Cherry Heartwood
a horror short
This is the first draft version of this story, so it might change a bit once it’s published! Enjoy! It’s about 7k words, so it’s a good chunk.
He had the strangest scar I’d ever seen. More like a tattoo than a scar. A tiny, detailed piece of art that had been painstakingly carved into his skin.
It was so small, at first. No longer than the bed of one of my fingernails. An unmistakable silhouette of a sakura blossom etched into the flesh of his muscular calf. It had to be an old scar, since the skin was shiny, smooth, and white. If the light hadn’t hit it just right, I never would have noticed it.
I did my best not to ogle men at the gym anyway, so I was sure that distracting myself with another activity would move my brain beyond it. I’d been so busy staring at the scar that I hadn’t bothered to look at his face, or the rest of him.
Embarrassing, honestly. Dehumanizing and unlike me.
And later that evening, I couldn’t get the image out of my mind. I wasn’t sure if it was the symmetry of the cherry blossom, or the scar itself that had me in a chokehold. There was something about it that I just couldn’t shake.
If it had been a tattoo, I wouldn’t have spared the flower more than a passing glance. So many people are running around with their entire bodies acting as a living canvas, it takes something truly extraordinary to grab me like that. But something about that shiny, fresh skin so stark in relief against the deeply tanned flesh surrounding it captivated me.
The only way to satisfy my curiosity would be to ask the man with the scar for its story. And maybe his, too.
The next day, I spent extra time walking around the gym, slyly stealing glances at any exposed male calves. Lots of pretty muscles, but no luck. He’d either opted to wear pants that day, or he wasn’t at the gym. I mentally kicked myself for not getting a good look at anything other than the delicate floral wound that was lovingly etched into his leg.
Que sera. Tomorrow was another opportunity.
…until it wasn’t. Neither was the next day. Or the next. Or even the day after that.
Three weeks passed before I came across the Scarred Man, again. At least, I thought it was him. But now, the number of scars had multiplied. If they weren’t exact replicas of the single one I’d seen before, I would have doubted it was the same man.
Before, there had been only one small flower. It was hard to be sure of the current count, since I watched him doing squats via his reflection, courtesy of the mirror in front of me. It looked closer to ten blossoms now, maybe more. They were all joined together, except for one, by a carving of a branch that marred his skin with scars that looked a bit more purple. The wounds were clearly fresher. The lone flower drifted away from the cluster on the branch in a steady descent towards an unseen ground somewhere below.
The steady, calculated flow of the lines had clearly been etched by the same hand. The level of detail in every aspect of the design was consistent, stunningly realistic. Transfixed by the artistry, it was a genuine struggle to force my gaze to move upward. I needed to get a better view of the rest of the Scarred Man, because I had to see him. It was no longer just a want. It was a visceral need to gaze upon the rest of him. Otherwise, I could drift away to the place where those blossoms filled the air with their delicate aroma and innumerable petals.
A fiery yearning to see the whole picture scorched through my veins. I wanted to know him. To touch those scars and ask their story. His story.
My eyes travelled north, skimming past formidable glutes and thighs that clearly never skipped leg day. A narrow waist was topped by broad, toned, sun-kissed shoulders that didn’t struggle with the weight of the barbell and plates that rested on them.
My heart stopped and my mouth ran dry. I nearly dropped the dumbbells I was using, fumbling and feeling a twinge in my wrist that warned me I should have just let it fall. If only my gaze had followed that advice.
His dark hair was tossed over one shoulder in a thick braid, but the bare skin of his neck and shoulders shot fear into my heart with the precision of a cherub’s arrow.
Sakura blossoms, linked with detailed branches that arched down towards what had to be a central trunk. Their petals all carved in patterns that flowed down his arms and beneath the plain black tank top he wore. I knew that any of his concealed flesh was littered with the beautiful flowers as surely as I knew the sun would rise tomorrow.
I’d been curious and intrigued before, but all I felt now was a fear and wariness that sank into my bones. I’ve always trusted my gut, and every instinct in my body was screaming that I needed to run. To get away from this man with his weird scars. A man who’d never done anything to me. Not spoken a word, and I’d never even seen his face.
