The Trees Swallow People: Part 20

We spent the day following a cat. I know that sounds strange, but let's be honest, we passed strange a long time ago. It had been a few weeks since the incident with Declan, the would-be arsonists, and the trees. Already, in the warming April sunshine, tribal lines were divvied up across the village. The hill sat strongly in cult territory, stretching down the Rye Hill and into Ryevale, where I met Shepard in his humble abode. The arsonists claimed everything else from the “Lep”, through Main Street, and up towards Louisa Bridge. This meant the cult had the front entrance to the park, and the arsonists had the back entrance. The park had become their new battlefield.

I wasn't invited again to more attempts to burn down the trees. Maybe they thought I was a jinx, or a sleeper agent for Shepard. Whatever the reason, I only heard about the subsequent attacks after the fact, either through idle gossip in the shops or the few times they were reported in the newspaper. Each attempt proved fruitless, though Declan was becoming something of a folk hero in the alt-right manosphere online. Couple that with Declan's deforming appearance, continuously suffering from fire burns to his skin, scarring him beyond recognition, and he was beginning to give Shepard competition in the whole crazy-evil-nobody category.

The next time I saw Declan, he was choking Shepard on the pitch by the trees. I was walking Diva, making the most of the sun in between light showers. The temperature was finally above ten. It was warm enough now for Diva to not need her coat. Even I myself had discarded my under-fleece, just going out with my jean jacket and paddy cap in case it rained. The scuff on my sunglasses I had to focus past was an unpleasant reminder I needed a new pair. We went through the front entrance to the park, now manned by cult members. The few remaining hold-outs (who hadn't died or left) were being pressured to join the cult in order to be allowed into the park, but I didn't get any sort of trouble. Instead, the worse I got was an acknowledging nod as I entered, most likely at Shepard's command. Maybe Declan was right; I mean, I wouldn't know I was a sleeper agent if I was one, would I?

Continuing on, I found the arsonists and the cult scrapping in that pitch, with the trees swaying and shaking, highly amused. The mega-tree in the centre was definitely bigger, and was definitely arcing forward. The fat pyramid I had seen before was elongated and stretching so far out its shadow was exceeding past the limits of the paddock walls. Was it just me or was it listing a little to the right, away from the sun?

As with before, the arsonists were overpowered by the surprisingly strong cult members, left fleeing for their lives, trying to pat out the flames accidentally catching onto them, or else screaming as they were tossed over the wall. Closest to the trench by the paddock walls was Declan, on top of Shepard, choking him with his grip, squeezing his neck. Shepard could only throw punch after punch at Declan's ears, wincing with each blow. We stood there, watching. The trees aren't benevolent. The trees aren't nefarious. They're just old gods, on par with how the wind or lightning used to be worshipped. I would say we've reverted back to our primitive forms... but have we ever left?

Diva began barking, pulling and running the length of her retractable lead. I looked down the footpath and saw, traipsing along merrily, a cat. It was a light grey Persian, trotting along, crossing the path and walking out onto the pitch. I followed it with my eyes, confused by its nonchalance.

There were man-eating trees enjoying a fight between the cult that worships them and the reactionaries who think they're funded by, I don't know, Bill Gates lets say, there's a tree growing so tall it looks like it could fall, and then there's this cat. Apparently I wasn't the only one interested in the cat, as the quarrel amongst the two groups simmered down to a quiet hush, all watching, panning slowly as the cat proudly pranced up the pitch, down the trench, leaped up onto the wall, and then over it, vanishing into the trees.

We all waited for several long minutes. Could the trees now consume animals? Could they attract pets? Would Shepard have to open up a farm to appease them now? No. Our stunned patience was rewarded with only more shock as, to everyone's surprise, further down from where we had seen it vanish, the cat sprang back up onto the wall, contently sitting briefly, licking its belly, before hopping down and trotting back across the pitch.

By this point, even Diva had stopped barking, following, as we all did, the cat, walking over the bulbous and misshapen pitch. One by one, the cult members and arsonists picked themselves up and began walking after the cat. I must admit, it intrigued me as well. I had no reason to follow, but I don't think anyone has any reason for much any more. You most certainly don't. So... we all followed the cat.

The cat swaggered up the main path parallel to the trees, turning left at the BMX track, cross the now empty park ranger cabin, past the long since disregarded playground, and down a turn which overlooked a nearby field of rapeseed flowers; a mustard sea of rippling waves in the breeze. What was impressive was how the hundred or so people present still managed to stick to the path when they could have easily tracked and trampled over the blooming daffodil beds and the shaggy thickets of overgrown grass. Maybe we all figured it was best to follow the cat's lead exactly, with each beany step.

