Fifth Branch of the Old Root Tree
Horror
Fifth Branch, 2017
The city sleeps as Michael and Emily walk down empty streets. They pass by the unlit shells of abandoned storefronts, and dark alleys that seem to whisper. The two of them walk in awkward silence until they come to an emergency phone. The intense blue light shines brightly from the top of the pole. The lighthouse-like beacon illuminates a swirling mass of silent bugs that look like static in the warm night air. Below the blue light and the waves of gnats, Michael speaks into the sea of night, “Did you tell dad?”
Emily stares at her feet, pausing before she responds, “You don’t believe me…”
Michael hastily replies, “No, I do. It’s not that. It’s just - I just… I don’t know, it doesn’t seem like something he’d do, you know? I never would’ve pictured him doing that.”
Emily turns away, hugging herself tightly, “Yeah, well…” she whispers.
Michael looks up at the abrasive blue light and hesitantly says, “and… you’re sure it was Andrew? You couldn’t have maybe gotten confused or something?…”
Emily looks right at Michael and says with a waspish sting, “I wasn’t drunk, Michael. I had one drink, that’s it.”
Michael feels the hostility and looks over at her, raising his hands just slightly and tries to placate her, “Alright, alright. Sorry. Just chill out.”
Her vision becomes squirmy with pent up tears, then she says icily, “Just forget it. Forget I said anything.” She walks away quickly.
Michael calls after her. “Em, wait. I’m sorry — At least let me walk you back to your dorm! Emily!” She doesn’t slow, briskly walking away into the dark.
Michael watches her recede from the hazy circle of halogen streetlight, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. His phone buzzes once and he sees a message on his watch from Andrew that reads, “12.” He looks at the time, 11:43pm, then sighs loudly. Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, he begins the walk back to the house. When he finally arrives at the house, he looks up at the large Greek letters, Alpha Tau Omega. Below the symbols, Andrew and James are waiting for him. They both nod to him and then lead him around the side of the house where Andrew’s car is parked. Michael leans over and pears through the dirty passenger window. Inside, Dylan sits slumped in the back seat, dead to the world. Michael stands up and says incredulously, “Jesus, what the hell did you do to him?”
Andrew only laughs and says, “A magician never reveals his secrets.”
Andrew gets in the driver's seat, James in the front passenger, and Michael in the back. As soon as they are all in, Michael asks, “So like how far are we taking him?”
Michael sees a subtle knowing look pass from Andrew to James, then James responds, “Gettysburg.”
Michael goes wide-eyed, “Gettysburg? Jesus, isn’t that like 4 hours away?”
Andrew chuckles and says casually, “Don’t get your panties in a bunch. It’s only two hours, James checked.”
Michael speaks with a slightly accusatory tone, his eyes on Andrew in the rear view, “James and I were only taken an hour away.”
Andrew glances up at Michael’s eyes and retorts, “Well, he wants in so fuckin’ bad. Let’s see just how bad.”
Michael looks over at Dylan, who is passed out beside him. There’s a string of drool that connects his chin to his chest. When Michael leans in closer he is hit with the pungent smell of whiskey and piss, and he recoils. He remembers what his sister said and he feels a knot constrict in the center of his chest. He leans back in his seat and stares out the window, watching the dim shapes of unknown things whiz by as they drive. Hesitantly, Michael asks the question that’s eating at him, “What did you give him?”
Andrew chimes in from the front like a patient father, “Hmm? What’s that, honey?”
“I said, what did you give him? - Dylan.” Michael points a thumb over at the inert body of Dylan as he continues, “I thought we were just supposed to get him drunk?”
James speaks up then, “Dude, what’s with your hard-on for Dylan? You didn’t want him in either.”
Michael responds while looking at the rear view, “I don’t want him in, but this is too much. He’s not just drunk, I’ve seen Dylan drink even Andrew under the table - this isn’t that.”
Andrew answers with one hand on the wheel, “We got him shitfaced, that’s it. He knows the deal: get plastered, get taken somewhere, get your phone and wallet taken, get yourself home. That’s it. Now. We good?”
The car becomes quiet save for the drone of rubber on road. Michael stares down Andrew for a moment, then looks away, “Yeah. We’re good.”
To which Andrew sardonically replies, “Don’t make me turn this car around, mister.” Michael doesn’t respond. The freeway continues to slide away beneath their tires as they get further and further from Muhlenberg. Michael sighs quietly, then leans his head against the cool window.
He feels his phone buzz in his pocket, and looks at his watch. A message from his father that reads, “Call me”. He ignores the message and closes his eyes, the gentle vibration of the car coaxing him into a light sleep. Michael is awoken by the sound of a car door closing loudly. When he looks around, Dylan is still in the same lump, but the car is otherwise empty and stopped. The door beside Dylan opens and Andrew's head appears from above the door, “Mornin’ sunshine. You push him from your end and we’ll get him from out here.”