Maybe that was what I truly needed to avoid. Making eye contact. The voices in my head reached a fever pitch, a frenzied froth of panic that had me hurrying to set my weights back on the rack. I watched him setting his own weights back into their places, and time slowed as my pulse quickened. Now was the time to scurry off, but my body felt sluggish, like any movement commands sent from my brain to muscles had a time delay.
I struggled, fought the immobility, screamed internally with frustration. I watched his reflection lean side to side, stretching his arms over his head. The light caught and bounced off those shimmering sakura blossoms, and my hands trembled. I ached to touch them, to see if they were as silken as the petals they were modeled after.
No! I had to resist it. I forced my gaze to the floor, off to the side from my own feet, and I could suddenly breathe again. I could move. I just had to keep my eyes down and not make the mistake of staring at him again. I hurried away and jogged into the locker room, doing my damnedest to look casual about it.
I had headphones in my ears, so it was fine. I normally showered at the gym, but I had no desire to do anything other than leave the building as soon as possible. It wasn’t just a want. It was crucial to my existence. I could feel it.
Even though he hadn’t been following me, I paused to look around the empty locker room. I pulled one of the earbuds free, suddenly feeling more nervous without the ability to hear what was happening around me. Obnoxious music played from the overhead speakers at low volume, but it was otherwise silent.
I prowled through the locker room, only satisfied after I even inspected the showers and bathroom stalls. He wasn’t hiding out in there anywhere. And neither was anyone else. Exhaling heavily, I retrieved my bag and keys from the locker. “Get your shit together…” I murmured to myself under my breath, embarrassed that I was so twisted over something so ridiculous.
When it turned out to be nothing, I told myself I could laugh it off. Maybe it was some sort of tribal scarification, and I was just a culturally insensitive idiot. Whatever meaning or reasoning was behind the wounds that the Scarred Man made no effort to hide… I told myself that curiosity was going to skin the cat if I didn’t just drop it and remove it from my mind.
Getting him off my conscious mind was a reasonable task. With a concerted effort, I finally rose to the occasion and distracted myself from thoughts of how much texture those scars would have as my fingertips skated across his skin. My subconscious, sleeping mind however… There was no escaping the Scarred Man in my dreams.
I was trapped in a hall of mirrors, growing more and more panicked as the moments went on. I tried to keep calm, to be logical, to follow along a row of glass until it led me from the room or bumped into another solid wall of glass and I had to backtrack. But I finally saw a space between the rows of reflections and made a break for it.
My shaky breathing was loud in my ears, and I could hear footsteps that weren’t my own. Heavier. Slower. Growing closer. I’d left the initial room of mirrors, but the walkways between them grew narrower as I continued forward. Before I knew it, I had to turn sideways to keep moving, my speed slowed almost to a crawl.
I paid no mind to the sweat and tears that stained my skin, focused only on getting away. From the mirrors, from whoever was behind me. And just like that, it was over. I was stuck. In a space just wide enough that I wasn’t physically unable to move, I’d come to the end of the path. A solid wall of glass blocked any further forward movement.
I don’t know what words fell from my lips, but an incoherent panicked babble bubbled forth. I started to slide back towards where the path was wider, but at the footsteps suddenly so near to me… I froze and fixed my gaze on the ground.
“Hey,” a soft, gravelly voice sank into my ears. “Why are you running? You shouldn’t even be here."
I tried to speak, only a breathy squeak coming out. I licked my lips and cleared my throat, sniffling lightly. The unused adrenaline in my system sank into my muscles like a poison, making me feel weak and exhausted. “Oh, um… I—I don’t know. I thought you were chasing me. And if someone’s chasing you, that usually means they want to hurt you.”
A disarming chuckle made me wince, my eyes moving to his boots. “If I was running and chasing you, shouldn’t I be as winded as you are?”
I snorted with derision. “Maybe, but my cardio endurance does really suck.”
