The Tree People

by Shawn Montgomery

Horrific Scribes Extremity Rating:

“Where’s your brother?” my father asks.

“How should I know? I was at Scottie’s house all day.”

“It’s unusual for him to be out this late,” Mom says. “You don’t think he went to the waterfall by himself, do you?”

I shrug. “Naw, he’s not that stupid.”

“Don’t call your brother stupid,” she snaps. Caleb is her favorite, and she makes no attempt to hide it. “Looks like a storm is coming, too,” she adds, gazing through the kitchen window.

“If he’s not back after dinner, I’ll go and look for him,” Dad mumbles.

Mom purses her lips but doesn’t respond.

Dad finishes his food and his beer and asks, “Do you wanna come with me?”

Almost choking on my spaghetti, I nod.

Mom insists I put on an old raincoat that I immediately take off once we’re on the porch. Dad doesn’t say anything; judging from his distracted expression, he doesn’t even notice.

As we make our way across the yard, I feel the first raindrops.

“Let’s go,” Dad mutters. “We don’t have much time.”

In the forest, the canopy provides some relief, but larger drops still pelt the top of my head, and I regret not bringing that rain jacket or at least a ball cap.

At one point, Dad stops. “You boys really play this far?”

“Sometimes,” I reply. “He might have gone to our fort.”

“Lead the way,” he says.

When we finally reach the shabby structure, I expect Caleb to spring out like a startled deer. But when Dad peels the tarp back and peers inside, everything’s exactly like we’d left it yesterday.

 “Do you think he went to the old mine?”

Nearly concealed by rocky crags along a ridge, the long-abandoned mine is supposedly accessible by several large gaps carved into a jagged mesa. Riddled by an intersecting network of chutes that drop hundreds of feet, it’s one of the few places we never dared explore.

I shake my head. “It’s too far away.”

He nods. “We should head back. He’s probably home by now.”

Despite the miserable conditions, I want to plead with him to continue searching—we can’t just leave Caleb out here! What if he fell and hurt himself?

But I also know when to stay quiet.

We find Mom at the kitchen table, staring at the door.

When she hears us, she shoots up from her chair. The corners of her mouth twitch with a sliver of hope before her face sags with disappointment—Caleb is not with us.

In a low voice, Dad informs her of the search. When he’s finished, Mom drops back into her chair and releases a pained groan. Dad directs me to go to my bedroom.

For over an hour, I distractedly play on my tablet, half-expecting the front door to swing open. But all I hear are raindrops pattering on the roof and the persistent moaning of the wind.

At some point, I begin to hear voices murmur.

As quiet as possible, I tip-toe to the door.

“You didn’t find anything he might have dropped?”

“We checked the boys’ fort, the waterfall… everywhere.”

“Do you think he would have gone to the mine by himself?”

“I don’t think so. Silas told me they don’t go there, and I believe him.”

“So where did he go?”

“I don’t know.”

“What happened to my baby, Jerry?”

“He’s going to be okay, Melissa.”

“How can you say that when you haven’t found anything?”

“He probably wandered further than he realized, got caught in the rain and decided to wait it out. He’s a smart boy. He’ll be all right.”

There’s a brief pause. When Mom speaks again, her voice is loud, firm. “Should we call Sheriff Moore?”

“Not yet,” Dad says.

“Jerry!” Mom shouts. “We have to call the sheriff.”

“We’ll find him, goddamnit. We don’t need the cops poking around.”

It’s quiet for a long time after that. Eventually, I creep back into bed and close my eyes. When I open them again, sunlight is peeking through the blinds.

I turn to my brother’s bed. It’s still empty.

And the house is too quiet.

I check the living room first, then the kitchen. I discover a note from Mom informing me that Dad went looking for Caleb, and she went into town.

Dad returns home about an hour later. After retrieving a beer from the fridge, he sits and doesn’t say anything.

A short time later, Mom rushes into the house.

“Did Caleb come home?” she shouts.

Dad remains silent. I shake my head.

“Jerry, the bedroom… now!”

When he pushes himself up, he stares directly at me. There’s an odd, detached expression on his face, but his eyes emit something else. Something I don’t quite understand.

