This story is by Ada Hitchins Sage and was part of our 2023 Fall Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.
The old tree by the river was the subject of many stories, legends, even. The tale of what had passed there had been handed down through many generations in my town, where our stories kept us all connected. There was said to be a presence there, one of great sorrow, an ancient curse hanging in the air. My mother had told me the tale, as her mother had told her, and her mother before that. No one really knew the true story, but that didn’t stop us from believing whichever version gave us the most thrill. Some even said the legend was merely the result of overactive imaginations, but the power hanging in the air was answer enough to that question. I went there one day, full of youthful curiosity. As I neared the river, goose bumps began to spread on my arms, and I felt the hairs on the back of my neck rise up. The air felt…thick, heavy. As though something was filling it, something that had been there long before me. I braved a few more steps, even sitting down to dangle my feet in the pool of water, when I heard it. The wind whipping through the willow trees, the sound like…like sobbing. Heart wrenching cries of despair. I felt unshed tears prick my own eyes, and I darted up, grabbing my boots and stockings, and rushed from that place. I did not return, not since that day.
That evening, I sat at my mother’s feet, untangling wool as she wound it into a ball, and received a telling off. “Myra, I warned you to stay away” her harsh tone brought guilty tears to my eyes “You don’t know what could happen there, after all we have heard”. I know now that she was just scared for me, scared to lose me. After that, I replayed the legend in my mind, over and over. I cannot claim to know the whole story, but I believe it went something like this…
The sky was a bright blue that day, and the gentle clouds shading the cottage resembled balls of white wool. Aline meandered down the path, her husband by her side, holding her hand, a cool breeze swaying her hair. Upon reaching the river, she did not hesitate to dive in immediately, the soft cotton of her gown sticking to her wet skin. Her husband joined her, and time flew by as they laughed and played in the pools. Later, laying on the bank, she smiled drowsily as her husband dove down, collecting pretty rocks which she piled up beside her. She sung as she waited, a lilting melody filling the air, a mournful tone hidden beneath the soft words. She reclined there, waiting for him to surface, toes dangling in the water. Her smile slowly faded from her young face as she counted the seconds, then the minutes. Something felt wrong. Frightened and desperate, she dove into the water, searching frantically beneath the surface. She looked and looked, until she saw a flash of white cloth. Her husband’s shirt, billowing slightly in the underwater current, the loose fabric tangled around a sunken branch, torn from where he had pulled in vain. His face held a soft, peaceful expression, his eyes wide and unseeing. Aline surfaced, out of breath, and screamed. She screamed until her throat was hoarse and dove in desperation to save her love. To no avail. When she finally, aching and cold, dragged herself from the river, the sun had long since left, the full moon providing the only, ghostly, light. She huddled on the bank, tears streaming from her eyes, and there she stayed. Her cries filled the clearing, echoing in the branches of the trees, the worn hollows of the rocks, reverberating off the water in pitiful wails. Her sadness was so tangible the trees began to weep alongside her, their long leaves reaching to the water in sorrow. The whole world appeared to take pity on her then, and as she lay there, so numb with sorrow that she felt and saw nothing, nature moved around her, and in the still of the night, as a final show of mercy to this woman whose life was so clouded with grief, the trees took her. By morning, there was no sign that she had been there. But a new tree graced the clearing, a weeping willow. The long, slender trunk and branches reaching to the sky in pleading, the green leaves falling like teardrops to the ground. Its silhouette stark against the sky, ever present, unchanging…
It has been years now, since that day I ventured to the river. Much has passed, and my life has changed. For all my mother’s attempts to keep me safe, she had not succeeded in saving herself. She had passed two months back, leaving me all alone in the world. One day, begging silent forgiveness for going against my mother’s wishes, I returned to the river to see if things were different. I walked between the trees, felt the cool shade on my skin, felt the goose bumps prickle along my arms. It had felt, then, as though the trees were watching me, peering down. A haunting melody floated along the path, following me, chasing me. The power around me felt unnerving, as if it was not to be disturbed. But something had changed, there was something else in the air…a promise. A promise of loyalty, of never ending companionship. As though the woman had not been cursed, so much as rescued. Accepted. It felt oddly like coming home, to a place you never realised you belonged. I wondered if it was the place that had changed, or myself. In that moment, a small part of me wondered, if one day, the trees might take me too.
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