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Description
Jesse walked down the old ,beaten path that ran behind her house, trying not to think…

“No, that doesn’t work,”

…thinking about life…

“Eww, no…”

…letting her thoughts run wild. She stopped, closing her eyes, taking in a breath to smell the autumn air. The sounds of leaves crunching as they collided, the chirping of the last birds before they flew away for the winter; she let it envelope her, relax her…

“I’m gonna kill myself before this thing is finished,” the writer said to herself. She pushed her laptop away and proceeded to hit her head on the desk. She had been trying to write this story for quite some time, but the way the words came out, they just didn’t seem right to her. She ran her fingers through her short black hair, twirling a purple streak around her finger. Sighing, the writer pushed herself away from the desk, spinning around in her chair, staring up at the ceiling, making herself dizzy.

A male, looking to be around 15-16, opened the door on the opposite side of the room from the desk, popping his head in to stare at the spinning girl. He blinked, shaking his head as he walked in. Grabbing the back of the chair, the girl was shocked out of her stupor, so much that she almost fell off mid-flail. She spun her head around to glare at the male.

“Damon! The hell was that for?” she pouted, her storm grey eyes keeping a stern watch over his every movement. Damon half grinned, taking his hands off the back of the chair.

“I just wanted to see what would happen if I did.” He pulled up another chair, plopping himself down on it, the backrest in between his legs.

“Gods, you’re an ass,” She glared flatly. The writer rolled back over to the desk, grabbing the box of pop-tarts that laid open, off to the side.

“And you need to eat something better than pop-tarts. No wonder you can’t think right, you’ve got too much sugar in your brain!” Damon got up, stealing the last package in the box.

“I do not have sugar in my brain! If I did, I wouldn’t be tired,” the dark circles under her eyes where proof of that. They were not very prominent, but they were still visible under the artificial light shining over-head.

“When did you last even get sleep?” He looked over at the laptop screen. “It’s almost 1 in the afternoon, how long have you been up?”

“Since 7, maybe? Wasn’t really looking at the clock,” She said, rubbing an eye of it’s sleep.

“Bridget, it’s Sunday! How the hell can you wake up so early on a Sunday?” Damon looked at her as if she had grown tentacles. Bridget grabbed back the package of pop-tarts, starting to eat through the plastic wrapping.

“I’m not a guy, and I don’t stay up till 3 in the morning the night before playing video games,” she snapped, finally opening the pop-tarts. She started munching on one, taking small bites as she glared at the male.

“Being a guy has nothing to do with it. And you stay up longer than I do, writing,” he shot back.

“At least I’m doing something productive, now drop it. We’re not 5 anymore.” Bridget finished off the pop-tart in her hand, setting the other one on the desk. She pulled the laptop towards her, continuing on her story.

…She heard a noise behind her, making her spin, eyes snapping open instantly. Looking around, she saw nothing at first, but her guard did not lower. Jesse took a few steps towards where the noise had come from, but nothing happened. Looking up into the trees, she still saw nothing, and finally relaxed after another few moments…

“That sentence can fall down a hole and die…” Bridget growled. Damon chuckled behind his hand. “You’re still here?”

“Yes. Listening to your commentary is such an amusement,” he grinned. Bridget rolled her eyes, going back to her story. “Is it bugging you that much?”

“Yes,” she replied, in an exasperated tone. “I’ve gotten everything else written out for this damned thing, all I have left is the beginning, and nothing I write for it flows properly!” She laid her forehead on the edge of the desk, sighing. “And I’ve got that new idea that I’ve been wanting to play with. And half the time, I start writing that idea, instead of Jesse.”

“And you’re just gonna give up?” Damon asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“No, just maybe take a break from Jesse for a while, is all…” she sighed.

“Okay, so was is this new idea you’ve got?” He spun his chair around, sitting down on it properly. His foot came up to rest on his opposite knee as he got comfortable.

“Well, it starts off where a girl is trying to write, but is stuck on writers block…”

“Like you are now?” Damon pushed in quickly.

“Shut up, do you want to hear the idea or not?” Bridget snapped.