We both had a little laugh at my expense, my fear of him starting to abate. I inhaled deeply, holding my breath for a few seconds before letting it out and sliding my gaze up to his legs. Bare, as I expected. Covered in tiny white flowers, as I expected. There was nothing I could do. He had me. Even if I tried to break through one of the mirrors to escape him, I’d be shredded by the broken glass and unable to run.
“I know this is just a dream, but… it feels like you’re really here. I’ve never heard your voice, but I know that when I finally do in the waking world, this is exactly how it’ll sound.” I murmured.
“Hmm…” The sound of contemplation that purred from his lips was low and soothing. “You shouldn’t be able to tell this is a dream.”
“Pfft. Exactly what a weird dream my brain cooked up would say.”
I didn’t look directly at his face, but the movement as he shook his head caught my attention. “Something isn’t right,” he said simply.
“No shit,” I snarked back. “I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind for over a month, and I don’t even know what your stupid face looks like.”
I felt his hand settle on my shoulder and squeezed my eyes shut. “I’ll bet you’d like it. Most people do. But it’s better for now if you don’t look.” Being humble was clearly not the Scarred Man’s strong suit.
“So if this is a sort of dream, why can’t I just wake up?”
“Because there’s more to it than that. But I’ll do you a favor, because you being here is a mistake. Can you follow my instructions, to the letter?” I nodded. “Then listen closely, and let’s get you the hell out of here.
“Firstly, no matter what you do, don’t touch my skin. Anywhere. At all. Not even for a second. …Understood?”
“Yes,” I replied softly, the weight of his hand on my shoulder through my shirt feeling heavier and menacing.
“Good. Second, once we leave this room, don’t say a word until I tell you it’s safe to speak. Then there’s just one more rule. Alright?”
“Mhmm,” I replied, my pulse quickening.
“Third rule: you cannot leave ANYTHING behind here. No article of clothing, not a piece of hair. Nothing.”
That sounded easier said than done, with the way I shed hair, but whatever. “Okay,” I said finally, feeling a tightening in my chest as I verbally agreed.
“Good. Now repeat the three laws back to me.”
“No touching your skin.”
“Mhmm.”
“I can’t talk once we leave this room.”
“Correct,” he said, lifting his hand from my shoulder.
“And I can’t leave anything behind.”
“Perfection. And that’s exactly why you shouldn’t be here.” He replied, turning to face away from me. “Now… lift your eyes and grab on to my shirt. Both hands. When we walk out of this room, do not let go. No matter what you see, no matter what you hear. Just tell yourself that it’s a dream, and everything will be fine as long as you stick to the three rules.”
I grabbed two fistfuls of the back of his shirt, marveling at how much taller than me the Scarred Man was. Brushing aside my attempts to distract myself from the very real danger I was in, I took a deep breath to steady the nerves that made my hands tremble, and we were off.
The door opened and we passed through it, the aperture closing behind us with such a sense of finality that it made me wince. The Scarred Man walked along at a brisk pace. I’m not a short woman, but I almost struggled to keep up with him. He must have noticed me falling behind as the drag on his shirt increased, because he slowed his speed to compensate for my shorter legs.
“Sorry,” he murmured. “The sooner I get you out of here, the better.”
What I could see of the dream world around us shifted, the surroundings warping into the stuff of true nightmares. The temperature rapidly increased until the air shimmered and sweat dripped down the back of my neck. The stifling scent of sulfur and brimstone assaulted my nostrils, and I turned my head to cough into my shoulder. I could hear a multitude of screams rolling over each other in the background, some reaching a crescendo while others came to an abrupt end.
The ground beneath my feet was uneven, jagged and pitted, a matte black that could only be cooled volcanic rock. I bit down on my lower lip to keep from saying anything. To not ask questions. To refrain from pleading with him to confirm that we were literally in Hell.
I trusted my instincts, and I trusted what my senses told me. There was no other explanation for the dark shadows that passed over the ground while the sound of heavy wings flapped above us. I inhaled heavily through my nose, exhaling slowly to resist the urge to whimper. The heat was so intense that I felt like I’d have a tan from cooking in the ungodly atmosphere of this place.
The Scarred Man stopped suddenly, and I heard him muttering something under his breath. It almost sounded like he was… counting? But counting what?
