The Hanging Tree

My life has been the opposite of sunshine and rainbows. It's always been morbid, sad, and almost cowardly, just like the scene in front of me. I tread up a hill, the grass littered with corks and caps from those that depended on liquid courage to end their journey. In front of me is a tree but not the ordinary kind of tree you would imagine. The variety with flowers in bloom waiting to spread their seeds in preparation for the next season. The type with bright red and blue birds flying freely above bringing tranquility to the scene. This tree is the opposite, not full of life but full of death and despair. This tree does not have flowers hanging from its branches but bodies. Bodies that hang like gourds from its branches – sick fruit. People hang from the branches with homemade nooses. Some are made from rope, and others are made from bungee cords. There are not happy birds at this tree but crows and vultures that perch on the branches and the bodies themselves. They peck at the empty, glossy eyes of the dead as if they were ripe tomatoes ready to be served. 

I get to constructing a noose of my own, feeling nothing but the cold wind filled with the sickly-sweet scent of decay. I am numb to the world, my emotions, and other people. I left no note; I have no children or family left to mourn me. The only people who might care are those who come to end their suffering after me or the poor bastards who have to cut my body from this tree. I'm sure that if people knew what I was about to do, they would feed me half-baked lines about how it will get better; your time will come. The kind of shit you get out of a fortune cookie. However, my time has come. It's my time to move on to whatever comes after this world. 

As I look at the scene in front of me, I let out a dark laugh. I think the bodies swaying from the trees almost remind me of teabags. A joke in poor taste is better than nothing considering what I'm about to do. I put my makeshift noose around my neck and tighten it as tight as it will go. I heave myself up the tree, trying my best not to touch the other bodies hanging from the branches. Finding a sturdy branch with no other “occupants,” I struggle to balance on the branch and tie a sufficient knot. When I'm done, I look out at the landscape in front of me once again and take in this world for the last time. I take my final step in this world and let gravity take control of me. The outside world is quiet, nothing but the sounds of the rope and branch creaking from my weight. My body jerks and jumps as if there is a battery pack in my back that is short-circuiting. The rope tightens around my neck, cutting into my skin like a rubber band. I had hoped my neck would snap from the impact, but I am not that lucky. 

On the inside, my mind is loud, screaming, and frantic. Why am I doing this? It hurts so much! Was my life that bad? We take oxygen for granted until there is none of it in our lungs! Did I take my life for granted? Until finally, my body goes slack, and so does my mind. My mind calms, and my only thoughts are no, it is my time to go; this is meant to be. I want this to be my end on my terms and my conditions. This is my way of taking back the control I did not have in life. Hanging there, I wonder about the other people's stories hanging from the tree and how our stories are now engraved in the tree itself. It takes 2 minutes for the brain to die without oxygen, three if you're lucky. That's all that stands between me and whatever is next 2 to 3 minutes. I have no idea how long I've been hanging here, but it feels like an eternity. Things finally start to go black. I always thought there was supposed to be a light of some sort. In my final seconds, I hear a creaking, almost crackling sound followed by a pop and finally a crash. The impact of my body hitting the ground knocks the air back into my lungs. 

Laying there on the ground, I look up at the dead hanging above me. Their mouths hang open, almost laughing as if to mock me. As if to say, “You did nothing right in life, what made you think you could do something right in death?” I begin to laugh bitterly along with the dead, angry it is not my time to join them. My laughter abruptly comes to an end when I realize that my body is still hanging from the tree. My anger passes fast, and panic takes its spot. My dead and slack form sways in the wind. My mouth is hanging agape, empty eyes looking at nothing. It is a strange feeling to look at a body without a soul. It is a traumatizing experience for anyone, doubly so when it's your own body. 