“Alright, alright. Does the girl have a name yet?” he asked, raising his hands in surrender.

“No, not really. Anyways, she decides to go outside to get some fresh air, but then she's most likely going to be attacked by demons.”

“Attacked by demons? That‘s so un-original. Go for something unexpected, like, being attacked by rabid brooms!” Daemon commented, rolling his eyes.

“That's TOO unexpected, you ass!”

“Jeeze, don’t blow a fuse, sis. Anyways, besides the boring beginning, it’s sounding pretty good,” he half-smirked.

“Thanks,” she nodded.

“So what happens after she gets mauled?” his smirk grew to full force.

“She gets rescued by a group of guys, and as the story goes on, almost every bad thing imaginable happens to her,” Bridget smiled.

“So, the poor girls got a bad case of Murphy’s law? Everything that can go wrong, will?” Damon's eyebrow twitched in question.

“Yup,” she nodded.

“Does she fall for any of the guys?” his cheshire-like grin spread farther across his face.

“Haven’t decided yet.”

Damon's face faltered slightly, but he continued on with his questions. “How many are in the group?”

“Four maybe?” Bridget shrugged.

“What are they like?” Damon's face moved on to a more suave sort of grin as he said this.

“Dunno yet.” She shrugged again. "I'll cross that bridge when I come to it."

“Well, might as well start writing it, you’re fans are gonna wanna read SOMETHING soon.”

“You’re really eager, aren’t you?”

“Yup!”

“Well, since it’s daylight out, I wanna go outside for some clean air. It’s stuffy in here,” Bridget decided, closing the top of her laptop. She packed her stuff, and went outside, going up the wooden stairs to the deck on the second floor, shaded by a very large oak tree. A rope bridge lead from the deck to a tree house hidden from view at every angle by the trees huge leaves. Directly opposite from the rope bridge, was a door that lead back inside the house.

The wind blew through the leaves, making a calming, rustling noise that made her smile. She plugged her laptop back in, signed in, and opened up a new word file.

A large bedroom, with walls painted a light blue, was barely visible by the light of a small desk lamp. By the desk light, sat a red haired girl, and in front of her, a keyboard and a computer monitor. She was leaning back in her chair, sighing as she thought. The screen showed a page full of small font, and from the look of things, there were many other pages like it. A knock on the door broke her out of her train of thought.

“Come in,” she called, a tired-soft voice flowing from her lips.

A lady with long, brunette hair popped her head in. The natural sunlight that came through one of the windows in the hallway outside, shone by the woman, lighting up a small sliver of the room. She pushed her glasses higher up on her nose before she spoke.

“Crap, I still need a name for her…” Bridget said out loud, meshing her hands together in front of her face. Her fingers flew back to the keys as her face lit up.

“Felicity, are you still writing?” she asked with slight worry in her voice.

“No, Janet, I’m trying to count how many fluff balls are on the ceiling,” Felicity replied sarcastically, leaning farther back in her chair.

Janet smiled with closed eyes, as her voice betrayed her true feelings. “You’ve been writing for days, and you’ve only gotten a few hours of sleep, most of them in front of that computer. Now come down and eat something, or I’ll take it away.”

Felicity visibly flinched at the thought of loosing her computer. She got up, turned her monitor off,  and spun on her heels towards the other woman. “What is there to eat?”

Janet’s face brightened up, and she opened the door fully. “There are some sandwiches on the counter just waiting to be eaten! Now remember, your father and I are going on our honey moon, and we’re leaving in an hour. We’ll be gone for a week, and you are NOT, under any circumstances, to stay up the entire time writing. You will get at least 5 hours of sleep each night, and eat regularly. If you follow these rules, I will buy you that laptop you’ve been looking at.”

Felicity stared at her with wide eyes. “Really? You mean it?”

Janet nodded, smiling.

“Could we maybe add you stop spying on me to the bargain?” Felicity smiled with fake innocence.

“Maybe, we’ll see how it goes with this week first.” Janet shot back, playfully.

As Bridget became more and more engrossed with the computer screen, she did not notice that the old oak tree’s branches were moving with more force than the wind should have been blowing them.