“Shit… There’s too many of them. Run! Hold on tight and just RUN!” He had to shout to be heard over a suddenly rising cacophony of screeches as the winged creatures who cast those shadows descended on us. Our mere presence had rung the dinner bell.
I opened my mouth and almost replied, but my teeth clacking together as we started sprinting reminded me not to say a word. Cardio had never been my strong suit, endurance-wise. When it was literally life or death, I’d make it work. Limbs pumping, pulse pounding and drowning out the sound of the creatures pursuing us, I ran.
I could see a sparkling shape in the distance, outlined in bright light that stood in stark contrast to the all-encompassing gloom that surrounded us. “We’re almost there!” His voice was ragged, breathing heavy. “Keep going!”
As we got closer to the light, lungs and legs aching for oxygen and rest, I saw that it was another door. Hopefully the one to lead us out of this place.
The entire world tilted suddenly, and we were a few mere feet from the door. One of the creatures had barreled into the Scarred Man, and I had such a death grip on his shirt that it dragged me to the ground with them. We fell together in a tangle of bodies, wings, and claws.
I rolled to the side, the creature’s focus primarily on the entire reason I was here in the first place. The creature’s magnified bat-like shriek of triumph made me throw my hands over my ears, but I could still feel it reverberate in my bones. The Scarred Man didn’t move. Was he dead? No. I saw his chest rise and fall, but his eyes were closed and he didn’t try to fight the monster that hovered over him, maw dripping in anticipation. A joyful chittering noise rolled from the creature, and the sound made me want to rupture my eardrums to escape it.
I looked around me, eyes darting as I searched for something, anything that I could use as a weapon. I knew that hitting this thing with my fists would be useless and an instant invitation to be at the dinner table. As the main course.
Two large chunks of the same rock beneath our feet were close enough that I grabbed them both. Taking a second to test their weight, I threw the lighter one at the side of the demon’s head. It went silent at the impact, turning slowly to face me with fully black eyes, a sunken pit where a nose should have been, and a wide mouth filled with the type of teeth only made for shredding flesh.
Gripping the black rock firmly in both hands, I brought it down as hard as I could on top of the creature’s head. Its eyes blinked slowly, stunned by the force of it. I may have hated cardio, but I loved to hit the weights and the heavy bag. Not wanting to celebrate too soon, I brought the rock down again, feeling a satisfying crunch.
Another strike was met with a loud crack and a gut-churning squish. The creature tried to flail its limbs at me, managing to rake my arm with its wickedly curved claws. My blood spattered across the stones beneath us. One rule broken.
I hissed and brought the rock down one more time, halfway burying it into the cracked skull and brains of the monster. It fell limply to the ground, body twitching as it died.
Killing it didn’t give me the satisfaction I expected. It was really only an animal, looking for food. We just happened to be on the menu, and that thing was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I refused to go down so easily.
I hurried over to the Scarred Man. He was still breathing, but also still unconscious. He’d cracked his head when the creature flew into him, judging from the trail of red that ran from his hairline and down his temple.
He was a massive man… And I had to get us through that door somehow. Still afraid to touch his skin, I grabbed on to his sleeveless shirt and tried to drag him. The cotton fabric promptly ripped, and he smacked back to the ground. I gritted my teeth, wanting with every fiber of my being to scream in frustration. I could hear the other demons closing in, and I couldn’t just leave him there. One more thing to try…
I gripped the belt loops on his pants and crouched down, scooting backwards and managing to pull him a little bit. I glanced up at the dark shapes that were sharpening in detail. One rule had already been broken. I had nothing else to lose.
“Fuck it!” I roared, grabbing his scarred up bare arm and rolling his body over onto his back. I squatted low and hooked my arms under his, lifting him enough that only his feet dragged on the ground. His head lolled to the side as I practically ran backwards, and I had a spare thought that he did have a pretty nice face, as I built up momentum and crashed into the door with our combined weights.
There was a loud popping sound, the fabric of reality bursting like a bubble, followed by a second of the most all-consuming silence I’ve ever witnessed. Then we were standing in my bedroom, covered in blood and soot and God only knew what else. My entire body ached, and the calm quiet of our world seemed louder than it ever had. It was uncomfortable compared to the noise I’d been surrounded by only seconds before, even though my trip through Hell had been brief.