As soon as he enters their room, the door slams shut.

I’m watching TV when I hear my mother screaming.

I run outside and find her on the porch. Her eyes are buggy, her arm lifted stiffly in front of her and pointing across the muddy yard.

Half-naked and stumbling through a swath of pines is my brother.

As soon as he notices us, he stops. His bare feet sink into a puddle, but he makes no move to pull them out.

Mom finally leaps off the porch.

Slipping across the muck, she begins crying, “Oh my baby! My poor baby!”

Dad rushes out next, mimicking her awkward jog across the yard, before kneeling and enveloping them both.

For a moment, I can only see my brother’s disembodied head floating over my father’s shoulder. We hold each other’s gaze. His eyes glint a strange yellow. He opens his mouth as if he’s about to yawn and reveals oversized jagged teeth.

Slowly, he tilts his head and leans closer towards Dad’s neck.

At the last second, Dad releases my brother and pulls away. Caleb’s mouth snaps shut, his dead-eyed gaze directed back to our unsuspecting parents.

For a long time, Caleb doesn’t speak. Mom immediately puts him in the bathtub and begins to scrub the caked layers of mud and grime off his body. I stand in the doorway, bewildered at how terrible he looks. His face is marred by a webbing of scrapes and cuts. Gross-looking sores speckle his stomach, arms and legs. Some are even oozing thick, yellow pus.

It’s like he’s been gone for weeks, not just overnight.

A faint smell of rot wafts around the bathroom, but Mom doesn’t appear to notice. She continues scrubbing and rinsing, then scrubbing some more.

When she’s finally done, she applies an assortment of ointments and bandages on the wounds. Dad then carries my brother to bed.

For the rest of the day, Caleb remains in our room. I’m eager to talk to him, but Mom says I can’t bother him until later.

At bedtime, Mom kisses my brother on his forehead. She then stands up, wishes us both sweet dreams, and leaves.

For several minutes, I just watch him. Now that he’s clean and in his pajamas, Caleb looks more like my brother. But something is off.

Like I’m staring at a sly imposter masquerading as my brother.

“Hey, where’d you go?” I whisper. “Mom and Dad were freaking out.”

Caleb turns, blinks slowly. “Grah’n min’n ughnotin,” he garbles.

I grin. “Are you messing with me?”

“Mohawtin, treepeebabble goin’.”

As he speaks, his eyes widen with urgency, his little mouth moving faster than the words he’s trying to form. Now I’m beginning to get worried—did he hit his head? Was it bad?

Frustrated by me not understanding him, Caleb tugs violently on his ears.

“Caleb, stop! You’re gonna hurt yourself!”

The door flings open, and Mom and Dad rush in. My brother abruptly drops his hands back on his lap.

“What happened?” Mom cries.

I shake my head. “I think something’s wrong. He can’t talk right.”

“He spoke? What did he say?” Dad asks.

“I dunno. They weren’t real words.”

“Should we call the doctor?” Mom says, more of a statement than a question.

Dad doesn’t respond.

Clenching her jaw, she directs her attention back to Caleb. “You need to rest now, my baby.”

His hands pressed protectively across his bloated stomach, my brother lies back down as Mom flattens his pillows.

As soon as our parents leave, Caleb sits back up and re-crosses his legs. His breathing is raspy, wet. Several times, I hear him mumble to himself—little squeaks and groans, barely audible. If he notices me, he doesn’t show it. And that frightens me the most—it’s like he’s in his own secret world where nobody else is allowed.

For a long time afterwards, I just watch him, but fatigue takes over, and I gradually close my eyes.

I’m in the middle of a dream when I’m stirred awake by something pinching my arm. A featureless body is standing beside my bed. I squeal with shock as my eyes adjust to the darkness. At last, I recognize it’s Caleb.

“What are you doing?” I whisper.

Tilting his head slightly, as if he’s just heard something outside, he grips my arm. “Do you know what Daddy hides in his drawers?”

“Wait… what?”

I suddenly realize he’s forming actual words and not just a string of gibberish.

“There are photographs in Daddy’s drawers,” he continues. “A whole stack of ‘em of things he really likes. It’s secret, ’cept Mommy knows about them. He even almost got caught by the sheriff once. But he can’t stop either. He’s add-ict-ed.”

