Short Story 03.05.19

The old cat tree sat just outside of town. Its gnarled branches always held at least three cats. Legend said that it sprouted full grown overnight the day they burned the witch.

No axe could penetrate its bark. After the first three men who swung an axe at it came down with a mysterious fever – people left it well enough alone. 50 years later there were rumors of pearls & hidden gems tucked inside its trunk but nothing was ever found.

The cats prance through its branches and commune with the spirit that lives inside the wooden fortress. The cats know the trees origins. It is a curse born in the filth and the fury of the long imprisonment and brutal murder of their friend the witch. She used her death to fuel the spell.

The townsfolk have grown complacent. The tree bides its time. Another decade or two and the last one who stood in witness to the death of the witch will die. Then the tree will give his soul to the cats as it did with all the others. 96 souls trapped in acorns to be used as cat toys. Soon it will be a complete set of 97 and the cursed forest will grow.