I sank to the hardwood floor with my arms wrapped around the Scarred Man, and I buried my face in his shoulder and sobbed. My body trembled with the force of the cries, tears filled with both relief and terror finally rolling down my face, leaving clean tracks through the grime of the underworld that clung to my skin.
“What in the actual fuck is happening?” I whined under my breath, the last Velcro vestiges of my sanity starting to tear free.
Minutes passed. Maybe hours. I didn’t glance at the clock, so I have no way to know for sure. But finally, with fluttering lashes, the Scarred Man awakened.
“What? Where are…? How did…?” He cleared his throat and sat bolt upright, clarity returning to him quickly.
I leaned back and he turned his face to look back at me. “No.” The word was so small, said so simply, but it carried with it the weight of a thousand broken hearts. Seeing the state of me and noticing he was strewn across my lap, the string of emotions that ran through his deep brown eyes left me feeling more exhausted than I already was.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured, my voice hoarse from crying. “After that monster, demon, whatever the fuck it was scattered my blood all over the place… I gave up on the other two rules.”
He pulled away from my embrace, turning to face me and sitting down hard. He lifted shaking fingers to touch the spot of congealed blood on his temple, a decent sized lump just beneath the surface.
“You saved me,” he said softly, looking down at the sticky red that stained his fingertips. He lifted his gaze to meet mine, accusation furrowing his brow. “Why would you do that?”
I felt a tickling, itching sensation on the side of my neck and reached up to scratch at it absentmindedly. “Why wouldn’t I? I mean… bashing a demon’s head in with a rock isn’t my usual method of meeting people, but…”
“You killed one of them?”
I nodded. “Unless having a fifteen-pound rock buried in your exposed grey matter isn’t a killing blow, I’d say so.”
The entire evening had been so unreal that I didn’t know what to think of any of it. The itching intensified and I dragged my nails harder against my skin. I hissed under my breath, seeing that my fingertips were coated in blood. I knew I hadn’t been that rough, so what the hell…?
The Scarred Man’s eyes widened, and his expression went completely blank. “It shouldn’t have been you.”
“What shouldn’t have been me? What are you talking about?” His inability to be direct about anything was starting to grate on my already thin patience.
He shook his head. “I have to go.” And he was on his feet and heading for the stairs, practically jogging down them.
“Whatever,” I replied loudly. “You’re fucking welcome!” I called after him.
I heard my front door open then slam shut, and a weariness settled into my bones that I fought against. I needed to get cleaned up before I even thought of going to bed again. The clock’s red LED display told me that it was two in the morning, and I vowed to call off work as soon as I woke up.
I stumbled into the bathroom, stripping off my filthy clothes and reveling in the comfortable heat from the steam. So different from the searing, scalding burn of the air in… wherever I’d been. I stepped into the cascade of warm water, and instantly screamed at the sting of the hot liquid driving into what felt like a million papercuts all over my neck and shoulders.
I put my hand up to my neck again, where the worst pain originated. My hand came away with diluted red all over my palm. I was glad I hadn’t bothered to grab soap yet, or the sensation of fire crawling under my skin would have been a million times worse. Despite the growing ache, I had to at least rinse the ash and smell of charred flesh off my skin. I could take a proper shower in the morning. Better yet, a relaxing soak in the tub.
A few minutes passed and I shut off the water, stepping out and wrapping a towel around myself. I’d normally dry off better before even getting out of the tub, but I needed to see what had happened to the side of my neck. The mirror was fogged over with the steam, and I dragged an agitated hand across its surface to clear the glass.
My breath caught in my throat, but the whimper that rose from my chest clawed its way free from my lips. The unmistakable shape of a cherry blossom was carved into my neck. Several of them. I couldn’t count their total number from the angle I was at, but the wounds all oozed, my blood dripping from them like sap from a pine tree.
I grabbed a wad of toilet paper and pressed it to the open effigies, applying enough pressure that they should stop bleeding soon.