Felicity sighed happily as she walked past Janet. She hopped down the stairs two at a time, and slid to a halt on the linoleum flooring of the kitchen. The sandwiches were on the counter, as promised, and looked to be made up of lettuce, tomato, cheese and a slice of either ham or turkey. Felicity, who seemed to enjoy sliding on the flooring a bit too much, sock surfed her way to the small platter, and grabbed one, munching politely so as not to seem a glutton. Picking up the small platter, she swallowed before calling up the stairs.

“I’m going to go and sit on the patio, I want some fresh air.”

“Alright, you go have your fresh air, honey,” she heard her father call as he came down the stairs, carrying a large black suit case. His 6 foot frame came into view, as he walked by the kitchen. He looked happier than he had in former years, and it was visible in the bounce in his step. As he looked over, he smiled with kind eyes. Felicity smiled back before opening the patio door and stepping out into the warm, summer air.

Closing her eyes, and taking a deep breath, she set the platter on the glass top of the cast iron table sitting in the dead center of the patio. The clink of glass hitting glass echoed around her, quickly swallowed up by the sound of  leaves rustling in the wind.

A loud groan snapped her from her writing, making Bridget turn in her chair. She looked around, and stared at the tree for a moment. The branches were blowing in the breeze naturally, and everything seemed normal.  ‘Probably just Damon, must have died on his video game again…’ she thought to herself, before returning her attention to the screen.

As she slowly ate her lunch, Felicity listened to the world around her. She had exceptional hearing, her father said she had gotten that from her mother, along with many other things. Felicity had merely said it was because she refrained from blasting her ears out listening to her music on full blast like most people.

As she started on her last slice of sandwich, the wind had begun to pick up, causing the leaves to make an awful racket. She though it best to move back inside to avoid getting pelted with acorns from the overhanging tree, and picked up the platter. Just as her hand touched the handle of the door, everything stopped, as if mother nature herself had pressed the mute button. Felicity stopped dead, listening intently what would come next. When nothing came after a moment, she slowly opened the door enough the put the platter inside.

Turning around, the sight before her made her heart stop.

Another load groan brought Bridget out of her daze. She got up, and popped her head just inside the door way.

“Damon! Is that you groaning?” She called out.

“I haven’t made a peep!” she heard him call from the kitchen.

Frowning, she went back up to the shaded deck, and put her fingers to the keys.

The tree, that had provided shade over the patio for many, many years, had changed into something fearsome. Some of the branches had twisted themselves around each other to form crude arms, smaller branches sprouting off to make fingers, other branches bent inwards to either join with the trunk or create it’s face, the ends making it’s sharp teeth. Two knurled knots made up it’s eyes, which glowed a sickening yellow.

Felicity was too shocked to move, let alone scream. All she could do was stand there, wondering just what had been in those sandwiches. One of the monster trees arms began to reach out for her, and she snapped out of shock enough to move off to the side. The tree stopped short of hitting the house with it’s large hand, and, reaching with it’s other arm, cornered Felicity. She ran forward, dodging hands, but was stopped by another hand as it slammed into her gut, knocking the wind out of her.

The tree groaned in such a way that it almost sounded like a laugh, and brought it’s hands back towards itself, opening up it’s jagged mouth to eat it’s prey.

A third groan, louder than the first two combined, shook the house like an earthquake. Bridget hastily grabbed her things and started towards safe ground, to be stopped by a very familiar looking hand made of branches. Clutching her laptop tighter towards her chest, she turned back towards the door, and booked it. Another hand came crashing down onto the deck, cutting off her exit. Tiny splinters of wood floated through the air around the tree-hand, making her cough as she slowly backed away from the offending obstacle.

“Bridget!” She heard her brother call as he ran outside. “What the hell? Bridget!” he yelled.

She ran over to the edge of the patio, getting his attention. “Damon! I’m up here! It’s got me…” She was snatched up by one of the hands.

“BRIDGET!” And that was the last thing she heard as the monster tree, like the very one she had been writing about, slammed her into the ground.

