The Terror Tree

Trees.

They are our giant, wooden friends, providing us with the very air we breathe, our shelter and our firewood. There is nothing at all BAD about trees, is there?

Or is there?

For Janet Hotpoint, a housewife from Dorchester, a tree was to prove to be something altogether more sinister...

Janet Hotpoint was a receptionist at a busy PR firm, a job which kept her terribly busy during the day, and which left here exhausted by the time the evening set in. Suffice to say, Miss Hotpoint was eager to collapse into her bed after a hard day's receptioning, and drift off to a peaceful slumber.

On this occasion, however, peaceful was the very thing her slumber would not be. For, at around midnight, she was suddenly awoken by a tapping upon the bedroom window.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Janet Hotpoint sat bolt upright, her heart pounding in her chest. What was that awful noise? Was there someone at her window, trying to break in? Was it a phantom, trying to drive her from her home? Or, worse still, could it be a murderous, zombie woodpecker, attempting to break in and feast on her flesh?

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Janet Hotpoint began to panic, her mind racing with awful thoughts. What was that noise?

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

The noise was occurring more frequently now, building to a frantic cacophony as if someone - or something - was desperately trying to gain entrance.

Taptaptaptaptaptaptaptap.

Janet flung back her duvet, and picked up a baseball bat next to her bed. The bat had been a gift from an ex-boyfriend, despite the fact she hated the game and had not expressed any interest in learning the sport. Now, however, she was grateful for it, as she grasped it firmly with both hands and advanced towards the window, ready to smash in the face of whatever demonic entity was trying to force entry into her bedroom.

Taptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptap.

Janet Hotpoint braced herself as she neared the source of the terrifying taping. She took a deep breath, held the bat up, and flung open the curtains.

She gasped.

There, on the other side of the window, was a tree. Just a tree.

Just a tree?

For Janet Hotpoint, there was no such thing as 'just a tree', for she suffered from dendrophobia, a crippling fear of trees. As the tree continued to sway in the breeze, its long, dark branches reaching out and tapping the glass of the window, Janet screamed, turned and ran from her room in terror.

She never did venture back into her room, until she got the tree cut down a week later by a gardener. But some nights, when she was alone in the dark, she could swear that she could still the gnarled form of that tree, clawing at the window with it's fearsome wooden fingers....

A fear of trees? You may scoff, dear reader, but fear can take many forms. Some people are even afraid of words...

Sleep well, dear readers...if you can.

Hahahahahahaahahahahaha!

- The Book-Keeper.