But they didn’t.
Moments passed and I could feel the tissue becoming fully saturated beneath my fingers. I pulled it away, unsurprised to see it soaked with crimson. I pulled my hair to the side and leaned closer to the mirror, trying to get a better look at the images engraved into my skin. Their tiny petals had the same level of detail as the ones that adorned the Scarred Man.
None of them were terribly deep, but they weren’t clotting. The bleeding wasn’t stopping. And I wasn’t sure how to deal with or correct that.
I’d gone from terrified to indifferent, the urge to sleep outweighing anything else. So I did what any person who’d literally just been to Hell and back would do: I dried off, put on clean pajamas and a spritz of perfume, and took a dry towel to bed to lay across my pillow. My body felt heavy, my soul like a lead weight dragging me into an ocean of sleep, and I just needed to rest my eyes for a bit.
Settled under the warm blankets, I ignored the wet warmth that continued to blossom across my skin, falling into a dark and thankfully dreamless slumber.
Morning was an unforgiving slap in the face. I should have felt rested, but I may as well have strapped on my sneakers and run a marathon overnight. Despite the heavy curtains, the sunlight pierced through my windows like icepicks into my brain via my eyeballs. I sat up too fast, grabbing my head and exhaling heavily to try to level off my suddenly spiked blood pressure. Spots danced in my vision and I almost swooned.
I set one hand on the bed to balance myself as I closed my eyes, immediately jerking my hand back up. The surface I’d touched was crusted and warm, covered with my now-dried blood that had continued to slowly seep from me the entire night.
“Fucking hell…” I muttered under my breath. I grabbed my phone off the charger, switching to the front facing camera to assess the damage. Exactly like the Scarred Man, my flesh was covered in sakura flowers and branches that spread them.
As I gazed at my reflection on the phone screen, their pattern made sense to me. The thicker branches were where arteries were located, and the thinner ones were prominent veins. The raccoon circles under my eyes were darker than usual, and my skin had gone wan and waxy. And every new petal or twig that marred my skin was brimming with blood.
I had my phone. I should have called an ambulance. I knew I was in no shape to drive. But I also knew how crazy this whole thing seemed. What would I tell them? That I’d been dream-abducted by and then had to rescue someone with the same markings as mine, only his were scars and mine just wouldn’t stop bleeding? And it was no big deal that the thing I saved him from was a bat-humanoid hybrid creature, right?
…they’d have me sedated and locked up before I even finished the story. But maybe that would be better. At least I wouldn’t be in pain, then. But what if this was something contagious? I couldn’t risk passing it on to the hospital staff, or other people in the facility.
It was still early enough… I called my boss and let him know I was really sick, and wouldn't be coming in for a few days, at least. The rest of the week, to be safe. I assured him I’d have a doctor’s note when I did return. He wished me well and we hung up.
And I sank onto my couch in stunned silence. I wasn’t sure what was happening, and nothing seemed to stop the bleeding. It oozed so slowly that I knew the blood loss alone wouldn’t kill me. But everything itched and ached. Beneath all those sensations, I was hungry. Ravenous.
I made my shuffling way to the fridge, shifting things around until I found what I knew I’d gotten at the store a few days ago. A pound of ground chuck sat in its little white Styrofoam container, chilled as it should be. I put a pan on the stove, intending to cook the beef and mix it with some scrambled eggs.
While the pan heated up, I peeled the plastic wrap off, and the scent of the blood and raw meat slammed into my nose so hard that it made me stagger for a second. I tossed the plastic film to the side and stared at the meat, tilting my head curiously.
…Could any harm really come from it?
I shrugged and dug my fingers into the brick of meat, the pink squiggles and curves of it reminding me of the brains of the creature I’d slaughtered. I squished a chunk of it between my fingers, molding it into a ball. I looked at it one more time, unsure if this was a good idea or not.
What did I have to lose, at this point?
“Fuck it,” I muttered, and popped the uncooked meatball into my mouth. It was chewy, coppery, metallic on my tongue.
In the back of my brain, a small part of me was repulsed. But that tiny voice was eclipsed by the delicious taste of the raw meat, and the pleasant sensation of it as the meat warmed up and I swallowed the lump.