I never thought you could go through all five stages of grief for yourself. [1] [2] One: denial. This can’t be; this has to be a dream. This must be fake. How could this be happening? Two: anger. I hate this world and everyone in it. Fuck this sick repeating sequence of raised expectations and disappointments we call life. I hate the lies we are told about white picket fences just to flatter our imaginations and make us think we can actually be something. Three: bargaining. I would give anything in the world to be back in my body. If only I had another chance, I would make something out of my life. I would try again and not give up halfway through. I would change my perspective and try to find the beauty in the world instead of focusing on the bad. 4 depression. The feeling that washes over me is something that is almost impossible to explain. It's like a parasite that feasts on your energy. It takes away your motivation to think, feel, move, and breathe. The days pass in a blur, one blending into the next. I lay sprawled in the grass, my body swinging above me as the sun rises in the distance. Like a sunflower, the only beautiful part of this sick scene. As I look at the sunflower in the sky, the 5th and final stage of grief settles on me. Acceptance. By the time I finally pick myself up off the ground, I take in the scene again and realize my body has completely decomposed. 

What I thought was days has actually been years. The only thing left of me is bones and tattered clothes. I sluggishly made my way into town, passing the fences of the homes of the living. Well, what I thought was the living. As I look around, I notice some people don't look as alive as others. At first, I only see things like limbs twisted and turned in unnatural ways. My suspicions are solidified when a little girl appears in front of me, crying and asking me for help. At first glance, she looked normal, but then I realize she is missing a part of her face with only one little curly ponytail on the opposite side. Blood covers her barbie doll dress, and the horse figurine in her hand is broken and missing a leg. Her leg is bent the wrong way, broken just like the horse she holds in her hand. She walks with a limp like a broken doll. I scream in fear and run in the other direction. I come to face a shop window and see myself for the first time in years. My neck is sunken in with black and purple bruising along the way. I take off running again, this time less out of fear and more in disbelief. What is happening? This can't be real! It was hard enough accepting that I was dead, but now I have to see others in death!? I took my life to get away from other people and the hassle and disappointment they bring. I come to a stop outside the train station when I see a crowd forming. I make my way into the crowd and see there has been a car accident. I hear someone mumble that a little girl was hit in the crosswalk. I finally got a clear view of the scene to see the little girl I had just run away from lying in the street. Part of her face missing, her leg broken, her dress ruined, and the broken horse figurine not far from her body. Behind me, a tiny voice says 

“Mister, is that me?” 

I turn around to see it's the little girl that was lying in the street in front of me a second ago. I hesitate, unsure how to answer that question, and I'm not sure If I should lie to her or tell the truth. 

“Yes, it is. I’m sorry, but you died today, and there is nothing we can do. I am so sorry.” 

She begins to start bawling again and latches on to my leg. My first instinct is to shake her off, but I try to understand. Seeing my own body wasn't easy, and I'm a full-grown adult who died by choice. I couldn't imagine being a child who died by accident, seeing myself dead in the street. I stand there and let her cry on my leg. She eventually pulls herself together and looks up at me. 

“Mister, will you take me home? I know I am dead, but I wish to see my parents one last time.” 

I watch her and think about how she is taking this surprisingly well. It took me years to get over my own death. This child pulled herself together in a matter of minutes. My first instinct is to tell her no, but I think back to my time under that tree and the promises I made. I said I would try and be a better person. So, with a heavy heart and a bad gut feeling, I stoop down to look the girl in the eyes and nod. My stomach drops when she smiles in return. It is not a smile of a child but a predator ready to feast on its prey, a hunter going in for the kill. I shake off the feeling thinking nothing of it.It's a little girl; she's not a threat. She won't harm me. It must have been a trick of the light.[3]  I am still not in the best state of mind; it will be ok. As we walk and she leads the way to her home, my feeling of unease grows. It's that feeling you get right before something bad happens when you know something is wrong, but you don't know what it is exactly. I proceed with caution as we walk. I feel a tug on my pants and look down to see the girl. 

“This is my home. Before I go, will you play with me?” 

The home is very pretty, very happy, almost too happy. There are flowers in the yard that give off a sickly-sweet smell, little gnomes litter the front yard, the house is painted colorfully. It is almost as if this house has its own sun that shines above it. I reluctantly nod down to her. In an excited voice, she says, "Thank you, mister. To start the game, you have to knock on the door." I walk up to the home, my stomach dropping and my heart pounding with each step. With a heavy heart, I knock three times. Each knock echoes deeply like thunder. The scene around me changes before my eyes. The flowers turn to skulls, grass into needles, and gnomes into gargoyles. The sun that shone over this house disappears and is replaced by suffocating darkness. I turn around in a panic to see that the little girl is still standing just outside the fence. She is giving me that malicious smile from earlier. She stares into my soul with eyes that are wise beyond her years. Or so it seems. I hear the door creak open behind me. I spin on my heels to see nothing but darkness; it is the noise that brings me to my knees:  the screams of the damned and the tortured. There is no end or beginning to the screams; the voices are endless. The first of many souls bubble up to the surface of the darkness and reach out for me. I throw myself backward, avoiding their grasp. I haul myself up to run from this nightmare when I hear a small and sinister laugh. 

