so much in common and still so many interesting things to share with each other that it was difficult to pull in the reins to save some mystery for another day. We had tears coming out of our eyes with how well we matched each other’s humor and don’t even get me started on that ever present sensual attraction.

We couldn’t help, but gush and swoon over how well we could get the other to gush and swoon and on and on the flirtatious game went–complete with rosy cheeks and biting lips. I was honestly shocked by how quickly the day had gone when I noticed the sun setting on my face. It did not surprise me when he asked if I wanted to get one more quick hike in before closing out the day. We were both enjoying each other’s company so much it was only natural that we wanted to squeeze every ounce out of the day. Not to mention with Thanksgiving fast approaching, we’d probably not get the chance to see each other again for a few days, so we wanted to make the most of it.

An all-around nature and health connoisseur, he knew all the best places to hike and drove us to a place where he said we could, “… watch the forest trees paint the best view of the sunset.” He surprised me yet again when we pulled up to his cabin in the woods. It was a beautiful and quaint cabin he said his grandfather had built for his grandmother, which was passed down to his mother, who passed it on to him. The surrounding woods were so lush with such lively trees and sounds that it was almost like stepping out into a fairytale scene. Since we were just stopping to grab a flashlight in case it got too dark on us, he promised he would bring me back another weekend to better enjoy the area.

Which is why I was a bit taken aback in the next moment when I found myself spurning his advance. Even though our chemistry made for endless flirtation, it had all been in good, non-physical taste. We had playful banter, but not even that had been sexual in any way. We had been enjoying getting to know each other without expectation and we surely liked each other enough to where there was definitely going to be additional dates–as he had just implied–so what was the rush?

I went from being a little taken aback to being utterly shocked at how drastically his demeanor changed. Not at any point could I have guessed that he could become so easily offended. He’d been such a charming and confident gentleman the entire time that I truly expected him to take my rejection in stride and understanding. Instead, he lost all respect for me and wanted nothing more to do with me after that night.

I had the hardest time getting over just how quickly and terribly things ended between us. It left me reeling every second of every day that followed, to where I was nearly entirely absent all throughout the holidays. I just couldn't get over how he could have gotten so upset as to forfeit our entire connection. I know with how short-lived we were that I should have just let it go, but I became completely restless and obsessive over the incident. I just couldn’t move forward without making sense of it all and needed closure.

So, as dramatic as it may sound, I returned to the cabin. Yes, maybe in doing so I was truly inhabiting how much of a newbie I truly was, but I didn’t care. I had never been one to shy away or hold my tongue, so if nothing else, I was going to remain true to that part of myself and confront him in person.

In true stalker fashion, I waited and waited for him to show up like I knew he eventually would. Greyson was a creature of habit, after all. He’d told me so himself when we had been on our way to the cabin. He visited it at least once a week to check up on things and to unwind. The wait should have driven me mad with my chronic impatience, but for once, I found the stillness to be the most enlightening and transformative experience I ever had. There had been so many things I’d missed the first time I was there that it was all I could do but sit in the full weight of that disappointment. I’d mistaken the hush in the air when we first arrived as being an aspect of the beautiful natural serenity of the forest, when really it was an attempt to heighten their calls from the trees. Calls that I thought were nearby birds simply communicating with each other, but were actually warning hisses from a group of barn owls in the trees. They’d hissed the entire time we were there, never relenting until we both left.

I should have paid better attention. I should have at least acknowledged their existence, but I’d never been one to fancy smelling roses. If nothing else came out of this, I would at least ensure that each of them knew I was forever grateful to them for wanting to protect me without ever having met me. I could at least stand with them in unity this time.

When I heard his car pulling up, I dashed out of sight and into the woods. I didn’t want him to see me just yet. I didn’t want to chance scaring him off and missing my opportunity to confront him. I knew by now that he wasn’t the type of man to take confronting his own faults well, so I’d need to make it count.

I must admit, I became even more pissed off when I saw her get out of the car. She was beautiful, even more so than me, and together they looked like a picture out of a magazine. He really just said to hell with me and went on to the next girl like I hadn’t even mattered. Not only that, but he looked to have taken her on the same date he’d taken me on. As they got out of the car, I could see she was carrying a coffee cup with the same logo as the coffee shop he’d taken me to, and they were even wearing hiking clothes.

I was livid. Heartbroken and painfully regretful, sure – but also boiling hot livid. When the owls hissed from the trees as they had to me before, I joined them, just as I promised I would. I wouldn’t allow their existence to be ignored and forgotten the way Greyson wanted. Most of all, I wouldn’t allow him to continue his actions without consequence.