More. I needed more of it. I grabbed a fistful of the raw meat, shoving it into my mouth like I was starving and having my first meal in weeks. I couldn’t wait for it to be warm. I needed it in my belly, right now. It wasn’t much, but as I stood there a few moments later, looking down at the empty white Styrofoam tray, the reality of what I’d just done struck me like a fist to the abdomen, and I ran to the bathroom.
The entire contents of my stomach resurfaced until my throat felt raw from revisiting it. Shaking and feeling worse than I had before, I rinsed my mouth out and quickly brushed my teeth, trying not to look directly into the mirror. I was too disgusted by what I’d just done to look myself in the eyes. Just from the corner of my vision, I could see there were more flower-shaped wounds across my skin. If I ignored them, maybe they’d just go away on their own.
It didn’t. They only multiplied and my urge to eat meat, to feel flesh stretch and gush between my teeth, intensified. As a result, I didn’t eat anything for three days. Three days I bled, felt myself growing weaker and anemic. And all I wanted to do was sip my water and stay in bed. Getting up to relieve myself was an endeavor that left my entire body shaking and dizzy, and I kept telling myself it would pass.
I called off work for the rest of the week, and halfway started wishing for death. My dreams had been plagued by memories of my trip to Hell with the Scarred Man, but none of them had the direct clarity of the genuine experience. I’d really been there. The wounds on my body were proof, but I knew I couldn’t go to anyone with it. I’d either end up sedated and still wasting away, or I’d become a lab rat because the growing, bloody cherry tree whose branches spread across my skin defied any normal explanation.
The day passed in a daze, and when the sun finally set, I felt more comfortable. Able to move a bit easier, breathe better, as if I’d become sensitive to the light. I made myself get up and walk a bit, even though it was a chore after not eating for three entire days. I was so focused on putting one foot in front of the other that it took me a minute to realize that I heard knocking on the door. Not just knocking, but frantic pounding on the door.
I hurried as much as I could to answer it and had to step back as it burst inward. The culprit was a hearty kick from none other than the Scarred Man, who stepped into my home with a wild fire burning in his gaze.
“I was going to get that…” I murmured flatly, my voice sounding coarse and foreign to my own ears after not speaking for three days.
“Like Hell you were,” he said, advancing on me and stopping a few mere inches from my body.
I cleared my throat, tilting my head back to look up at him, internally embarrassed that I knew I looked like shit, while he looked as pretty and shining as always. “Why are you here?”
He stared at me, head tilted slightly to one side. I watched his jaw clench and unclench, like he was having trouble finding the right words to say.
“This… this curse I’ve given to you. It’s not meant for people like you.”
I crossed my arms, wincing as I felt the wounds stretch from the movement. I barked a dry laugh. “What do you mean ‘people like me’? I feel like I should be insulted.”
“It was meant to cull the wicked, not be passed on to wither the kind and pure. But after you broke the rules, I thought I could just let it go. But you stepped in so selflessly and saved my ass when you had zero reason to…”
My eyebrows furrowed, trying to make sense of what he was saying. It was so vague, I had no clue how to respond. His own expression softened for a moment, dark eyes glinting before his jaw set with determination.
“Have I been the wicked one, all along? Was I nothing more than a tool to reap souls?” His question was soft, but I knew it wasn’t really meant for me. “You don’t deserve this. To become one of them. I won’t allow it.”
The energy in the air changed, and it made me flinch. “What are you talking about? You don’t even know my name! You know nothing about me!”
He rested his large palm on my chest, directly over my heart, and his skin pressed to mine was the most warmth I had felt in what seemed like a lifetime. It was soothing, comfortable. “I don’t need you name to see the trials your heart has already undergone. To know the weight of your soul.”
I felt a pleasant heat roll over me that started in my toes and quickly began rushing up my legs and into the rest of my body. “I’m sorry to do this here, but it’s the only way to save you.”