"Oh, mister, you can't run away. You said you would play with me, so come, let's play." 

She drops the broken horse figurine she had been holding this whole time. The horse [4] transforms into a wolf but not a normal one. This wolf is missing patches of skin; some spots even expose muscle and bone. It pounces on me and pins me to the ground. I hear the girl walking up to us and then past us towards the door. The wolf bites into my arm, and pain laces its way through my nerves. A guttural cry escapes my lips as the creature drags me towards the door, obediently following the little girl. 

"We will play together forever and be the best of friends. But first, I have to show daddy all my new toys." Daddy? I think, and panic floods me as the door slams shut behind us. 

1000 years later…

Near the outskirts of the city, there was a low white house, very much like that other colorful house. The street on which it stood was nicely paved, or was it a poor section of the city. The door of this particular house was very new and studded with color on the outside but not so much inside. A large darkness, furnished with souls or was it modern chromium gnomes, a bar, and an electric record machine, opened into the empty yard. A slender light-skinned woman was standing near one of the souls, listening to the tune the souls of the damned made which she had just chosen. It was playing at full volume, and the little girl was staring very seriously at me. Was the house white, or was it colorful? Were there chairs or gnomes? Was it the woman or the little girl? 

I can never seem to separate the memory of that home from my childhood [6] in the slums and the deceiving home that sealed my fate. It doesn't matter much as both play a part in how I got here. That house in the slums was where my trouble and trauma started in life. That colorful and deceiving house was where my trouble started in death. Time has flown by me since that day a thousand years ago. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, months into years. Time has eluded me, and I can't get a grasp on it. 

Sometimes I forget that time sneaks up on everybody. As I walk among the dead and hide amongst the living, I am reminded of the collar that threatens to choke me. It settles into the groove on my neck that the noose originally left, a constant reminder of both how I died and what I am now. I am part of both the living and the dead, even though I turned my back on both in different ways. I turned my back on the living by hanging myself all those years ago and turned my back on the dead because I robbed them in their afterlife. The collar makes me visible to the living but easily forgotten while also being identified by the dead as one of them. Over the years, I have learned a lot about this land that the dead and living share. Everyone is here for different reasons. But the most common is they are in a waiting room for their afterlife. This place is for people that were just ok in life,  they weren't bad, but they weren't good either. Each soul is being watched to see how they handle their death and how they handle it determines where they go in their afterlife. However, for some, I take that option from them. 

As I walk, I see a soul that looks lost and jumpy, almost feral like an animal. I wonder how he died as he looks perfectly fine, a little sick but fine. My question is answered when I see the abundance of tiny holes in his arms and hands. He most likely died from an overdose. He's headed to the lower realm one way or another. I have used many methods over the years to take souls to my mistress. I have used deceit, offering help to frightened souls; I have been honest striking an impromptu deal with the souls, although that one never really works. People are not as willing to serve their afterlife as a plaything to my mistress as I am. For the living, I have to take more drastic action. I have to find a way to end their lives that look like an accident. I've resorted to pushing people in traffic or causing someone to choke and disappearing into the crowd, forgotten. For this soul, I will use deceit. He is on alert, so I have to move fast and smart before he catches on. 

“Hi, do you need some help? You look lost.” His head snaps in my direction. 

"I don't know where I am. What is happening? I've had some bad trips, but this shit is fucked up! People missing limbs and bodies twisted! Tell me what's happening!" He's talking frantically, and he can barely keep up with his thoughts. 

“It's ok, let me help you. I can take you somewhere safe.” I talk slowly and soothingly, taking sluggish steps towards him to not spook him. 