Description
Jesse walked down the old ,beaten path that ran behind her house, trying not to think…

“No, that doesn’t work,”

…thinking about life…

“Eww, no…”

…letting her thoughts run wild. She stopped, closing her eyes, taking in a breath to smell the autumn air. The sounds of leaves crunching as they collided, the chirping of the last birds before they flew away for the winter; she let it envelope her, relax her…

“I’m gonna kill myself before this thing is finished,” the writer said to herself. She pushed her laptop away and proceeded to hit her head on the desk. She had been trying to write this story for quite some time, but the way the words came out, they just didn’t seem right to her. She ran her fingers through her short black hair, twirling a purple streak around her finger. Sighing, the writer pushed herself away from the desk, spinning around in her chair, staring up at the ceiling, making herself dizzy.

A male, looking to be around 15-16, opened the door on the opposite side of the room from the desk, popping his head in to stare at the spinning girl. He blinked, shaking his head as he walked in. Grabbing the back of the chair, the girl was shocked out of her stupor, so much that she almost fell off mid-flail. She spun her head around to glare at the male.

“Damon! The hell was that for?” she pouted, her storm grey eyes keeping a stern watch over his every movement. Damon half grinned, taking his hands off the back of the chair.

“I just wanted to see what would happen if I did.” He pulled up another chair, plopping himself down on it, the backrest in between his legs.

“Gods, you’re an ass,” She glared flatly. The writer rolled back over to the desk, grabbing the box of pop-tarts that laid open, off to the side.

“And you need to eat something better than pop-tarts. No wonder you can’t think right, you’ve got too much sugar in your brain!” Damon got up, stealing the last package in the box.

“I do not have sugar in my brain! If I did, I wouldn’t be tired,” the dark circles under her eyes where proof of that. They were not very prominent, but they were still visible under the artificial light shining over-head.

“When did you last even get sleep?” He looked over at the laptop screen. “It’s almost 1 in the afternoon, how long have you been up?”

“Since 7, maybe? Wasn’t really looking at the clock,” She said, rubbing an eye of it’s sleep.

“Bridget, it’s Sunday! How the hell can you wake up so early on a Sunday?” Damon looked at her as if she had grown tentacles. Bridget grabbed back the package of pop-tarts, starting to eat through the plastic wrapping.

“I’m not a guy, and I don’t stay up till 3 in the morning the night before playing video games,” she snapped, finally opening the pop-tarts. She started munching on one, taking small bites as she glared at the male.

“Being a guy has nothing to do with it. And you stay up longer than I do, writing,” he shot back.

“At least I’m doing something productive, now drop it. We’re not 5 anymore.” Bridget finished off the pop-tart in her hand, setting the other one on the desk. She pulled the laptop towards her, continuing on her story.

…She heard a noise behind her, making her spin, eyes snapping open instantly. Looking around, she saw nothing at first, but her guard did not lower. Jesse took a few steps towards where the noise had come from, but nothing happened. Looking up into the trees, she still saw nothing, and finally relaxed after another few moments…

“That sentence can fall down a hole and die…” Bridget growled. Damon chuckled behind his hand. “You’re still here?”

“Yes. Listening to your commentary is such an amusement,” he grinned. Bridget rolled her eyes, going back to her story. “Is it bugging you that much?”

“Yes,” she replied, in an exasperated tone. “I’ve gotten everything else written out for this damned thing, all I have left is the beginning, and nothing I write for it flows properly!” She laid her forehead on the edge of the desk, sighing. “And I’ve got that new idea that I’ve been wanting to play with. And half the time, I start writing that idea, instead of Jesse.”

“And you’re just gonna give up?” Damon asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“No, just maybe take a break from Jesse for a while, is all…” she sighed.

“Okay, so was is this new idea you’ve got?” He spun his chair around, sitting down on it properly. His foot came up to rest on his opposite knee as he got comfortable.

“Well, it starts off where a girl is trying to write, but is stuck on writers block…”

“Like you are now?” Damon pushed in quickly.

“Shut up, do you want to hear the idea or not?” Bridget snapped.