There was a literal spark of red light between us and an itching sensation crawled over my skin, every wound that had spread across it closing and healing over as if it had never been there. I felt a sharp pang of hunger, but the urge wasn’t for anything a wild demon creature would want to snack on. I just wanted something hearty. Maybe with potatoes…
The Scarred Man coughed violently, a sickening wet sound that instantly drew my attention. His scars all split open at once, blood bursting forth and showering everything around him with red droplets. He wiped the corner of his mouth, gazing down at his arm and seeing the branches pour over his flesh and down to his fingertips. Twigs and leaves sprouted from the tips of his fingers, and he winced.
He staggered into the fenced-in backyard, his steps becoming slower as the bark that covered his skin began to hinder him. I ran after him, skidding and almost losing my balance in the grass that was soaked in his blood. He sank to his knees and I nearly grabbed on to his shoulder.
“No!” he shouted, and I took a step back. “Idiot,” he murmured with a soft little chuckle. “That’s how you got into this mess, in the first place. It won’t take long… Just let me be unmade.” He sounded tired, but strangely content.
I ignored the tears that ran down my cheeks, trying not to overthink the impossible thing I was witnessing as this gorgeous man was rapidly becoming a something else entirely. “May I sit here with you? Until it’s over?” I asked, my voice trembling.
“I’d like that,” he replied, sounding tired as his hands and arms twisted into roots that hungrily sank into the soil, pulling his face closer to the earth.
The crackling noises as his body was destroyed, undone, turned into something new, sent shivers down my spine. But I couldn’t just leave him here. He’d given me my life back, healed me, when he could have left me to become one of the very demons who’d sent us both down this track.
In less than ten minutes, the only parts of him that hadn’t been altered from fauna to flora were his neck and head. “Protect this tree,” he managed to murmur, so quiet I almost couldn’t make out the words. “So long as the tree lives, this curse will be contained and cannot be passed on. Guard it. Watch over it. Teach your children why it must continue to stand.”
I sniffled and nodded. “Of course. But before you’re completely gone… what’s your name? You might not know mine, but I think you owe me yours.”
He gave me a small smirk. “Sam. And you can keep the name. I won’t need it, anymore.”
With that, the bark overtook the last of him, the trunk extending to a height of easily twenty feet high. The branches fanned out, snapping into existence and filling the air with a shower of pink petals that rained down like snow.
I stood there, beneath the canopy of the cherry tree, the fragrance of the blossoms filling my heart with a strange sense of hope. “Thank you, Sam.” I said softly to it, and a gentle breeze blew across the yard, as if he had heard me.
“Wow, Grandma! That’s SUCH a cool story!” My youngest granddaughter, Willow, looked up at me from her seat on my lap with wide blue eyes.
We were perched on the bench that sat beneath the tree in my backyard. A tree that had continued to grow over the past four decades. A warm summer wind flitted across us, the shade from the boughs overhead keeping us comfortable.
I gave her a small smile, giving her tiny hand as solid a grip as I could manage with my aged, wrinkled fingers. “And that is why your mother will take care of it once I’m gone, someday. And eventually, it will pass to you.”
“Pfft. Whatever. It’s just a stupid tree, Grandma. You know none of that really happened.”
I gave my grandson, a sly smile. “You’re entitled to your wrong opinion, Rowan.”
“Rowan, don’t be rude to your Grandma!” My daughter, Aspen, hollered from the open kitchen window. She was inside fixing lunch for all of us.
“Sorry, Ma!” Rowan hollered back. He bowed his head to me sheepishly. “Sorry, Grandma,” he murmured.
“No worried, love. It is a fantastical story, isn’t it?” I gave Willow a pat on the back. “Go run off the last of that energy with your brother before lunch is done.”
“Okay!”
With a soft, tired smile, I watched my grandchildren run around the back yard. They chased each other around the cherry tree, hiding and playing tag. I tilted my head back, soaking in the warmth of the summer day. Gazing up at the canopy of leaves and branches above me, I smiled and said softly, “Aren’t they beautiful, Sam? Thank you.”
An intact sakura blossom landed on my shoulder, and I lifted it gently in my fingers. I pressed a soft kiss to its petals, thankful for the second chance he’d given me to have a full, meaningful life.