An Extensive List of Universal Rules

The world has rules. That's kind of a blanket statement, I know, but brings about the idea that cities and houses and people operate the same way, that every individual or group has a 'code of arms' of sorts. The world having rules means that there is a right and a wrong way to do things, and every variation of these rules tangle together into the fabric of the universe and make up the world as we know it. Long story short, without rules, there is no world-- and yeah, that's a bit out there (read: kinda freakin' insane) in the grand scheme of things, but thinking in extremes is how we survive. (It's a rule.)

My house is one of these rule abiding places I mentioned, though it goes a little deeper than just 'take off your shoes at the door' and 'the grass gets mowed on Tuesdays'. We have a very specific way of doing things, and not doing things this way often leads to an imminent threat of death. Or destruction. Once, I actually ceased to exist for three earthly days because I didn't abide by the rules. That's a different story, though. The story I want to tell centers around a certain subset of rules within our master list: the trees.

It seems ridiculous, I know, but as Connor always says, plants are fickle little things (read: blah blah I'm Connor and I'm cryptic hardy-har-har plants). I don't know what he means, and I'm not sure if I ever will, but I agree with part of his sentiment: plants are things. That's about as far as my understanding goes.

Back to the rules.

1. Line the windows and doors with salt on full moons. Do not break the line until past noon on the following day. Creatures of the night will take any means into a place of peaceful living. They will overpower us and we will die.

13. Do not speak to the trees. They speak back and will tell your secrets every time the wind blows. Secrets keep us safe.

4. Always step over the mushroom ring around the house. Stepping on the ring will break the protection. We will be helpless. We will die.

28. Do not eat the fruit of the trees. It is not real and you will soon be one in the same. The effects are temporary, but the danger is real.

96. Do not speak poorly of the moon. She will wreak havoc with the tides and drown us all. She will strangle the sun and blink the world into eternal darkness.

7. Do not invite thoughts you disagree with into your constitution. The contradiction will eat you from the inside out. Brain-rot is contagious. We will die.

12. Do not look at the trees. They detest judgement.

84. Do not speak too kindly of the sun. She will burn brighter and consume all life as we know it. She will turn the moon to ash.

2. Stay within the circle of trees on the property. Callow Hill put them here as protection. Us from the world, and the world from us. Do not wander into the thick of the trees. You will belong to the forest. You will die.

72. Stay together. Stay alive.

It's an extensive list, and most of the rules are what not to do, and we're always adding to it, and I'm not really sure if there's an actual hierarchy or method-in-madness to our numbering, but we follow each and every one of them. We're still alive.

Now that I've sampled some of our rules, and explained the importance of being a functioning piece of the fabric of the universe, it's time to get into it.

The day started like most others; Lis was yelling at someone about something on the front porch. Her voice is a shrill whistle when she's really worked up, it's not really my favorite thing to wake up to. But I do wake up, and I follow the sounds of the argument, and I start my day with the screeching of grown adults (read: the completely irrational screaming match between one or more seventeen year old). I'm pretty sure there's a rule about it, it's gotta be written somewhere that I am cosmically unable to have a peaceful morning.

Anyway...

"Why?" I demand the second I step outside, the morning sun pushing spots into my vision. "Just why?"

Lis and Connor, the aforementioned arguing seventeen year olds, step away from each other, hands clenching like they were going to start physically fighting if I hadn't woken up.

"The world is ending," Lis deadpans as she moves to pull her hair at the root, a small clump coming loose when she releases.

So it's a day that ends with 'y'? Lovely change of pace.

"Gonna try again. Why?"

"The trees are dying."

"More context please."

"On the outer ring," Lis sighs, "the pear trees. Dead. Gone. Just..."

Trees don't die, not here; Callow Hill doesn't allow it.

"Third time's a charm: why?"

"Plants are fickle little things," Connor speaks up.

Okay, well, I'm kinda really frickin' fed up with that.

"Could you maybe say something that makes sense?"

"That doesn't make sense to you?"

"No, it doesn't-"

"Which part?" he condescends.

"The whole thing, Connie."

"Oh, don't even start with that-"

"With what? What am I doing, Connie?"

"How about the two of you shut up?" Lis interrupts through grit teeth. "This stupid game is getting us nowhere."

"Milina started it!" Connor defends.

"I didn't start it."

"Whatever," Lis huffs. "I'm ending it; it's over. This is serious. A tree died, and there's three others that are sick."

"I don't understand what that means," I whine. "I haven't even gone near the trees."

Lis turns and leans forward so her head thuds into the wall, standing there with her head supporting her body's weight. And then she stands again. And repeat. And oh, Lis is banging her head against the wall. That's just great.

"Okay, c'mon, that's unfair. You can't just give yourself a head injury because I don't understand the witchy significance of a dead tree."

Lis doesn't stop the steady beat she's started thudding out, choosing instead to use just a bit more force, groaning quietly at my apparent incompetence. I step closer to Lis and place my hand between her head and the wall. Whatever's happening is obviously important, and I completely understand Lis' frustration and subsequent breakdown, but I just woke up and there's only so much information a person can process minutes after regaining consciousness.

"Like I said, plants are fickle little things."

Son of a-

"Oh, not this again!"

"Yes, this again! I'm trying to tell you-"

"Tell me what? That trees have feelings and I've somehow offended them and now they're dying?"

"All Hell, Milly! Could you just shut up for two seconds?! Could you listen for once in your life?!"

"No, actually, Con, I ca-"

"What's with all the noise?" Grov's voice cuts me off

Great, Grov is up. The voice of reason has finally joined the conversation.

Fun's over.

"Lis is having another end-of-the-world crisis and Con's going on about sentient plants again. Same old, same old."

"The world is ending, Milina! If you could just be serious for-"

"Okay," Grov interrupts again. "How about we stop bickering and-"

"Fire!"

Conversation stops as we all turn to the voice, the word ringing throughout Callow Hill as it's repeated over and over again. Daisy is sprinting from the garden, her arms flailing as she points to the tree-line, more members of her group following behind. The rest of Left House starts pushing themselves out onto the porch with us, and I can hear the same happening at Right House, Front Way, and the Shed. Grov pulls me and Lis to the front of the crowd, our arms twisted together and sharing the weight of three bodies. Rule Twelve. Rule Two.

The dull roar of a moving crowd dies down as Daisy collapses at our feet, still croaking out the single syllable. This is bad. This is more than bad. And that's where this story begins, with all of Callow Hill standing still and a pear tree burning in the distance.