“Alright, alright. Does the girl have a name yet?” he asked, raising his hands in surrender.

“No, not really. Anyways, she decides to go outside to get some fresh air, but then she's most likely going to be attacked by demons.”

“Attacked by demons? That‘s so un-original. Go for something unexpected, like, being attacked by rabid brooms!” Daemon commented, rolling his eyes.

“That's TOO unexpected, you ass!”

“Jeeze, don’t blow a fuse, sis. Anyways, besides the boring beginning, it’s sounding pretty good,” he half-smirked.

“Thanks,” she nodded.

“So what happens after she gets mauled?” his smirk grew to full force.

“She gets rescued by a group of guys, and as the story goes on, almost every bad thing imaginable happens to her,” Bridget smiled.

“So, the poor girls got a bad case of Murphy’s law? Everything that can go wrong, will?” Damon's eyebrow twitched in question.

“Yup,” she nodded.

“Does she fall for any of the guys?” his cheshire-like grin spread farther across his face.

“Haven’t decided yet.”

Damon's face faltered slightly, but he continued on with his questions. “How many are in the group?”

“Four maybe?” Bridget shrugged.

“What are they like?” Damon's face moved on to a more suave sort of grin as he said this.

“Dunno yet.” She shrugged again. "I'll cross that bridge when I come to it."

“Well, might as well start writing it, you’re fans are gonna wanna read SOMETHING soon.”

“You’re really eager, aren’t you?”

“Yup!”

“Well, since it’s daylight out, I wanna go outside for some clean air. It’s stuffy in here,” Bridget decided, closing the top of her laptop. She packed her stuff, and went outside, going up the wooden stairs to the deck on the second floor, shaded by a very large oak tree. A rope bridge lead from the deck to a tree house hidden from view at every angle by the trees huge leaves. Directly opposite from the rope bridge, was a door that lead back inside the house.

The wind blew through the leaves, making a calming, rustling noise that made her smile. She plugged her laptop back in, signed in, and opened up a new word file.

A large bedroom, with walls painted a light blue, was barely visible by the light of a small desk lamp. By the desk light, sat a red haired girl, and in front of her, a keyboard and a computer monitor. She was leaning back in her chair, sighing as she thought. The screen showed a page full of small font, and from the look of things, there were many other pages like it. A knock on the door broke her out of her train of thought.

“Come in,” she called, a tired-soft voice flowing from her lips.

A lady with long, brunette hair popped her head in. The natural sunlight that came through one of the windows in the hallway outside, shone by the woman, lighting up a small sliver of the room. She pushed her glasses higher up on her nose before she spoke.

“Crap, I still need a name for her…” Bridget said out loud, meshing her hands together in front of her face. Her fingers flew back to the keys as her face lit up.

“Felicity, are you still writing?” she asked with slight worry in her voice.

“No, Janet, I’m trying to count how many fluff balls are on the ceiling,” Felicity replied sarcastically, leaning farther back in her chair.

Janet smiled with closed eyes, as her voice betrayed her true feelings. “You’ve been writing for days, and you’ve only gotten a few hours of sleep, most of them in front of that computer. Now come down and eat something, or I’ll take it away.”

Felicity visibly flinched at the thought of loosing her computer. She got up, turned her monitor off,  and spun on her heels towards the other woman. “What is there to eat?”

Janet’s face brightened up, and she opened the door fully. “There are some sandwiches on the counter just waiting to be eaten! Now remember, your father and I are going on our honey moon, and we’re leaving in an hour. We’ll be gone for a week, and you are NOT, under any circumstances, to stay up the entire time writing. You will get at least 5 hours of sleep each night, and eat regularly. If you follow these rules, I will buy you that laptop you’ve been looking at.”

Felicity stared at her with wide eyes. “Really? You mean it?”

Janet nodded, smiling.

“Could we maybe add you stop spying on me to the bargain?” Felicity smiled with fake innocence.

“Maybe, we’ll see how it goes with this week first.” Janet shot back, playfully.

As Bridget became more and more engrossed with the computer screen, she did not notice that the old oak tree’s branches were moving with more force than the wind should have been blowing them.

