Tree House

Photo by Ca Ku on Unsplash

The trees had a green filter to them, but most everything was brown. The dirt, the bark. What wasn’t brown was grey, dead branches big and small lying on the ground. What wasn’t grey was green, the tufts of grass poking out of the soil, the pine tree needles, the leaves on the aspens.

What wasn’t green was red. The sign with fresh red marker that said “DANGER: KEEP OUT.”

I stepped closer to the sign.

The handwriting was large and sloppy, like Ms. Blatworth often described my handwriting. Somehow I knew another child had made this sign. Especially since it was written on construction paper stapled to a stick.

I walked past the sign. If another child had been here, surely I was safe.

Everything was greener beyond the child-made sign. Sunnier, too. It was a clearing with a deep blue sky above, and large fluffy clouds in distinct animal shapes. The animals were playing with each other, playfully swiping at the other’s faces. Because they were made of cloud, the faces were scratched off.

I watched the lion get decapitated by the goat as the wind swirled around me.

The lion’s head tumbled slowly down towards the treetops, which is when I saw the tree house.

***

My whole nine years of life, I’d been told, “Get your head out of the clouds. You have to live in the real world.” But unfortunately, I could never ground myself.

I was daydreaming in class, the biggest sin to an elementary school teacher. And unfortunately not something I could help. I would daydream about the books I would read, which made me sound smart. My parents called me “gifted.” But mostly, I would daydream about the shows I couldn’t wait to watch when I got home. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles was my favorite.

“Moriah,” Ms. Blatworth barked.

The other kids laughed as I jumped. Ms. Blatworth’s ruler had almost hit my tiny wrist. It was pointing at the half pie chart on my table. There were three colored portions of the half-circle, one green to represent a turtle, one white to represent a human, and one red to represent a rabbit. The ruler was, predictably, resting on the green portion.

“Turtle,” Ms. Blatworth announced to the class. As if anyone needed guessing. “Moriah, I used to say you had shapeshifting abilities, but I’m starting to think you’re actually just a turtle.”

A chorus of laughs echoed around me. My face reddened. Just — I glanced at the clock — seven more hours of this and I can go home. And watch the movie version of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, the one with Casey Jones.

“I think she’s more hog than turtle,” Tommy Brickstone, one of the boys in the front row, said in a loud whisper.

I folded my hands, praying that Ms. Blatworth would try to smack Tommy’s wrist as well.

Her back was turned.

Movement out of the corner of my eye drew my attention. Tommy turned to all the kids behind him, smirked, and opened his khaki shorts pocket wide, flashing a broad kitchen knife, the kind my parents would use to cut meat. Tommy put his finger to his lips. “Don’t tell anyone.” His whisper carried to me, the one person other than Ms. Blatworth who wasn’t supposed to hear. Tommy looked at me in disgust when he caught my eye.

“Turtle hog.”

It didn’t make sense, though, I thought to myself as I wandered onto the playground, separate from the other kids. The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles were fast because they were ninjas. A turtle isn’t slow.

Well, maybe a real turtle is, I remembered. But the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles are part human. Or they’re kind of like humans. They’re a perfect mix of turtle and human.

But I’m not a perfect mix of turtle and human, I told myself. Ms. Blatworth thinks I’m more turtle than human. Not good enough to be a ninja.

But…the turtles are teenagers! I’ll get there.

“Are you talking to your imaginary friends again, Hog?” one kid jeered at me.

I ran to the swings, escaping the mean laughter. I often talked to myself without meaning to. Sometimes I did talk to my imaginary friends, though I was trying to distance myself from them so I would get made fun of less. It didn’t seem to be doing much so far.

I would escape from the kids on the playground by sitting on the swings and swinging higher and higher. I was out in the open, but kids couldn’t hurt me. If they tried to taunt me, I could hurt them. I could just reach my legs out and kick them. It wasn’t allowed, and I wouldn’t do it, but it was fun to think about.

I’d accidentally kicked a rabid dog that had wandered onto the school once. It had tried to bite me, but I’d ended up scaring it off when my shoe collided with its face. Other kids liked dogs. I didn’t. Kicking one had made me feel powerful. When I thought of kicking the other kids, I imagined them as that same rabid dog.

After I daydreamed about scaring off all the Dogs, I realized how high I was swinging. If I stretched any farther, I could touch the clouds with my feet. My true dream was to sprout wings and fly out of the seat into the clouds. Not be a turtle, or a hog, or even a human. Just a bird.