“What are you talking about?” I whisper. “Go back to bed.”

My brother remains, however, and digs his sharpened fingernails into the scant meat of my wrist. “Mommy has secrets too.”

Even in the dark, I can tell Caleb’s grinning. “She hides her secrets in her purse. In little brown bottles. Blue pills and white pills, she takes them every day. She thinks they help her forget Daddy’s secrets.”

“Are you talking about Mommy’s medicine?”

“I’ve seen other things, too,” he adds. “They showed me a lot of things down there.”

“Who showed you things?”

Finally, he releases my wrist and begins tugging on his ears again. “They hurt,” he whines, his voice rising several octaves. “They hurt baaad!”

I reach out to stop him, but when I touch his skin, I pull my hand back. His flesh is damp and cold, like he just crawled out of an ice-bath.

With his hand still clasped on his stretched earlobe, Caleb presses his other hand along his swollen stomach. “They’re coming soon,” he whispers hoarsely.

Before I ask what he’s talking about, my brother lets go of his ear and lies back down.

My head whirs with confusion. Should I wake up Mom and Dad? Insist that he tell me where he went?

Instead, I tell myself to stay awake and see what happens next. To see if anything changes.

But like before, sleep overtakes me.

As soon as I wake up, I glance over to Caleb’s bed. He’s asleep still, his comforter pooled in a heap on the floor. For a fleeting moment, he looks so peaceful, so much like how he was before he disappeared.

But then I notice my brother’s distended stomach.

And something right above his bellybutton—a small, dark circle, about the size of a nickel.

At first, I think it’s just a smudge of mud Mom had somehow missed, but then I realize it looks three-dimensional, as if something’s actually lodged in his stomach.

I get out of bed and creep closer.

The affected area is red and chafed and looks like it’s about to burst. Resisting the urge to touch it, I leave the room.

Mom bounds from the kitchen. “Is Caleb awake? What’s wrong?”

“He was earlier, but I think he went back to sleep,” I mumble. “Do we have anything for breakfast?”

Although my brother hasn’t emerged from the bedroom yet, his presence is undeniable. The horrible smell that was oozing from his body last night has permeated the house.

Mom lights several scented candles and continues with her chores as if nothing is wrong and Caleb’s just sleeping in this morning.

Finally, she announces she’s going to check on him. She’s in the bedroom for less than a minute before she begins to shriek.

Stumbling into the living room, her face is flushed, her eyes wild. “Don’t go in there,” she pants breathlessly.

“What happened?”

“Don’t go in there,” she says again. “Not until your father comes home.”

“But it’s my bedroom too,” I protest. “Why can’t I go in there?”

“Your brother…” she sputters. “Your brother… is… sick. He might be… contagious.”

“Contagious? With what? Does he have poison ivy or something?”

Mom lunges at me and grips my arm. “Promise you won’t go in there until we say it’s okay.”

“You’re hurting me,” I whimper, trying to yank my arm away.

“Promise!”

“Okay, I promise.”

As soon as she lets go, I run outside. Once I reach the tree line, I realize I’m barefoot and still in my pajamas.

Reluctantly, I retreat back to the house.

As soon as I enter the living room, I notice an eerie silence.

“Mom?” I call out.

Nothing.

I check the kitchen first, then the bathroom. My parents’ door is closed, but when I peek inside, she isn’t there, either.

“Mom?” I call out again. “Where are you?”

I decide to check my bedroom next. My footsteps thump loudly along the hardwood floor, and with each step, I catch myself wincing.

When I open our door, I immediately make out the murky form of Mom splayed out on the floor.

I take a small step into the room. “Mom,” I gasp, “are you all right?”

Caleb has resumed his lotus position on the bed. The overwhelming mix of fertilizer, dead leaves, and wet copper fills the room. Covering my face with the crook of my arm, I ask him what happened.

He grins hideously, that black hole of a mouth overtaking the rest of his face. He releases a deep, guttural chuckle.

“Why is Mom on the floor? Did she fall?”

“It was her secrets, brother,” he replies. “They caught up to her.”

