Something about the way the sapling billowed in the wind caught Sarah’s eye on her way to her work. Sitting on the edge of the woods, it waved its limbs like it was calling for help. She scoffed, started getting in her car when it flailed around again. This time, she was sure. There was no gust of wind. It had to be moving on its own.

As she took several hesitant steps towards the plant, it flapped its leaves in excitement. Closing the last few feet, it was nearly trembling. She stood over the plant, waiting for something to happen, looking over her shoulder every few moments, wondering if this was all a dream. Frustration tugged on the tendons in her neck. She had to get to work but, for some reason, couldn’t pull herself away.

She crouched to examine the plant. At first, nothing seemed different but eventually, she noticed that there was a slight, wispy sound emanating from the leaves. For a second, she thought that it was just the trembling that was producing the noise, but it was coming from somewhere else. She looked around the base of the plant, but when she moved her head away, the sound became quieter. She felt crazy. The whole thing felt unreal. She pressed her ear to the leaf.

“It’s coming,” it whispered. 

She whipped her head back, screamed, and took several clumsy steps backwards. The plant started flailing its limbs again while she clutched her chest, waiting for her heart rate to settle back down. It looked like it had more to say, but she turned her back to it and drove to work.

***

When Sarah returned home, the plant once again waved its limbs, begging for attention. A pit formed in her stomach, but she averted her gaze and headed straight for the door. So focused on ignoring the sapling, she almost missed that the oak tree in her yard had moved forward about three feet. She blinked, shook her head, and thought that she must have remembered wrong. Something must be messing with her head, she told herself. She placed her hand on the doorknob, but the pit in her stomach grew. She had to know for sure.

As she hustled across the yard, all the plants around the edges of the woods began vibrating. Once she was steps away from the tree, its leaves began trembling as well. Keeping her distance, she walked to the other side of the tree. The dirt behind it was disturbed, leaving behind a trail that confirmed it had, in fact, moved through the soil, seemingly of its own volition.

The hair stood up on the back of her neck and the muscles in her throat clenched. She looked up at the canopy of the oak tree, its leaves shaking back and forth like it was crying. Anxiety swelled in her chest, but she grabbed a branch and brought the leaves down to her ear.

“It will suffocate us all. Look for yourself,” it whispered.

She let go of the branch and all of the leaves moved to point towards the treeline. She thought about calling somebody: the police, a psychiatrist, the EPA, but who would believe her? Whether it was out of curiosity or fear or some unknown force, her feet took steps towards the tree line. She held her breath. The leaves of every tree and bush shook more and more forcibly as she approached. The underbrush leaned to the side, and the hanging canopy lifted itself up, allowing Sarah to peer through the thicket and into the heart of the woods.

Everything had been overtaken by a blanket of dense vines with heart-shaped leaves. The thick cords were wrapped around every tree. The foliage covered the entire forest floor, making it impossible to distinguish anything underneath. Everything had been consumed by this mass of leaves, leaving behind a scene that was as lush as it was haunting.

Sarah ran inside and locked the door.

***

That night, she had a dream where she was lost in an endless field covered with the vining leaves. In every direction she looked, the leaves blanketed the flat landscape. There were no trees, no landmarks, just leaves that stretched endlessly into the horizon.

She picked a direction and began walking, unsure if she was getting closer to home or wandering deeper into the expanse. As she walked, she’d occasionally slip, or her shoe would bump against a vine. Eventually, however, she realized that the vines were trying to trip her. They’d raise up as she stepped. They attempted to cling to her shoes. Every time she stood still, the tendrils would start to wrap themselves around her ankles.

Afraid they’d consume her if she rested for too long, she kept walking. It felt like it had been days. She was exhausted. She screamed for help, but no one came. Never finding anything other than flat ground and leaves, she began to lose hope that she’d ever escape. After her legs finally gave out, she fell to her knees and then rolled onto her back. 

The vines crept around her arms, around her legs, around her waist, and around her neck as she stared at the empty sky. She heard a stranger walk up to her, but she was too tired to turn her head.

“Doesn’t it feel good to give in?” he asked and mustering all the strength she had left, Sarah pulled herself into a sitting position.

Panting, covered in sweat, she looked around her bedroom. It was early enough that the first glimpses of sunlight were poking through the trees but late enough that she didn’t want to go back to bed. She made a cup of tea and stared out at the trees, wondering with each gust of wind if it was a cry for help.

On the way to work, she noticed the vines had started to creep out into the grass.

***

That evening, everything was still. There wasn’t much wind, but the lack of movement made Sarah feel uneasy. Without realizing, she had come accustomed to the liveliness of the plants. Now, hanging there completely unanimated, they felt like standing corpses.

All night, she heard a low rumbling. Avoiding the windows, she paced through the house, looking for something to keep her mind distracted from the plants outside. She could swear, in the silence, she could hear their faint calls for help. Like a chorus, they silently plead for their lives, begging Sarah to save them. She tossed and turned through the early hours of the night before giving up and gulping down a few sleeping pills.

In her dreams, she was instantly transported back to the endless field of vines. They were wrapped around her entire body, squeezing tighter and tighter. She could feel somebody standing over her, but she couldn’t see through the leaves that covered her face. The cords crept through her hair, ran up her pant legs, and squeezed past her clenched lips.

She woke up in her bedroom with a vine wrapped tightly around her neck. She gasped for air as she pried the cords loose. Every surface in the room was covered in the foliage. Her chest felt tight as her heart race increased. She scanned the room, looking for something untouched by vines until she saw, in the window, the oak tree with its leaves pressed up against the glass. She opened the window.

“No one listened,” it whispered, and the vines began writhing underneath Sarah’s feet.

“I’m sorry.” She cried.

“Destroy the crown,” it whispered, and its leaves pushed her away from the window. Leaving her room, she saw that the vines had taken over the entire house. What was once her living room was now an amorphous topiary with blobs of leaves that used to be furniture.

She stepped out the door and, in the moonlight, she could see the trees waving their limbs. She ran over the vines that had swallowed her entire yard, towards the rustling trees. Once inside the woods, she followed the plants as they guided her. The trees would point in a direction and the withering underbrush would stretch their dying hands over the creeping vines, beckoning her further into the woods.

She trampled through the foliage, fighting her way through the vines that clung to her ankles, until she found it. In the middle of a clearing, a knotted mass of vines throbbed. It looked vaguely like a human with several limbs that branched out into the surrounding vines. Its head looked like a shriveled fruit or a bulbous root. The top of the head morphed into nodules shaped like a crown that glowed faintly in the darkness.

She tore at the vines around the head, clearing off any supports that tethered it to the mass. Digging her nails into the vine’s flesh, she tugged at the head, pulling until she felt a cord snap. Taking a second to catch her breath, she tugged again, this time twisting the head as she pulled. The trees around her vibrated in encouragement as one by one, the vines snapped. With a final tug, the head ripped off, and she fell backwards with the head in her hands.

Instantly, the vines stopped moving, but the trees continued to shake. It sounded almost like a gentle rain as the leaves of each and every tree vibrated in celebration. Out of breath, she pulled herself up into a standing position. She wanted to feel like it was over, but she couldn’t recognize anything around her. A pit formed in her stomach. The trees seemed pleased but looking around, all she could see were the vines.

END