The Lady In The Trees
By Joshua Earle Strother.
(The following is a short story I wrote awhile ago. Thought I’d include it here.)
“We need to get out of this goddamn city,” Rupert barks at his wife and son for what seems like the hundredth time. “The dairy down the street got ram-raided again and the government wonders why people are leaving in droves. The whole town’s gone to Hell.”
His wife, Jocelyn, remains silent. Through experience, she knew that when Rupert got like this it was best to let him tire himself out. She did the same thing with Drew, their son, though in his case she found Drew’s hyperactivity, while annoying at times, to be a welcome spot of unbridled enthusiasm in her somewhat monotonous life. By contrast, Rupert's incessant rants were just a constant source of exasperation.
Drew said nothing, much more enamored eating with the slice of beef lasagna that was currently on his dinner plate than with his father’s endless jibber jabber. His favorite. His mother even included little bits of Italian sausage.
“I blame the foreigners. Bringing all their problems with them,” Rupert replies to no one. “The same thing happened in London. Suddenly all these Pakis and Indians moved in and the whole city became infested with crime. Does anyone think that was just a coincidence?” He scoffs down a spoonful of his beef mince, barely pausing to swallow before continuing his lecture. Chunks of beef and cheese are still between his yellowed teeth while he mutters under his breath“Need to get out of this goddamn place.”
“Where would we move to?” Jocelyn obligingly inquired, hoping it would encourage Rupert to move on from his favorite subject.
“Maybe a nice lake house? Or we could buy a farm? Not like money’s a worry for us. I make plenty of the rentals,” Rupert responds, giving very little thought to the matter. Perhaps he had given the subject a lot of thought, and this had been his answer to the problem for a while. “Somewhere near the forest wood would be perfect. Quiet. No one for miles. Even the rats mind their own business. That's the nice thing about the woods.”
“What about my friends?” Drew whined, oblivious to the beef clinging to his cheeks. Seemingly only catching the last section of his father’s endless critique on the decay of Auckland. “I wouldn’t be able to see them.”
“You could make new friends. Besides all you do is play video games. Maybe if we lived near nature you would actually go outside for once.”
“But?!...”
“Besides, it is safer too. Nothing bad happens out in the woods”.
“But...”
“Relax, honey.” Jocelyn soothes while caressing her son’s hair. “It's not like we're going to move anytime soon”.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Rupert asks sharply.
“Rupert, you go on about moving out of the city every day, but you’re never going to actually do it. Our whole life is here.”
“Excuse me, but if you…”.
“Rupert, that’s enough,” Jocelyn says firmly, finally having her fill of her husband’s musings for tonight. “Just eat your dinner.”
Rupert complies with his wife’s demands, continuing to devour the plate of lasagna before him. Not eating. Eating would imply some semblance of enjoyment in the act. Rupert was too wound up to enjoy anything at the moment. All he could think about while shoveling bits of cheese and beef into his gullet was one thing, ‘We need to get out of this goddamn city. Someplace safe. Jocelyn will see. We need to get out of this goddamn city.’
Rupert looks around the forest and smiles. He was reminded of when he was a child in England and used to run around his father’s estate. Although, this was much wilder than that. At least right now. If Rupert had his way, all this would soon be replaced with a grand house and expansive manicured lawns. The type of house he deserved. He could easily afford it. Being a landlord for multiple properties had its perks. Even if the freeloaders he leased to complained about his prices, it’s not like they didn’t have a choice. He was doing a public service. If he didn’t like the way he conducted his business, the street was right there.
SCHRREEEEEE
It would be a surprise to Jocelyn who, as a whole, was indifferent to the idea of moving out of the city. For whatever reason, Jocelyn liked the city. How anyone could like that chaotic horrible place was beyond him. It was filled with druggies, perverts, and little kids with no discipline running around wreaking havoc. She would change her mind when she sees this though. So much space. So much nature. So very safe. Some of it would have to be built over of course. Enough for the pool and private gymnasium, or even a mini golf course. The locals might throw a fuss, but that wouldn’t matter. It wasn’t like they were using it. Rupert supposed the wildlife might also have problems but this was a man's world. Not much they could do either.
The area was just a few kilometers away from the nearest town, village to be more precise. Atiamuri. On the whole, it was far more preferable to Auckland. Far fewer people, and far more importantly, the people who were there were wise enough to mind their own business. Not a lot of foreigners either. Just locals. And the Maori or course. While he still didn’t like them, unlike other groups, he could at least tolerate them. They were the natives after all. He didn’t appreciate all the recent caterwauling they were doing about the treaty or how they were imposing their language onto the rest of the country. They had civilized them after all. Why were they so ungrateful?
SCHRREEEEEE
The only thing he didn’t like was the name. Atiamuri. Didn’t even sound like a real place. He kind of wished that the crown had changed it to something more sensible when they were still in charge. Or at the very least, change it to something he could pronounce. Why the locals fought so hard to keep that nonsense language he will never know.
SCHRREEEEEE
He looks around, taking in the sights and sounds of nature. All this would be his. That shopkeeper, Matua… Paul or something, was correct in saying this was the best view in town. Yes, it took a while to get to, he had to tramp through the woods to get here. He almost broke his foot in a hole in the ground a hundred or so meters back.