Felicity sighed happily as she walked past Janet. She hopped down the stairs two at a time, and slid to a halt on the linoleum flooring of the kitchen. The sandwiches were on the counter, as promised, and looked to be made up of lettuce, tomato, cheese and a slice of either ham or turkey. Felicity, who seemed to enjoy sliding on the flooring a bit too much, sock surfed her way to the small platter, and grabbed one, munching politely so as not to seem a glutton. Picking up the small platter, she swallowed before calling up the stairs.

“I’m going to go and sit on the patio, I want some fresh air.”

“Alright, you go have your fresh air, honey,” she heard her father call as he came down the stairs, carrying a large black suit case. His 6 foot frame came into view, as he walked by the kitchen. He looked happier than he had in former years, and it was visible in the bounce in his step. As he looked over, he smiled with kind eyes. Felicity smiled back before opening the patio door and stepping out into the warm, summer air.

Closing her eyes, and taking a deep breath, she set the platter on the glass top of the cast iron table sitting in the dead center of the patio. The clink of glass hitting glass echoed around her, quickly swallowed up by the sound of  leaves rustling in the wind.

A loud groan snapped her from her writing, making Bridget turn in her chair. She looked around, and stared at the tree for a moment. The branches were blowing in the breeze naturally, and everything seemed normal.  ‘Probably just Damon, must have died on his video game again…’ she thought to herself, before returning her attention to the screen.

As she slowly ate her lunch, Felicity listened to the world around her. She had exceptional hearing, her father said she had gotten that from her mother, along with many other things. Felicity had merely said it was because she refrained from blasting her ears out listening to her music on full blast like most people.

As she started on her last slice of sandwich, the wind had begun to pick up, causing the leaves to make an awful racket. She though it best to move back inside to avoid getting pelted with acorns from the overhanging tree, and picked up the platter. Just as her hand touched the handle of the door, everything stopped, as if mother nature herself had pressed the mute button. Felicity stopped dead, listening intently what would come next. When nothing came after a moment, she slowly opened the door enough the put the platter inside.

Turning around, the sight before her made her heart stop.

Another load groan brought Bridget out of her daze. She got up, and popped her head just inside the door way.

“Damon! Is that you groaning?” She called out.

“I haven’t made a peep!” she heard him call from the kitchen.

Frowning, she went back up to the shaded deck, and put her fingers to the keys.

The tree, that had provided shade over the patio for many, many years, had changed into something fearsome. Some of the branches had twisted themselves around each other to form crude arms, smaller branches sprouting off to make fingers, other branches bent inwards to either join with the trunk or create it’s face, the ends making it’s sharp teeth. Two knurled knots made up it’s eyes, which glowed a sickening yellow.

Felicity was too shocked to move, let alone scream. All she could do was stand there, wondering just what had been in those sandwiches. One of the monster trees arms began to reach out for her, and she snapped out of shock enough to move off to the side. The tree stopped short of hitting the house with it’s large hand, and, reaching with it’s other arm, cornered Felicity. She ran forward, dodging hands, but was stopped by another hand as it slammed into her gut, knocking the wind out of her.

The tree groaned in such a way that it almost sounded like a laugh, and brought it’s hands back towards itself, opening up it’s jagged mouth to eat it’s prey.

A third groan, louder than the first two combined, shook the house like an earthquake. Bridget hastily grabbed her things and started towards safe ground, to be stopped by a very familiar looking hand made of branches. Clutching her laptop tighter towards her chest, she turned back towards the door, and booked it. Another hand came crashing down onto the deck, cutting off her exit. Tiny splinters of wood floated through the air around the tree-hand, making her cough as she slowly backed away from the offending obstacle.

“Bridget!” She heard her brother call as he ran outside. “What the hell? Bridget!” he yelled.

She ran over to the edge of the patio, getting his attention. “Damon! I’m up here! It’s got me…” She was snatched up by one of the hands.

“BRIDGET!” And that was the last thing she heard as the monster tree, like the very one she had been writing about, slammed her into the ground.