"No, get away from me; you're just like them. Look at your neck and that collar! Is that a kink or something?" He's not the first to say this, but it still pisses me off all the same. Anger takes control of me, and  I'm on him in a matter of seconds. I grab him by the collar of his shirt and bring him close to my face. 

“How dare you insult my mistress and the gift she’s given me!” I’m practically growling my words at this point. His face is scrunched in fear. 

"That's ok. You'll get to feel her love soon, and she'll save you just like she saved me." 

The cowardly soul starts to cry. I rub at my collar and will a portal to open to the world of my mistress and drag this sad soul through behind me. He is still kicking and screaming when we are teleported to this nameless realm. It seems that these realms have been around for so long the names have been forgotten. The only person within my reach with that knowledge is my mistress's father. I will not be talking to her father if I don't have to. As I enter this realm that I now call home, I am brought back to the first time I was brought here. I was just like this soul begging for mercy. When the wolf finally did release me, I wished he had just eaten me. I was thrown at the feet of my mistress's father. He was a towering man if the word "man" can even apply. He was more like a beast with his glowing eyes and muscular figure. 

He sat on his throne, leaning back and looking at me with amusement. He wore a set of armor made of black diamonds giving a view to the ball of shadows in his chest. The cloak he wore looked like a wolf pelt but was made out of shadows as well. The darkness was emanating off him in whisps. "Are you death?" it was a dumb question, but it was all I could think of. 

“No, you simpleton!” he boomed, his words echoing off the walls. “You are closer to death than I am.” I finally got a good look at the room. The room was made out of glass to give a view of the souls that hold the room up. 

“My dark princess, why have you brought this swine to me?” he shifted his focus to his daughter. 

"I like his soul; it's dark but not dark enough. I think it would be fun to snuff that last bit of light out of him!" The fear that was replaced by confusion was lit anew within me. 

"Fine, you know I could never say no to you. You can keep him if that's what you really want. First, let me talk to him alone, please, my princess." 

"Yes, Daddy!" she skipped away, happy as could be. Her absence flooded me with dread. The only thing keeping him calm was his beloved daughter; the second she left, his demeanor changed. The smile that he held for his daughter fell when he looked at me. 

"Before I send you to my daughter, let me make something clear. You are not the first and will not be the last 'toy' my daughter has brought to me. I am not death, but I do run this realm and have complete control over it. If you hurt or displease my daughter in any way, I will make you pay. Trust that this is not an empty threat. I have tortured the souls of the damned for years. I could crush your minuscule soul with the snap of my finger without a second thought." To prove his point, he snapped his fingers, and my body contorted and moved in ways it should not. 

My bones were breaking one by one. The pain only lasted as long as the snap of his fingers, but it felt like hours had passed, not seconds.

"Do you understand me?" I nodded without hesitation, speechless from fear and the remnants of phantom pain. "Speak, man!" his demand boomed through me. 

“Yes, sir, I understand.” 

“Now go, get out of my presence.” 

I walk the same halls now as I did that day. I know my way around now. The first time it took me hours to find my mistress and where she stayed. When I did find her, she was so excited. The thought of her happiness brings a smile to my face, but what happened after that made me what I am now. Her little frame skipped up to me and told me to kneel. I did as she asked, and she reached around and gave me the collar I wear now. The second that collar touched my neck was not the moment when I truly became her servant. At first, I spent my time hating the fate I was given and the cards I was dealt. Many times I would come back empty-handed on purpose to defy my mistress and my fate. However, it didn't take long for me to see the fate of the other souls in the lower ream and know I got lucky. It was at this time I realized my mistress had saved me from an even darker fate. I owed her my loyalty, my adoration, and my eternity. That was the moment I truly became her servant. As my thoughts clear, I'm brought back to the task at hand. I drag this soul behind me this time, he is still screaming obscenities, but my path remains the same. I drag the soul to my mistress's bedroom and knock on the door. All I hear is a grunt in return. I open it, pushing my way through, and drop the soul I had been dragging with me. I fall to my knee and look to the soul "bow in the presence of my mistress." I try to stay calm and not show anger in her presence. He looks up at me and spits. 

“Fuck you, where did you take me?” I rise from my bow and kick the soul, making contact with his jaw, he reals for a second. My mistress stands to address us, and I fall into a bow again. 