His voice sounds tinny and low… older.  “You can join us in the dark, you know,” he continues. “The Tree People will take you too.”

I hear Dad’s truck slosh through the mud.

I kneel beside Mom and lightly shake her. She doesn’t move. When I turn her over, I scream. Her eyes are open but glazed over, and half of her face is mashed and covered with blood.

I shake her again. “Mom, wake up!”

Caleb chuckles again.

“What did you do to her?” I shout, standing up.

I catch a glance at his stomach and notice the thing protruding from his skin.

“What the heck is that?” I point.

Closing his eyes, my brother reaches down and pinches at the end of the nub. He tugs. Whatever’s embedded in his belly slides out an inch or so.

Without thinking, I grab it. Caleb makes no move to deflect my hand.

It feels wet and slimy, like a soggy stick.

“Caleb, what’s happening? What’s wrong with you?”

He’s about to speak when the front door slams shut. Dad’s heavy footfalls enter the house.

“Hello,” Dad calls out. “Where is everybody?”

I run out and collapse in his arms.

“Whoa,” he says, patting my back. “What’s wrong? Where’s Mom?”

“She’s… she’s…” I stutter, pointing behind me.

As we turn around, I release another scream.

Caleb stands in the bedroom doorway, his pajamas twisted around his narrow waist. He tugs aggressively at the end of the stick, as if he’s trying to pull it out of his body. It looks excruciatingly painful, but he doesn’t appear affected.

In fact, he’s grinning.

Dad approaches him. “What in the world is that sticking out of you?”

Caleb giggles. “They’re coming for you, Daddy. They’re real close now. I can hear them.”

Dad leans down and gently touches the protruding thing’s end. “Did you fall on something in the woods?”

I hold my breath as Dad inspects this… thing. I desperately want to tell him about Mom, but I’m too overwhelmed to speak.

“Does it hurt?”

Caleb giggles. “No,” his watery voice says. “It tickles.”

Shaking his head, Dad leans closer to get a better look. “It’s really stuck in there. I think we need to go to the hospital, but lemme put some bandages around it first.”

Caleb sighs as our eyes lock on to one another. He lowers his head.

At first, I think he’s seeking comfort, but his eyes glint yellow again, and his cracked lips part. As his mouth begins to widen, he reveals those sharp, pointed teeth.

“Dad, look out!” The words finally burst from my mouth. But it’s too late.

Caleb is on him. I hear a crunch as my brother’s jaw clamps into the side of Dad’s neck.

Dad yelps and reels backward. Pressing his hand against his neck, he stands up and staggers towards the kitchen. Rivulets of blood trail behind him.

When I turn back, Caleb is in the doorway again. For an agonizing moment, he stares at me, our parents’ blood smudged along the corners of his mouth. “Don’t worry, brother,” he says finally. “The Tree People are coming soon. Then it’ll just be us.”

“Silas, go to the bathroom and get me some washcloths!” Dad shouts.

After retrieving several of them, he immediately presses the mound against his spurting wound.

“The Tree People are coming for you, Jerry!” Caleb sings. “They know how naughty you’ve been!”

“Caleb, go back to your room!”

My brother remains in the doorway. The stick extends from his stomach like an extra appendage. Milky, viscous liquid drips from the end.

He yanks hard, this time pulling the thing right out of his body. More of the oozy substance drops to the floor with a wet plop. The smell of rot and infection pervades the room.

Grinning, Caleb waves the stick in the air like a magician’s wand.

“What are you doing?” I shout. “Dad, what’s wrong with Caleb?”

Dad doesn’t respond at first, and when he does, his words come out in a series of anguished grunts. His face is colorless, and he begins stumbling around the living room like he’s been drinking.

With his free hand, he begins to dig into his pockets. At last, he pulls out his phone but immediately drops it. As he bends down to pick it up, he collapses to the floor.

“Can you hear them, brother?” Caleb asks.

As I run over to check on Dad, I hear rumbling thunder. The windows rattle, and the floor shakes under my feet.

Caleb tiptoes past Dad’s crumpled body and stands before the window. He raises the glistening stick that came from his body and taps on the window pane.

Tap… taptap… tap… taptap…

“Caleb, we have to get help. Mom and Dad are really hurt.”

