***
Bay opened his eyes slowly, pulling himself out of the sleep he'd involuntarily encountered. His sight was blurry and his head pounded. Bay felt something warm on his face and reached to pull it off. A hand stopped him.
“You took a good fall, boy,” the crackly old voice said before he felt another hand on his chest. “You were in the Cemetery again. I've told you boys to stay out of here.”
Bay sat up and his eyes finally focused on where he was. He was laying on an old dirty couch in the center of a room with rotting walls and broken furniture. He glanced at the man talking and took in his wrinkled dry skin and thick black framed glasses. His greying hair was loose and swayed when the old man spoke. Bay knew the old man from the times he'd chased him from the cemetery.
The caretaker.
“I didn't mean to come here. I just had to get away,” Bay muttered, scratching absently at a small cut on his hand.
The old man fixed his eyes on the boy. “What do you mean, get away?”
“My family... they aren't the best people to be around. I was just trying to get away from... everything.” He threw the rag from his head and swung his legs over the bed. “I'm just going to go.”
“You don't have to go yet,” the old man said, grabbing Bay's arm and holding tight to him. The man's wild blue eyes dug deep into Bay and he sat back down.
“What's with the tree in the center of this place?” Bay knew it was a bold thing to ask after he'd been in the cemetery without permission, but he wanted to know. The ugly thing had stood there since he could remember.
“The tree.” The old man stared at Bay before he let a sigh escape from his lips. “That tree has been here since the town was created. Some say it's cursed. Others think it was a gift.”
“Why is it a curse?” Bay leaned forward, hanging on the old man's every word.
“That's what some say. It's a tree that gives gifts to those who need them, but it comes at a price.”
“What kind of a price?”
“One I can't say. It's different for every person who asks for help.”
“Can it do anything?”
“Anything you want, but it doesn't always work like you think,” the old man said with a snicker. “It has a mind of it's own.”
“How do you ask for it's help?” Bay wasn't sure this tree could help him, but he couldn't make himself not ask the questions.
“It's a bleeding tree. It needs blood to survive.” The old man sighed. “But it's just a story.” He pulled his hand from Bay and sat in a nearby chair. Bay watched the man rub his hand on the worn velvet material.
“I should get home. I'll get it worse if I'm gone any longer.” Bay made a face and stood. The old man didn't even act as though he knew he was there anymore. Bay cocked his head and looked around the little room. It was covered in dust and old photos. One in particular caught his eye. It was of a young girl with curly blond hair. Bay swore he'd seen her before. He just couldn't remember where.
Bay opened the door to the little shack and pulled his bike from the ground. Snow was falling all around him and the air seemed to have more bite than before. The dark sky had an eery glow of yellows and white making Bay uneasy. He hoped on the bike and started pedaling towards the entrance of the cemetery. He didn't get far before the dark branches of the Bleeding Tree caught his attention once again. He stopped beside it and cocked his head to one side. There was almost a twisted face within the trunk. It mesmerized him to the point he couldn't look away. He felt warm drops on his hand over the scratch he'd gotten when he ran from his parents. Bay looked at his hand as the dark red drops slid over his fingers, hitting the snow covered ground. He swallowed hard before feeling a warmth in his body that made him relax.
Everything is going to be alright, the night whispered in a swallow voice. He blinked and realized where he had to go.
Back to the Hell he called home.
The Bleeding Tree Page 2