Myself and Diva made our way from the back of the group to the front, joining Shepard and Declan, who had put aside their fight to the death for a once off alliance to follow a cat. Up close, I could see both men had a toll taken upon them. Shepard was ageing rapidly, from stress, I imagine. His salt-and-pepper hair was becoming more salt than pepper, with what darkness was left travelling down to under his eyes, pooling into heavy sacks of tired bags, sitting just above his creeping stubble spreading out from his once well maintained beard, now a rough nest of patchy hair. Thick rings of soon to be bruising skin were forming around his neck. Declan was fairing no better. The burns and boils upon his body were so bad that he was practically mummified beneath a wrap of bandages soaked in lotions. What little skin was exposed was scarlet, leathery, and filling with puss.

My eyes returned to the feline ahead of us. I could make out a pink collar around its neck, with the tinkle of a metallic tag chiming with each step. It was clean, well fed, and groomed. I've never been much of a cat person, but even I could see the beauty in this one, as could its owners by the care they must be giving it. I couldn’t decide if I was thankful or curious by the thought this cat was owned. I think in the moment, however, all of us were just more focused on where the cat was leading us.

How many people had we all seen vanish into the trees? How many people were driven mad? How had a village been brought to near destitution, yet this cat just leapt in and out, as easy as slinking through bushes? How? How could people just leave, never to be seen again, but this little cat could bop in and out, caring nothing for the middle-finger it had given all of us? I know it's dominionist, but it doesn't make sense! It's not fair! It's not! I've been living in fear for months now, and this thing just doesn't care? It's not right!

We tracked the cat all the way through the park, down the road, through the estates and alleyway, out onto Captain's Hill, and down into the River Forest estates. It must have looked bizarre to the last remaining families hiding in their homes, peeking through gaps in the closed curtains, to see a precession led by a fluffy Persian. Even stranger to see us all turning into a cul-de-sac and follow the cat up to a front door of a house. It sat down in front of a distorted side porch window, staring into it. We all stopped, going between the cat and the window. About an hour later, though it was still bright outside, a hallway light flicked on and the rippling visage of a tall woman appeared, about to ascend the blocky shapes of stairs, stopping, spotting the cat. She goes to the door and opens it, allowing the purring cat in, rubbing against her leg. The woman was about to close the door until she double took, opening it wider, looking out, unnerved by the staring throng.

The growing evening air was still and sparsely interrupted by the chirp of birds, the distant road of aeroplanes sailing off into the sky, and the ever present hush of cars shooting across the motorway in and out of Dublin.

The woman closed the door on us. We all looked at each other, wondering the same thing. Shepard went up to knock on the door first. A moment later, the woman answered. Shepard puffed out his chest.

Blessings upon you, sister! The trees are pleased by our meeting, for we have come for---

She closed the door on us.

Declan stepped up, rapping on the door, knocking vigorously. She answered, though this time repulsed by his unpleasant appearance.

Hello, missus. We were wondering could we talk to you about your cat? We want to know...

Declan stammered. It only occurred to us all there and then what did it really matter if the cat could go in and out of the trees? It wasn't like the cat was going to tell us anything; it's a cat. All that seemed to matter was that it was something new, unusual, and, most importantly, more than anyone else had to understand what the trees were.

Declan, desperate to keep the conversation going, offered the woman fifty euros for the cat. She slammed the door in our faces. Shepard banged his heavily etched fists against the door, screaming through the letter flap that he'll offer two hundred euros.

Five hundred!

Six!

A grand!

Two!

It was like seeing a memory from another angle, as the horde from the opposing groups swarmed the outside of the house, banging as they had done when they surrounded me and Diva before. Some hopped over a fence to the back garden, presumably to bang on the back windows and doors. Either that or, if the woman had a carnivorous tree like so many had in their back gardens, those people have just rushed to their deaths, their screams masked by the mayhem ensuing outside.

Myself and Diva didn't linger long. What would have been the point? I barely had fifty euros that week to myself, never mind offering it to anyone else. There was nothing here for us. Though as we were leaving, I did find it interesting that the woman's car, parked in the drive to her house, had a parking pass for the Intellex campus on the outskirts of the village. It didn't mean anything. I just thought it was interesting.

#HI