“Leave him. I am more displeased with you!” she says, exasperated. 

I snap my head up in surprise and look my mistress in the eyes. I have to look up farther than I used to. Over the past thousand years, my mistress has grown into a fine young lady. Half of her face is still missing, but her curly mane covers the missing parts. She is tall like her father and just as massive but in a different way. She is developing all the features that make her a woman. We do not age in this realm, but there is an exception for the royalty. It's a way to keep some sort of balance in the hierarchy. Even if it is the lower realm, no one wants a tyrant, especially when they live for over a millennium. She will grow into a force to be reckoned with, and I am proud to serve at her side. However, that sentiment does not stand when she is angry. "Why are you disappointed with me?" I ask, confusion flooding my tone. 

“You brought me this pitiful soul! What am I going to do with him? He would be a terrible plaything.” I don't know how to respond to her disappointment, so I stay quiet. 

"I don't want him!" She flings her hand outwards towards the poor soul, and he explodes as if a bomb went off in his chest. Blood and viscera spray all over the wall and me, but I don't dare flinch. When my mistress is mad, it is best to just do nothing and let her calm down. It is times like these when I am reminded that while my mistress is thousands of years old, she still has the mind of a young teenager. Her tantrums can get out of hand, and when her anger becomes too much, she will send me to her father to receive punishment, and she will watch. Her face lights up with pure joy and amusement while he tortures me for letting his daughter down. 

I do not enjoy it, but I do deserve it. I should never let my mistress down.

However, my hopes are crushed when she says in a short tone, "Come with me." 

I obediently follow her, my stomach knotting the closer to the throne room we get. When we get there, my mistress's father is sitting on his throne. 

“Hello princess.” he booms in the voice that haunts my dreams. 

"Hey, daddy!" she sings out in her innocent voice. 

“What can I do for you?” He asks her. 

"Well, daddy, he brought me an ugly, nasty toy I didn't want again."

"Princess, I don't think you need any more toys. You never keep them for long; hell, you already kept this one for too long." My mistress's father flings his hand in my direction, making his point. "That is because there is always something wrong with them." groans my mistress 

"No, you need to stop being so picky and be happy with the toys you have now. I love you, princess, but you are getting too old for this. You look so much like your mother; it is time you stop acting like her before you meet the same fate." 

The thinly veiled threat makes my blood boil. There are whispers of the fate of my mistress’s mother and minimal remnants of her. A portrait here or there throughout the castle, nothing more. There are rumors that my mistress's father actually went up to the middle realm to claim her soul himself. He was apparently in love with her and the stories he had heard of her from incoming souls. In life, she was apparently one of the most gruesome serial killers of her time, but no one suspected a beauty like her. 

When he claimed her soul, she was given a choice to become his lover or spend her eternity in torment and pain. She made the choice that anyone would make and became his lover. He loved her for her twisted and demented soul and thought he could turn her into his dark queen. However, that was not enough for her. Spending her days being a lover and a mother was a hell of its own for her. The mundaneness of her years here pushed her to her limit, where she eventually broke. In her insanity, she tried to kill my mistress and then herself. It was her final horrendous act to bring the ruler of the lower realm to his knees in pain. A pain that could not be stitched up or healed. Before she could go through with her plan, my mistress's father was forced to kill the woman he loved more than anything. In a way, she succeeded in her plan to cause him pain. 

It puzzles me why anyone would kill themselves in death. It is what those down here call "the final breath' when your soul is completely obliterated and disappears. It is the one true and final death. The thought of my mistress meeting that same fate fills me with pain and anger. I would never let that happen. When I look at my mistress, I see that the threat is not wasted on her. She knows the meaning behind it and what her father is trying to say. Her face reflects the same thing I feel, a mixture of pain and anger. Even though our reasons for these emotions differ, I still feel bad for my mistress. She slowly walks her way up to her father's throne. "You are completely right, father, I am acting like a child, and I apologize for that." She goes to give her father a hug. Confusion is written on my face and mind. My mistress would never admit her wrongs, and her use of the word "father" and not "Daddy" makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. When my mistress gets to her father's throne and wraps her arms around him, her words make my blood run cold. "I am sorry I am so like my mother, but I will succeed where she could not. I will bring you to your knees.'' The sound of glass shattering echoes throughout the room. I look to see that my mistress has punched through the chest of armor and has taken ahold of the shadows that act as his heart. Before I can process what is happening, my mistress rips her father's heart out of his chest. 

