Story 1154: Trees That Bleed

The lumberjacks of Red Hollow refused to cut the trees east of the ravine. Not because of superstition—though there was plenty of that—but because the trees there bled.

Axemen spoke of trunks that groaned when struck. Of crimson sap that ran like blood, warm and metallic to the touch. Of bark that seemed to pulse faintly, like skin over veins.

But that didn’t matter to Foreman Grigg.

He had contracts to fill. Demand from the capital was high, and the timber barons didn’t care for ghost stories.

So, when his crew refused, Grigg went in alone, axe over shoulder, whistling spite into the wind.

He crossed the ravine under gray skies and walked until the air changed—until it grew still.

No birdsong. No breeze. Even his breath sounded wrong.

He found a massive tree at the edge of a strange grove. Its bark was dark and gnarled, the size of a cathedral pillar. Red vines crept along its roots like arteries, disappearing beneath the soil.