SCHRREEEEEE
Matua… Paul or.. Poa? had told him this place even had a local story about it. A silly little local tale about a man running away from a bird woman. Kura…na… Gilli that guy had called her, although, after it became obvious that Rupert would not, or simply did not care enough to say it correctly, he decided to just call her the Lady in the Trees.
SCHRREEEEEE
“Legend says that Hatupatu managed to kill her, but some say she’s still around,” the old man whispered. “Be careful out there.”
Rupert wondered if he was trying to scare him. Sadly, Rupert was a fully grown adult and not a child so however that shopkeeper might’ve tried, there was no way for him to accomplish that task. He had grown up on tales of King Arthur and Robin Hood. Proper stories. Not these barely coherent local tales. He had a strong stomach.
SCHRREEEEEE
Unfortunately for Rupert, all alone in the proud machinations he concocted, he failed to notice the fluttering of wings behind him. Or the sound of something heavy landing on a branch.
SCHRREEEEEE
It’s then he starts to hear it.
SCHRREEEEEE
It’s a tiny noise. Barely noticeable at first.
SCHRREEEEEE
But with every beat, it gets louder and higher pitched.
SCHRREEEEEE
Eventually, Rupert can no longer ignore it. He turned to face whatever was making the noise.
SCHRREEEEEE
Where on earth was that sound coming from? He had heard it earlier when he had parked his classic E-type Jaguar on the road.
SCHRREEEEEE
No, earlier. When he exited the dairy after getting a can of beer.
SCHRREEEEEE
It had to be a person, he thought. That noise had been following him for hours.
SCHRREEEEEE
He’s half right.
“Hello. Who the bloody hell is making that screeching sound? You’re not funny you know,” Rupert shouts into the tree. Hoping whoever is playing with him can hear him. “Hello?!!”
It’s then that he sees her. The lady in the trees. It’s also the moment she sees him.
He doesn’t quite understand what he’s seeing. At first, he thinks it’s a regular bird, if indeed huge. He didn’t realize New Zealand had birds like that. But he looks closer. He notices the things that don’t make sense. Things that should not exist. What bird has four sets of claws? Wait, not claws. Hands? What bird has long hair like that? What bird has a… face? A human face?
SCHRREEEEEE
He remembers the stories the shopkeeper told him. It is then that he realizes he is in deep trouble.
SCHRREEEEEE
The lady in the trees immediately understands what she sees. Someone lost. And alone.
She goes in for the attack.
Rupert runs, of course. As fast as he can. But he was never the most athletic of men. But still, he runs, with all the might he can muster. He isn’t even looking where he is going. Blind panic has consumed his mind. Blind panic at the thing that is chasing him. The thing that should not exist. Run, for dear God, run is all he can think about at this moment. He isn’t looking where he is going.
If he was, he might have spotted the hole in the ground he barely missed earlier.
His foot plunges down into the ground and his ankle snaps in two as he is unable to stop his forward momentum. He falls to the forest floor as bones rip their way through his flesh. The pain is all-consuming. He screams in a way he hasn’t screamed since he was a little child in England, wailing in fear and confusion. He looks down and sees his right foot bending in ways it shouldn’t, with flecks and bone protruding. In tears, he looks up at the thing chasing him, hoping that he had just imagined her or that the noise had frightened her off.
No such luck.
The Lady in the trees looks down, scrutinizing the crying, screaming creature below her.
She begins.
There isn’t a soul around for miles when her talons begin to tear at Rupert’s flesh. No one can hear his scream of terror and pain. Nor would anyone hear the sounds of a woman, who is not a woman, scoffing down her meal. Rupert stays conscious for a few minutes, through sheer stubbornness or perhaps pure adrenaline. He passes out once she starts going for his eyes. Perhaps this is a mercy. Trees No one hears anything. Even the rats mind their own business. That's the nice thing about the woods.
Locals find the body of Rupert Goldman in pieces over the next few weeks. A finger in the drain near the local burger joint. A torn remnant of his left ear on the roof of the post office. Never his whole body. The locals know better. She never leaves a whole body. Only scraps of meat she doesn’t care for. She is a very picky eater after all. They conclude it was probably that middle-aged white guy looking around at houses weeks earlier, but they never mention this to anyone out loud. This isn't the first time this has happened after all. They know better than to go out alone. They never talk about it whenever anyone goes missing around here. Besides, from their limited interaction, no one was anxious to have him as a neighbor.
Jocelyn Goldman, not being nearly as broken up about the sudden disappearance of her husband as one might think, continues on with her life. ‘Rupert was always unhappy here,’ she muses. ‘He probably just decided to leave us.” It takes years, but she does recover from the numbness living with Rupert had made her feel. She sells all the properties she inherited, she hasn't got the stomach to be a landlord. Never did. She even remarries eventually to a nice loving man named Mohammed. One wonders what Rupert would think. It’s doubtful Jocelyn would care.
Drew is more visibly shaken up than his mother. His father left him, for all he knows. But, thankfully, he eventually moves on, in the way only kids do. But it’s always there. In the back of his mind.
The Lady in the trees burrows into her nest, now wadded with expensive suit lining and random bits of greying hair. She stills, patiently waiting to hear the voice of someone lost and alone.