Photo by Rebecca Peterson-Hall on Unsplash

Ms. Blatworth interrupted my favorite fantasy, shouting at me to get off the swing. It was time another kid had their turn. “Stop hogging the swings, Moriah!”

Ms. Blatworth would shout whenever she saw me on the swings. I tried to obey her, even if her rules were stupid. But I couldn’t. The swings were the only place the Dogs left me alone. Maybe they were always trying to get me in more trouble with Ms. Blatworth, because they would just circle around the tunnel or the swing set, growling and barking.

“Come down, come down, Moriah,” they would chant. “Don’t hog the swings, Moriah, you hog,” Ms. Blatworth would shout. Then the kids would mimic oinking.

I sighed thinking about it. They could never decide if I was a turtle or a hog. Tommy Brickstone said I was a turtle hog, which didn’t make any sense.

“Come down to the ground, Moriah,” the Dogs were now calling to me as I started slowing down.

“Stop hogging the swing, Moriah!” Ms. Blatworth shrieked at me.

Startled, I turned to see her purple face just as my feet collided into the chest of one of the Dogs. Screaming, he clutched my small feet and dragged me off the swing. The swing seat managed to whack my face just as I fell to the wood chip pile.

It was humiliating more than painful — though the pain was there. A large group of Dogs had gathered around, barking their laughter, circling around me, chanting “Turtle Hog!" When I sat up, I half-expected Ms. Blatworth to still be there, to be glaring at me, to even chant “Turtle Hog” with them. Instead, she wasn’t even there anymore. I’d fallen, and she’d left me there. To fend off the pack of Dogs who were circling closer and closer to me.

A glint caught my eye. Sunlight was reflecting off of a knife, a broad kitchen knife that one of the Dogs gripped in his tiny fist. Tommy was leading the pack forward, a hungry, loathing look in his pale blue eyes.

He towered over me only by a couple of feet, but his glare was menacing. “Die, Turtle Hog.” The Dog lunged forward, aiming the knife at my eye.

He was clumsy, and not as strong as I’d expected. I knocked his wrist up, the knife tumbling out of his hand. His paper-thin body tripped over my head. There was a child-sized opening in the circle of Dogs. I wasted no time sprinting through. A couple of kids’ fingers brushed the sleeves of my jacket, but they couldn’t catch me.

I sprinted, practically flew, off of the playground. Like a rabbit. No, I’d never been called that before. Like a ninja turtle.

I heard the howls and barks behind me, quickly gaining ground. I’d reached the chain-link fence. None of us knew what was on the other side. Some kids said there was a graveyard. The teachers said it was a private property.

Whatever it was, it was uncharted territory. The Forbidden Forest. A place where I may never come back.

I climbed the fence and jumped over to the other side as the Dogs grabbed the fence with their many hands and shook it with shocking strength.

“Stop!”

It was Tommy. His icy eyes glared at me, and he began to climb the now-still fence. He was gaining ground. Soon he’d be over the fence. Soon he’d be able to cut me with his knife.

I screamed as I began running through the woods. That’s all I could see, dead pine needles and thin branches lying on the ground like outstretched arms in a haunted house. Ready to trip me. Branches snapped behind me. Tommy was running after me. I didn’t look back. Not yet.

“Help!” I screamed. I couldn’t see any houses, but a private property meant that someone owned it. Maybe the owners would hear me. “Help! He’s going to kill me!”

Laughter echoed off the decaying trees. It was the Dog. No, The Beast from the Sandlot made flesh. If I didn’t get to have a name anymore, neither did Tommy. The Beast laughed like a child about to win a game. His laughter was right behind me.

I screamed and dodged to the side, hoping to throw The Beast off his rhythm. “Why do girls always fall down when they’re scared?”

The Beast was standing over me, calmly observing me, almost curious. “Girls just give up when they’re scared. They don’t put up a fight.”

I lunged at him, pushing at his chest. He stumbled and fell backwards, but kept his grip on the knife this time. That was unfortunate for him; the blade dipped into his leg.

I took the opportunity to run. His screams masked my cries for help. No one was coming for me anyway, I knew that. But Ms. Blatworth would probably come for The Beast. A part of me hoped she wouldn’t.

After a moment, I stopped running. I listened to my heavy breathing and the wind whipping past me. I couldn’t hear footsteps, but I wasn’t going to take a chance. If Ms. Blatworth ran into the woods, she would be smarter than the Beast, stealthier.

