The Tree That Saw Too Much: A Murder Story

People used to adore me. They’d stand next to me, smiling, and they’d bring their children and loved ones around me, snapping photos and sharing moments. I was a part of their lives, a backdrop to their memories.

Not anymore. Not since the night of the storm. Now they avert their eyes, murmuring prayers as they pass. They look at me with a mix of fear and revulsion, their faces contorted with a memory they wish they could erase.

I wish I could tell them how deeply sorry I am.

It’s not like I had any control over what happened. It wasn’t my fault, and deep down, they know it. But knowing doesn’t ease their terror. They can’t bear to even look at me now.

I’m so lonely. God, what I wouldn’t give to feel the warmth of a hand resting against me again, to be part of their lives like I once was. Those little interactions meant everything to me.

I had to watch it all unfold. The lightning struck with a deafening roar, splitting the night apart. I remember the moment he appeared, drenched and desperate, seeking shelter beneath my shadow. The storm was relentless, and the night seemed endless.

It was then that the stranger emerged from the darkness. His eyes gleamed with something sinister, and his hands held the knife with a purpose that chilled me to my core. I wanted to scream, to warn him, but all I could do was stand there, rooted and helpless.

“Please,” the young man pleaded, his voice barely audible over the storm. “I have nothing to give you.”

But the stranger’s grin only widened. “Oh, but you do,” he whispered, stepping closer. “You have your life.”

The knife flashed, and I felt his pain as if it were my own. The young man fell, his blood mingling with the rain, his eyes wide with shock and betrayal. The stranger lingered, watching the life drain from his victim, before finally disappearing into the night.

I was left to witness it all. His final breaths, his desperate gasps for help that would never come. Those eyes, filled with terror and despair, are etched into my memory forever. I wanted nothing more than to save him, to reach out and stop the bleeding, to scream for help.

But I couldn’t. I am powerless, forever fixed in my place. My branches can’t reach out, my voice can’t rise above the storm. All I could do was stand there, a silent witness to the horror.

The police came the next morning, their faces grim as they took in the scene. They murmured to each other, their voices a blur of disbelief and sadness. They never found the killer. The trail went cold, and the young man became just another unsolved mystery in their files.

Since that night, no one comes near me. I am a reminder of that terrible event, a silent sentinel to a memory they wish they could forget. The children who once played beneath my shade now whisper ghost stories about me, their voices trembling with fear and fascination.

“Do you think the tree saw it happen?” one child asked his friend, glancing nervously at me.

“Of course it did,” the other replied. “Trees see everything. They just can’t talk.”

I wish I could. I wish I could tell them how sorry I am, how much I long to be part of their lives again. But all I can do is stand here, my branches swaying gently in the wind, a mute witness to the passage of time.

I never asked for this. I never wanted to be a symbol of fear and death. But now, it’s all I am. The lonely tree on the corner, forever marked by the storm and the tragedy it brought.

As the seasons change, I remain. Waiting. Hoping that someday, someone will look past the horror and see me for what I once was. Until then, I am alone, haunted by the memory of that dreadful night.

Do not miss The Echoes of Room 313: Horror Tale before bedtime.

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