Michael feels a strange nervous energy as he pushes on Dylan. The resistance gives way and Dylan unceremoniously flops out of the car and onto the ground with a dense thump. James laughs and says, “Oh shit, my bad - I thought you had him.” Michael scoffs at him then exits the car on his side.
He steps out onto cool dirt, and extends both arms up and out in an eye-watering yawn. When his vision clears up he finds himself looking at some kind of sinister art piece - wait, no, not art: a tree. It’s a claw that grows right out of the ground to infect the night sky like toxic black veins. The hairs on his neck stand on end as he stares at the tree. Andrew laughs then barks out to Michael, “Hey. You helping or what?” When Michael rounds the car, Dylan’s motionless form is naked from the waist down, and Andrew is peeling off the shirt. Michael yells, “Whoa! What the fuck man, what are you doing?!”
Andrew chuckles and lets the arm fall limply to the ground, “Just making it a little more interesting is all.” James snorts a laugh as Andrew finishes removing Dylan’s shirt, leaving him completely naked.
Michael shoves Andrew slightly and says, “The fuck is this man. This is too far.”
Andrew shrugs it off and tries to placate Michael, “He’s fine, man. Don’t worry-“
But Michael interjects heatedly, “He doesn’t seem fine to me, Andrew. He seems drugged. What the hell did you do to him?”
Andrew becomes icy and steps closer, “Don’t pussy out on me, Michael. You wanted this. This is your idea.”
“No it wasn’t. I said we couldn’t let him join up, I never said we should fuckin’ drug him and leave him naked in the fuckin woods.”
Andrew says in unemotional tones, “Well, we’re here now and you’re in this shit whether you wanna be or not.”
James turns around and throws Dylan’s clothes up into the crux of the tree then says, “There, he’s got his jammies now - nobody’ll see his peepee.”
Andrew stares down Michael and says quietly, “We good now?”
James adds, “Or did you wanna read him a story?”
Nobody moves or speaks for an eternal moment until Andrew prods Michael, “Well?”
Andrew and James each lean over and grab an arm, looking up at Michael after. Michael finally whispers, “This is so fucked up…” but then he reluctantly grabs Dylan’s bare legs at the ankles and lifts him up. They walk him over toward the blackened tree, carefully stepping over raised roots that twist in and out of the ground. They prop him up against the tree then walk back to the car, but Michael lingers a moment. He stares at the exposed form of Dylan, and he thinks of what his sister told him. Looking back toward the car, he sees swarms of bugs following unknown paths around the headlights.
Andrew smacks the roof of his car a few times with a metallic thud then Michael walks away. As the car pulls out of the clearing, Michael watches the tree recede from view, feeling shame and guilt like a lead weight in his stomach. They drive back onto a dirt path and pass by a campground sign, then they’re on the highway. Michael’s phone buzzes as they drive back into areas with signal and he looks at his wrist. He sees a message from his father, “Where the hell are you?” He removes his phone from his pocket to see a dozen missed calls and messages from his parents and one text from Emily. His skin goes cold as he reads his sisters text, “I love you” then his vision blurs and darkens at the edges. He feels a terror seize him by the throat as he calls his father.
Andrew watches Michael in the rear view, not saying anything. His father picks up on the first ring, “Where the hell have you been?”
Michael just apologizes and asks “What’s going on? Is Emily okay?”
His father answers with a hard voice, “No. No, she’s not okay. We’re at the hospital - she… - they had to pump her stomach.”
Michael goes quiet, “Jesus… uh, okay, shit. I’m coming, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
His father doesn’t say anything, but there’s a thick tension. The silence is finally broken with his fathers voice like steel, “Just get here.” Michael ends the call and when he glances up he meets Andrew's eyes in the mirror.
Andrew speaks first, looking back to the road “Everything alright, buddy boy?” Michael doesn’t take his eyes off Andrew, and he doesn’t respond right away either. Andrew looks back to him again and raises an eyebrow, “Mikey?”
Quietly, he responds “Just drive…”
Michael arrives at the hospital as the piercing rays of dawn crest the cityscape. The next two hours pass in a haze of unreality, punctuated by machines beeping and castor wheels on sterile linoleum. They all sit quietly in the room surrounding Emily’s bed, the apprehension lay densely in the room. In the corner there is an old television playing local news. Emily begins stirring. When she finally sees where she is, she begins to cry. The parents rush to her side, and Michael stares in disbelief, a nervous sickness growing in the pit of his stomach. In the corner, the television plays silently to no one. And in the woods, the old tree reaches up, as though pleading with the void above, while Dylan’s chest ceases to move.
This story was very much inspired by a book I read called Guyland by Michael Kimmel, which has sections detailing awful hazings carried out in college fraternities. Because of the location of my fictional Old Root Tree in Gettysburg, I also took inspiration from this story involving Muhlenburg College.
Love it. Layers of despair in this one.