I kept moving until I reached the clearing.

Photo by Raúl Nájera on Unsplash

The tree house had been nearby the child-made sign that spelled “DANGER: KEEP OUT.” The cloud that resembled the lion’s head guided my gaze to the spot.

It was dilapidated, a word I had just learned. Only one wall was peaking out through the branches. The wood was old and grey. Whoever had made it when they were a kid probably didn’t live here anymore. Parts of the wood were blackened, as if the planks had been used for firewood once. I couldn’t think why else the wood would’ve been burned.

Curiosity, and dread from the idea of being caught, pushed me to climb the tree.

As I got closer to the tree house, I glanced down and immediately felt myself falling forward. My body wasn’t falling, but my brain was flipping forward in my skull. My vision blurred momentarily as I gazed down on the endless green and brown far below me. I knew if I fell I probably wouldn’t even feel myself dying. It would be quick.

I sucked in a deep breath and looked at the bark of the tree. I listened to the birds chirping. That was all I heard. Just birds. No Dogs. No teachers.

I was alone.

That thought almost made me fall again out of fear. I needed to get down. Get back to reality. Before something happened to me.

What would happen to you? It was a voice in my head, but it sounded like a whisper in the wind.

I could fall and die, I told the wind. I could get eaten by real dogs. Coyotes. Or bears.

Or you could be completely fine. Alone, for once. Safe.

I thought about that word. Safe. That sounded so nice. What I always wanted.

What you always wanted, the wind continued. You could rule here. You’d never have to answer to anyone again.

By then I knew my brain was just feeding my imagination. I had a strong imagination. I was just pretending with myself.

But I deserved to be alone. I would just be on this private property for a few more minutes. Then I’d go back.

Photo by Benjamin Huggett on Unsplash

The inside of the house was big. There was no ceiling. The other three walls facing away from the clearing were shrouded in shadow. I assumed the rest of the house was resting on the branches of the surrounding trees. The grey and black planks were wide, and held my weight well enough, though I made sure to stand on my tippy-toes and channeled Horton the Elephant when he crossed the rope bridge. I was only wanting to see how far back the house went.

But the house stretched on farther than I thought. There was nothing to see besides the pine needles creating shadows over the burnt walls. But at a glance, I could see a couch, a washer, a sink, all in the darkness. At least, I could imagine all those things.

Yet when I looked up, none of that was real.

Instead, there was a shadowy figure in the distance, waiting to greet me.

“Hello, Moriah,” the shadow said. It was in the shape of a woman with short, fluffy hair around her head like a cloud. Her voice came out like an old woman’s. She sounded like she was smiling, though I couldn’t see her face, or what she was wearing. She appeared to be holding a leash with something on four legs attached to it. I heard snuffling coming from the leashed figure. “We’re so glad you’ve found us. We’ve been watching you closely.”

Instinctively, I looked behind me. The back wall was now hard for me to see clearly.

“Don’t be frightened, we won’t hurt you,” the shadow continued. “Come into the dark with us. We’re your friends.”

I shook my head, taking a tiny step back. “I don’t have any friends.”

“That’s not true,” she said in a sing-song voice. “We’re your friends, Moriah. The friends in your head. The friends in your bedroom. The friends you talk to on the playground when no one’s watching.”

My heart thudded against my chest. I understood what she was saying. “You’re my imaginary friends.”

“Yes…and no. As you can see, we’re very real. We’re just your own personal friends, if you will. Friends designed for your mind specifically. You’re the only one who can see us.”

I studied the shadow and its pet, which reminded me of a pig. “You’re Adreanna,” I realized. “I named you after my great-grandmother. I only remember seeing her in the dark, when she was in the home for old people. And the pig is Carnation! Lots of carnations are pink like pigs.”

“That’s right, Moriah.” The shadow lady — Adreanna — laughed, a nice, sweet giggle, like I imagined my great-grandma would do. “So, Moriah, why did you come to meet us?”

I shrugged. “I didn’t mean to find you, I guess I found this tree house on accident. I didn’t even know you were real.”

“No, child, you came looking for us. You could’ve gone back to school. You could’ve even gone back home. But instead, you explored the woods, because you were looking for us. You’ve always known we were real.”

“Oh,” I said. I couldn’t argue with Adreanna. She was the wise lady of my imaginary friends. She knew everything. “I guess because I wanted to find something new. An escape. Somewhere I could go anytime I wanted and be safe…”

“We can give you that, child,” Adreanna said eagerly. “We can give you your own world.”