Tap… taptap… tap… taptap…

“What’s wrong with you? Why won’t you answer me?”

He grins mischievously. “You might want to hide now,” he says, stifling a giggle. “They can get pretty nasty.”

Suddenly, I hear a loud crack outside.

I join my brother in time to see several pine trees shake wildly, as if something invisible and very large is manhandling them. At least a half dozen smaller trees topple over like dominoes.

“Caleb, what’s happening?”

Waving the stick over his head, my brother’s bloodied lips curl hideously. “They’re here! They’re really here!”

A sudden thud resounds.

At first, I think a tree has fallen onto the roof, but then I hear a set of heavy footsteps right above us. The house groans angrily before the lights flicker once, twice… then go out.

Acting on impulse, I run from the window and slide underneath the kitchen table. A second later, the windows explode, spraying glass everywhere.

The living room ceiling sags, buckles, and collapses in a torrent of wood and plaster. Debris buries Dad’s lifeless body. Seemingly oblivious to the chaos, Caleb dances around the destroyed room before stopping beside the heap.

As he crouches down to inspect the carnage, a wooden beam drops and strikes the top of his head. He crumples.

“No!”

I crawl out from underneath the table, and something drops down with a shuddering boom. My brain takes several seconds to register what I’m actually seeing.

At least eight feet tall, a monstrous creature stands in the middle of the living room.

Its immense body is mostly comprised of mud and globs of reddish clay. Long, intersecting branches stick out of its back and chest at odd angles. As this thing faces the kitchen, I notice it doesn’t have a mouth, just a tiny slit of a nose and two obsidian eyes, glistening like dark jewels.

A terrified squeak sneaks from my lips. The creature cranes its bulbous head, the slits in its nose twitching.

Can it see me?

I have no idea. All I can do is close my eyes and freeze. When I open my eyes again, this monster has turned away and is tossing heavy beams from the roof off Caleb’s body like they’re flimsy pieces of cardboard. It picks my brother up and drapes him across its broad shoulder.

With its head practically grazing the hole in the ceiling, the creature braces itself along the lip of the gap, and with its trunk-like arms, lifts itself back onto the roof. For a second, I think the entire house is going to collapse under its weight, especially when this thing jumps off the roof and lands in the yard with a thunderous crash.

I silently count to ten before I dare crawl out from underneath the table. Holding my breath, I peek outside.

Three Tree People are gathered in the yard in a sort of half-circle, staring at one another as if they’re communicating telepathically. Caleb’s body is motionless and still slumped over one creature’s shoulder.

Several trees along the property line are uprooted and scattered in piles around the yard. One has even crushed Dad’s truck.

After several more minutes, the Tree People trudge into the woods.

Careful not to step on any debris, I scamper into the living room, hoping to find Dad alive. I find nothing but a heaping jumble of ceiling tiles, roof beams and shingles.

I go to check on Mom next, but my feet stop at the gaping window. Two of the monsters have already disappeared into the forest, and the one carrying my brother is just about to join them. But right before it does, my brother lifts his head weakly and glances towards the house.

His eyes are no longer yellow orbs.

They are his own eyes now.

But then his head flops back down and they disappear in the forest.

My head whirs. What am I doing? What’s happening?

I start to make my way to our bedroom, but my legs buckle. I make no effort to brace my fall and have no intention of pushing myself back up.

Not yet, anyway.

I am alone now. Everybody I love is gone.

And as the room darkens and clusters of shadows rain down around me, I continue to lie here and wait for Caleb to return.

Just as the roots begin to take hold.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: “The Tree People” is the last installment in what I’ve named The Hell Is for Children Trilogy, after the great Pat Benatar song. The first is “Burn the Witch,” followed by “When I Come Back.” What all three stories share are young protagonists trapped in brutal circumstances, often shared with either a sibling or friend. They all bravely contend with monsters, real and fantastic, and despite the seemingly endless horror, find resolutions… and an uneasy peace with their eventual fates.

Want another gripping story by Shawn Montgomery? Read the trilogy’s first two tales, “Burn the Witch” in Horrific Scribes, May 2025 and “When I Come Back” in Horrific Scribes, September 2025.