ㅤㅤHattie’s remains were found in the tree in the winter of 1883, and soon after Ira was tried and executed for her murder.
ㅤㅤHattie and Ira, 1883.
ㅤㅤI grabbed my coat and hurried out toward the woods. It was dark and I lost my bearings here or there, the susurration of the leaves disturbed by the gathering wind sounding like names whispered on the wind. Hattie, Ira, Belle. I struggled through the wood until at last I came to the clearing where once the wych elm stood but stood no longer. This was the place, I was sure of it, but there was no longer a tree there. No roots, no hole in the ground. Just leaf litter and bracken. I raced home and opened my laptop, awakening Splash with my clumsiness who then barked and skittered about as though it were time for a walk.
ㅤㅤ“Not now, not now please.”
ㅤㅤI opened the pictures in my editor. The tree was there, it’s twisting branches seeming now more horrible than when I had last seen them. And the trunk was bare. No names scratched into the surface. I clicked through, unbelieving, and to my horror there were only close-up shots of plain, decaying bark. I clicked on the picture that I had taken of Belle’s name carved on the edge of the hollow. Her name was not there. I sat back in my chair, my mind swimming. And then it caught my eye. I leaned closer, brightened the image, increased the saturation, played around with the levels, but it was still just too dark, just out of focus. I am sure that there, from within the hollow on the very edge of the image, were fingers reaching out from the dark.
ㅤㅤHattie and Ira, 1883.
ㅤㅤI grabbed my coat and hurried out toward the woods. It was dark and I lost my bearings here or there, the susurration of the leaves disturbed by the gathering wind sounding like names whispered on the wind. Hattie, Ira, Belle. I struggled through the wood until at last I came to the clearing where once the wych elm stood but stood no longer. This was the place, I was sure of it, but there was no longer a tree there. No roots, no hole in the ground. Just leaf litter and bracken. I raced home and opened my laptop, awakening Splash with my clumsiness who then barked and skittered about as though it were time for a walk.
ㅤㅤ“Not now, not now please.”
ㅤㅤI opened the pictures in my editor. The tree was there, it’s twisting branches seeming now more horrible than when I had last seen them. And the trunk was bare. No names scratched into the surface. I clicked through, unbelieving, and to my horror there were only close-up shots of plain, decaying bark. I clicked on the picture that I had taken of Belle’s name carved on the edge of the hollow. Her name was not there. I sat back in my chair, my mind swimming. And then it caught my eye. I leaned closer, brightened the image, increased the saturation, played around with the levels, but it was still just too dark, just out of focus. I am sure that there, from within the hollow on the very edge of the image, were fingers reaching out from the dark.