I gasped. “Really?”

“Really. We can grant you the kind of world that’s always been inside your head. The world you’ve longed for because you know it exists.”

I looked around at the house made of shadows. Through the gaps in the branches above, I could see the silver clouds, soft and closer than I’d ever seen them.

“I don’t like grey clouds very much,” I said. The sky had been blue minutes ago, with fluffy white clouds.

“You like nice, soft clouds,” Adreanna said.

“With the sun,” I corrected her. “It doesn’t seem like the sun touches this place.”

“It will, once you take over. We’ve been waiting for you, Moriah. For our queen to rule her kingdom.”

“This is my kingdom?”

“Of course! You’re the long lost princess. We’ve been waiting for you to come home to restore our kingdom.”

Adreanna’s figure was becoming larger, more solid. There were two pinpricks of light that I realized was the dim light reflecting in her eyes. My heart beat quickened as I realized she was slowly moving towards me.

“I’m sorry,” I began, slowly moving one foot away. “I think you’ve got the wrong person. I’m not a long lost princess.”

“Yes, you are.” Her voice turned into vapor, steaming like another silver cloud. The shadow lady was coming out of the shadows, reaching out a formless arm like a snake preparing to strike. “Come back, lost princess.”

I tried to move, but I was frozen. I held my arms up in front of my face. “Wait!” My eyes and nose stung as tears started rolling down my cheeks. For the second time that day, I feared for my life.

But nothing happened. Nothing struck me. An elongated hand didn’t grab me. Slowly, I peered through my fingers.

The shadow lady was nowhere to be seen.

It had all been in my head.

Slumping down to the wobbly tree house surface, I laughed at myself. I was crazy.

It was all in my head. It had all felt so real, but it was in my head.

Maybe my teachers had been right about me. Maybe I did need to start growing up and face reality. I was going to be in the fifth grade soon. Assuming I wasn’t held back. Ms. Blatworth was threatening to fail me in her class for being too much of a turtle, and worse, a hog, not enough of a real human.

I started worrying, my fingers going to my eyelashes. I picked one out. It hurt. I reminded myself of the Spongebob episode I watched this morning, where they said eyelashes would never grow back. I pulled up my sleeve and started picking out blonde hairs I could find. It was less gratifying because the hair was harder to grasp, but it was satisfying when it was out. Soon a patch of arm hair was gone.

Tears warmed my cold cheeks. I was soon disappointed that the illusion was gone. Why had I been so scared of Adreanna? She was trying to make me her queen. Anything that could have happened with her surely couldn’t have been as bad as going back to school to face the Dogs and Ms. Blatworth.

It was my fault the illusion was gone. It was my fault it had started getting scary. Why couldn’t I have just made it happier? It was in my head, after all.

Closing my eyes, I repeated as if I were the shadow lady, “We’ve been waiting for you to take back the kingdom, Moriah. You’re the long lost princess we want to make queen.”

I opened my eyes. The tree house was still empty. Concentrate. I can make her appear again, if I really want to.

“We’ve been waiting for you to take back the kingdom, Moriah. You’re the long lost princess. Let us make you our queen.”

I was more hopeful when I opened my eyes. But again, there was nothing. I cried, trying to hide my sniffles, but then I gave up when I remembered I was just by myself. I wasn’t the long lost princess. I was just Moriah. The girl that lived in her head and would never make it in the real world.

The most terrible thought hit me. What if I was too lost to find my way back? What if I died out here? Everyone would be right. Moriah couldn’t even last an hour in the woods. I expected any minute for a bear to crawl up in the tree house, reveal that it was his home, and eat me for trespassing.

But just as I was succumbing to my inevitable fate, I heard a human voice. One that scared me more than anything I’d been through that day. It was the voice of Ms. Blatworth, somewhere far below me, off in the distance, screaming my name. Not in the way that she cared. The way she was shouting made me feel like she’d skin me alive if I came down. She’d probably take the Beast’s knife and do it herself.

I stopped crying, started holding my breath. With any luck, she wouldn’t see the tree house. She probably wouldn’t climb after me, would she?

“I am the long lost princess, Moriah, come to take my place as queen of this kingdom,” I whispered. And for a moment, I believed it.

And then two hands gently wiped my tears away.

I opened my eyes.

Shadows for hands were extended to me in welcome.