I don't move; I'm frozen in shock as I watch. The shadows that made up her father's cloak wrap around her body, symbolizing the transfer of power. The shadows form a fitted floor-length gown with a slit that goes up my mistress's thigh. The gown is embellished with plates of armor for protection. Where the shadows gave off the texture of fur on her father. When the shadows meet my mistress's skin, they form a light elegant fabric that shimmers as if the night sky makes up her gown. I continue to look on, my mouth agape. 

"Don't look at me like that. I am your queen now" I gather myself and fall to my knee, showing my mistress, no, my queen, the respect she deserves. 

“May I ask you the reason for your actions, my queen?”

"Yes, you may, and I will be completely honest with you. You heard what my father said, I am no longer his little girl to him; I am a crazy carbon copy of my mother. He was going to get rid of me the second he got bored of me just like he did my mother. It's important to know that I was not his only child; there have been others. Have you heard of these other children?" 

I shake my head no to my queen’s question, confusion written in my expression as she continues her speech. 

"Exactly, they all supposedly died of suspicious reasons if you can even get anyone to talk about them. Getting the information was like pulling teeth, and I actually had to pull a few to get some of the servants to speak." 

I continue to kneel, looking at the floor, stunned by my queen's words. "Now, back to why we were here in the first place. You still need to be punished for bringing me that wretched soul from earlier." 

I want to cower, but I will myself not shrink away from what comes next as my queen takes strides towards me. She reaches down and roughly grabs the back of my hair, forcing me to look at her. At the same time, I pounce. I fling myself forward, knocking her off balance landing on top of her. My queen shrieks in surprise, but before she can finish her scream, I sink my teeth into her throat, ripping it out. 

My mistress's blood tastes sweet on my tongue, and I haul myself off the floor. The only sound in the room is my mistress choking on her own blood, and I step over her body, blood dripping from my mouth.  

"We all have our reasons for the things we do," I say to my mistress's dying form. "You were your father's heart and soul if he even had one, and you killed him out of spite. No, you killed him because you are a child throwing a tantrum. You ripped out your father's heart both physically and metaphorically. What I did, I did for love. At first, I thought I would spend my days in pain and isolation as your doll. As the years went on, I grew to love you and see you for who you really are, a goddess. A goddess of pain and terror—the holiest part of this sick world."

"You were too good for this world, and I had to save you before this world and your father ruined you. Now we can be together as one, and I will treat you like the goddess you are. To do that, I had to fool you, and I apologize for that, my love. There were no other children of your fathers. When you've had just about a thousand years to spread a rumor, people tend to forget who it originated from. No one would have been foolish enough to say anything about it in your father's presence. All it took was one rumor, and everything else fell into place. Now, we will rule the lower realms together for all of eternity." 

By the time I finish talking, the room has gone silent, signaling the end for my goddess and the beginning for me. The blood on the floor that had leaked from her neck turned black and surged towards me, beginning the final transfer of power. The blood climbs up my leg until it covers my body and disappears. Behind it, symbols are left along my skin. A set of black, light armor covers my body. The shadows that make up the armor give off the illusion of dragon scales. Attached to my back is a set of massive dragon wings. I am amazed by my new appearance, but it doesn't take me long to realize the collar given to me by my goddess is still around my neck. The symbol of my death and my servitude weigh heavy on my neck, but I welcome the weight. I walk up to the throne and take a seat, marking the beginning of my reign as the mad ruler of the lower realm. I fling my hand outwards, and shadows fly from my palm, slicing through the air. This is just the beginning. I can feel the power in me continue to grow. Even though my collar remains around my neck, my time in servitude has ended, and my reign has begun. It is hard for me to believe that my journey began at the hanging tree.

About the Author

Syan Lancaster is a sophomore psychology major born in Maryland. Syan has loved to write in her free time since she was 14. She enjoys writing horror and fiction as it allows her to push boundaries. Writing has always given her an escape and a way to express her creativity. She hopes her writing can do the same for others one day.