31I knew about the Willow Tree. It was practically immortal, its story living on for decades. Of course, the story of the Willow Tree was what it was - just a story. I never really believed in it before, but as I walked the deserted path and saw the Willow loom ever closer, I began to think differently.
It was late in the night and I was just coming back from town. Three miles of dirt road and desolate land separated me from the comfort and promise of a warm bed back in my own home, but I was nowhere near close to my destination. I was sixteen, too old to be thinking about silly ghost stories, but the harder I tried to ignore the chilling sounds of the night and the mysterious shadows that surrounded me on every side, the louder the story became in my head. Despite my resistance, I began to recollect the tale my grandfather use to tell me when I was a little girl many years ago…
Back in the 1920s, there was a town on the outskirts called Saint Barges. The town was quite small, covering a mere 35 acres and housing over a hundred residents. Because of this, there was nowhere in Saint Barges for a cemetery. The dead would have to be buried in a neighboring town. Since none of the people of Saint Barges owned a car during the time, the body had to be wrapped with a sheet of linen, loaded onto a cart, and transported to the cemetery in the other town by foot. The journey itself took almost a full day and only the strongest of the townsmen dared partake in the excursion.
Halfway through a procession, the men would stop and rest at the only living life form within the five-mile stretch of barren wasteland - the Willow Tree. They would leave the body to bake in the hot sun as they rested under the Tree's shady branches. It is said that the dead were treated with such disrespect and cruelty for so long that their spirits remained at the Willow Tree. The story goes on to say that if passerby ever neared the Willow Tree on a dark night when the stars all burned out and no wind came from the east, a single bundle wrapped in white sheets could be seen, right at the roots of the Willow. The bundle, they say, is one of the spirits, looking for the day when someone would come and cut open the sheet and free them from their cursed mortal prison. They would lay there, waiting... waiting... waiting...
I shook my head fervently.
No, I told myself, It's a stupid story that Gramps used to tell me so I wouldn't stay out late.
I was determined to just walk by Willow Tree, with no second thought of the ridiculous story. With feigned confidence, I quickened my pace. I tightened my jacket around myself as I kept on walking. But when I was within a few meters of Willow Tree, my breath caught in my throat. There, by the tree's roots, was a large bundle.
It was as if I was in a play and someone had suddenly changed the entire set in the middle of a scene. Everything about the night had changed in an instant. The wind, that just a moment before was raising dirt clouds in the road, had died abruptly. The stars burned out, leaving only an endless, black canvas overhead, except for the sickly glow of the yellow moon.
I felt my deep, uneven breaths, but I edged closer to the Tree and the bundle. To my disbelief, the bundle was nothing less than immaculate. No mud or dust. No creases, rips, or tears. It was pure, unearthly white. I drew even closer, though my head was screaming for me to leave. I was transfixed, taken under by some spell. I couldn't move away. By then, I was right next to the bundle. I leaned in closer to get a better look, but I quickly backed away. It moved. The bundle moved.
That was it. With fear pounding through my entire body, I ran. I wanted to get as far away as possible, but I could hear a soft thup thup thup behind me: the bundle following me. It was rolling down the road, gradually picking up speed. I began running even faster, but it was no use. The bundle was only a few feet behind me and to my horror, a voice spoke out, muffled and distorted at first, but it became stronger and clearer.
Open, it moaned. Cut me open.
The adrenaline was pumping through my body so hard I couldn't breathe.
Open. Open. My legs were burning. It was so close.
Cut me open. What I would have given to be anywhere but there!
Exhausted and my body going through total shock, I finally collapsed. I turned to see that the bundle had stopped rolling and was right in front of me. It was jerking uncontrollably. CUT ME OPEN! CUT ME OPEN! It was shrieking in desperation, urgent need. Summoning all my courage, I reached over and pulled open the sheet with one great tug...
What I saw that night has forever been instilled in my mind and memory. I will never forget. After I opened the sheet, I saw a man. He was emaciated, his grotesquely burned skin clinging pathetically to his bones. But what caught my attention the most was neither his gaunt frame nor his mutilated body: It was his face. The man's face was contorted in twisted pain, his mouth midway open, as if calling out for help. I stared fixated at his face for a split second - then, it vanished forever.
That was it. With fear pounding through my entire body, I ran. I wanted to get as far away as possible, but I could hear a soft thup thup thup behind me: the bundle following me. It was rolling down the road, gradually picking up speed. I began running even faster, but it was no use. The bundle was only a few feet behind me and to my horror, a voice spoke out, muffled and distorted at first, but it became stronger and clearer. Open, it moaned. Cut me open. The adrenaline was pumping through my body so hard I couldn't breathe. Open. Open. My legs were burning. It was so close. Cut me open. What I would have given to be anywhere but there!Exhausted and my body going through total shock, I finally collapsed. I turned to see that the bundle had stopped rolling and was right in front of me. It was jerking uncontrollably. CUT ME OPEN! CUT ME OPEN! It was shrieking in desperation, urgent need. Summoning all my courage, I reached over and pulled open the sheet with one great tug...
What I saw that night has forever been instilled in my mind and memory. I will never forget. After I opened the sheet, I saw a man. He was emaciated, his grotesquely burned skin clinging pathetically to his bones. But what caught my attention the most was neither his gaunt frame nor his mutilated body: It was his face. The man's face was contorted in twisted pain, his mouth midway open, as if calling out for help. I stared fixated at his face for a split second - then, it vanished forever.