tired midwest parents

The snow gathered just inside from the shuffled feet and shaking fur. Three sets of wet footprints sharing a small wet door mat. We fed the dog and let her roam the living room looking for the warmest place by the fire. She shook off a few flurries and settled onto a pillow at the side of the fireplace while we took our layers off and hung them on the chair. Cold was an understatement.

As we moved to the kitchen to prepare a late breakfast to get us going, we noticed something unusual. Our daughter, the youngest was still wearing her winter jacket and standing by the shuttered glass sliding door. She was staring outside as if waiting for something to happen.

Her eyes wide, body stiff and still she uttered,”The Tree, it talked.”

My son and I smiled and looked at each other in an endearing way, wanting to encourage her creativity.

She repeated,”The Tree, it talked.”

I tilted my head at her much like the dog does when curious. “And what did it say, my dear?”

She turned slowly to face me, only now starting to unzip her jacket. “Get inside.”

“I’m sorry?”, I asked.

“The tree Dad, it said to get inside,”she repeated with conviction. She removed her jacket very calmly and placed it onto the chair, only to return her gaze to the tree line that stood 20 feet away from our back door.

“Really? Well.” I tried to sound engaged but I was ready to move on to breakfast. I turned into the kitchen to search for the frying pan amongst the clean dishes. My son floated over to her and began asking questions to try and debunk her claim. I turned a burner on and began to preheat the pan. As I moved to the fridge to gather the ingredients for the omelette I so greatly craved, a silence fell over the house.

“Dad?” My son’s raised tone caught my attention and triggered an uneasy feeling. I looked up to see him standing next to my daughter. They now both stared out the window together. The wind had picked up, and it seemed as if the sky had grown shades darker. The trees shook and swayed with the wild gusts that blew through our backyard.

“What’s up guys?” I turned away from the kitchen and instinctively took a step towards them. I strained my eyes to see clearly what I could not quite make out amongst the waving branches and wild brush of the tree line. My pulse quickened and my breath shortened as goosebumps raised on the back of my neck. One long branch of a tree hung below the rest, its end stretched out and almost pointing to the North in a gesture like pose. It was motionless in the violent, growing wind. I traced the branch back to the trunk of its tree and gasped as I made out what seemed like shapes of eyes and a mouth carved into its surface. It carried a concerned, but empathetic expression.

The oil in the fry pan began to pop.

The dog barked.

My son spoke.

“The tree, Dad. It talked.”

Short Story by: Tired Midwest Dad and Kids.