The Watcher in the Tree

The tree had always been there. Alone, unwavering, its gnarled branches stretched against the endless sky like skeletal fingers. I passed it every evening on my way home, and every evening, I felt its presence.

But then, something changed.

One day, as the wind whispered through the grass, I noticed a shadow perched atop the tree. A figure. At first, I thought it was a bird, its form unmoving, blending into the bleak horizon. But as I walked past, I realised something chilling—it was watching me.

The next day, it was still there. Unchanged. Perched in the exact same spot, motionless. I quickened my pace, but I could feel its eyes—deep, hollow, and knowing.

On the third day, curiosity overpowered fear. I stopped and stared at the figure. "Hello?" I called out, my voice lost in the wind. No answer. No movement. Just silence.

Then, in the suffocating quiet, I heard it. A whisper—not from the wind, but from the tree itself. "You see me now."

The figure shifted. Its head twisted unnaturally, its limbs cracking as it moved.

I ran.

Since that day, I have avoided the tree. But sometimes, when I dare glance at the horizon, I see it. The Watcher. Waiting.

And I know one day, it will leave the tree.

And follow.

Done