The new girl he was with was at least a bit more aware of her surroundings than I had been, as she instantly shrank back once we began hissing. I heard Greyson assure her we were nothing to be afraid of before attempting to coerce her up the patio steps. Still, she hesitated, asking him what they were doing there, anyway. Just like the creature of habit he was, he’d left out the part where he was going to stop by his grandparents’ cabin to grab a flashlight in case they needed it. Right on cue, he fed her that explanation word for word and extended a gentleman-like hand to help her up the steps. It was truly like watching our date on rewind.

As she placed her hand in his, she took one more look around and, in doing so, made direct eye contact with me. She was just as young as I was, if not younger, and I could feel the fear she was trying to force down her stomach. It was the same way a lot of girls do when they are too afraid to admit that they are in a situation they didn’t want to be in. Who were we to object when we were the ones who’d agreed to go along for the ride? If the kind man stopped being kind, then that was our faults for being so eager for attention. It was much more agreeable to control us into tiptoeing around the man than ensuring the actions of the man. Boys will be boys and men will be men after all. It was their world, and we just needed to survive in it.

If I could have cried in that moment, I would have. I would have cried tears for her, tears for us seven in the trees, and every woman and girl who’d ever been one of us. I couldn’t cry tears anymore, though. I couldn’t even speak or scream anymore, but I could hiss… and I could still fight, too. It’d be a different fight than the kind I lost to Greyson the last time I was here, but hopefully, if I lost this time, I could at least afford her enough time to get away.

It was almost like she read my mind and knew what I was going to do before I did it as she ducked for cover a millisecond before I dove towards them. I was able to dig my talons into the scalp of his luscious salt and pepper hair before ripping through it like nothing. He screamed bloody murder and began thrashing about aimlessly. As I pecked, clawed, and dashed all around him, the girl panicked and ran around to the back of the cabin–which was the opposite of what I wanted her to do. I wanted her to hop back into the car and leave his ass there, but it was all for the best. Had she not gone back there, she wouldn’t have fully understood who he really was and might have tried to help him at some point.

She came upon that truth in her escape to the back–or rather she tripped and fell to the ground, where she could see what remained of me underneath the crawlspace of the cabin. It took her a moment to realize what she was looking at, but once she did, she screamed even louder than Greyson was with the seven of us now pecking away at him. Realizing she was in much graver danger than she imagined, she beelined it back to the car and locked herself in. Soon after doing so, she realized she didn’t have the keys to start the car. Greyson was running about in circles at this point, having failed to get into the cabin to lock us out. He screamed and cried horrendously for her help while she screamed and cried, too afraid now to leave the car. It wasn’t until the fourth of us ripped the keys from his grip that we could drop them on the hood of the car.

The girl sat for a moment stunned in fear and disbelief before reaching out the window, grabbing the keys, and hightailing it out of there in a screeching fashion. The seven of us continued our revenge on Greyson until we were sure he couldn’t get far. His screams and cries would eventually become chokes and gargles of his own blood. An hour later, the police and ambulance would arrive to find him nearly dead from blood loss and shock.

The police weren’t just there for him, however. They were also there for me. That much was apparent in how quickly they found what used to be me underneath the house. The scene soon escalated to a murder investigation that wound up spanning several weeks once the remains of more and more missing women were found all around the vicinity of the cabin. They eventually dubbed it “The Night Terror Cabin” while Greyson became known as “The Lumberjack Killer.” The story would remain a major headline for several months, not simply because people were intrigued by a good serial killer story, but also because of how he was left completely blinded and practically mute by the swarm of barn owls who took both eyes and his tongue in such an unusual fashion. What added to the suspense of the story was how not one owl could be found in that area at all after the attack.

A diverse array of tales arose far and wide, ranging from speculation that the land was cursed by witches centuries ago, to the popular belief that the owls were manifestations of the Grim Reaper. Of course, the only stories that truly mattered were that of Cara, Faye, Marcy, Dana, Jessica, Camille, and Rosa, which would eventually come to light. Their friends and families would finally have the closure they’d been searching for in the combined twelve-year span they had all been missing. A memorial would be held outside the cabin for all seven women in which their loved ones could share stories of how each woman was a “bright and fearless conqueror” in her own right. Rosa’s mother would make everyone laugh with the story of how she named her daughter after her favorite flower only for Rosa to despise them her entire life.

In typical 3D human fashion, the news stories and spectacles surrounding the murders eventually faded and were mostly forgotten about. In two years’ time, they would demolish the cabin to prevent high school and college students from venturing there to do seances for their social media pages. The loved ones of the women would still visit from time to time, but those visits would fade in time as well though the women were never forgotten.

Five years after the demolishing and seven years after Greyson was caught, Celine would return to the location with her husband and their twin daughters to give thanks to the “witches” she knew deep down to be the seven women who protected her so fiercely that night. Though by then the seven of them were no longer present as they had been before, Celine could hear and feel that her gratitude was received and reciprocated in the mystery of the stillness and the hum of the silence.