The tree was the perfect size and proportion for a tree house, a play place-place for young boys on the wild western frontier standing lookout for sneaky Indians, perhaps for soldiers of past or future wars guarding a pile of candy, gum, and comic books to the last man.

But Tom knew better. Other boys weren’t cowered under the covers each night as that gnarled and twisted oak scratched at his window, teasing him to come out, daring him to go to sleep. No, Tom knew there was something wrong, something different about this tree, and he would never play in it, or around it.

He knew, just knew there was something… something evil about that tree.

Years later, long after his parents had passed away to whatever life is beyond this one, Tom, his wife, and their young son moved back into the house in which Tom had grown up.

As Tom and his wife directed the movers to put the piano here, the vanity there, and the sofa under the big bay window in the study, Jason, their son, was running outside, playing games only young boys could understand. He was having the time of his life, running, chasing bees, being chased by the bees, having a great time. There was so much room here, so much room to run and play, not at all like the apartment where he had always lived in the city. No, this was great, wonderful perfect—

--and then he rounded the house, and saw the tree.

Coming to a dead stop at the side of the house, he stared up at the most magnificent tree he had ever seen. Never had he believed trees could be so big, so… so perfect for a tree house! Yeah, wow, he would get Dad to build him a tree house in it; it was perfect, beyond perfect. It was…

"Godly…" Jason whispered, unable to think of a better way to describe the immense feeling of awe that came over him.

As he stood staring at the tree, a branch slowly began to move toward his face, the leaves swaying gently though not a breeze was blowing. The green, leafy branch glided gently over his face, caressing his cheeks, tousling his blond hair.

Jason knew beyond a doubt that this was a special tree, a tree he would love and cherish for the rest of his life, even if he lived to be thirty.

In the house, Jason insisted on the bedroom that had the view of the ancient oak tree, his fathers’ childhood room. Having forgotten all about the tree that had caused him so many sleepless nights, Tom granted his sons’ wish, and together they moved all of Jason’s things into the room. That night, as Tom and his wife, Sarah, slept soundly at the other end of the old, creaky house, Jason lay awake, staring at the oak standing guard outside his window.

A few times during the night, Jason awoke with a start, thinking he heard someone whispering his name, calling to him to come out and play. Having played hard all afternoon in the tree outside his window, he quickly faded back to sleep each time. By the morning, he had forgotten all about it.

"Dad," Jason said over breakfast, "you know that big tree outside my window?"

"Umm, yeah, the big oak, what about it?" Tom was already lost in his morning paper, and hadn’t thought about that old oak tree in years.

"Well, I was wondering if maybe we could build a tree house in it. It’s perfect for one, and it’d be fun, we could do it in a day, I bet!" Getting excited just thinking about building the tree house in that old oak, Jason bumped into his milk, spilling it all over his father.

"Jason! Be careful! Now look what you’ve done!" Jumping up and yelling, Tom rushed to the kitchen with his wife to get the milk dried from his pants.

Jason was hurt by his father’s angry reply, and ran out the front door, no longer hungry. He ran straight to the big oak, leaned against it, and started to cry.

The same branch that had caressed his cheek the day before now stroked his back, comforting him, whispering in its leaves that everything was okay, everything would be fine, just leave it to the tree…

A few minutes later, Tom came out of the house searching for his son. When he rounded the house, he saw Jason sitting on a large root sticking out of the ground, leaning against the tree. His heart melted at the sight of his son’s tears, and he started walking toward him, already promising to build the tree house for him, that very day, just don’t cry.

Just as Tom was nearing Jason, he tripped over a tree root, and bumped his head on another one as he hit the ground. For a second, he thought he had seen that root rise right out of the ground, right in front of his eyes. With his head dripping blood, he cursed and headed back into the house in search of the Band-Aids.

Jason smiled, and faded off to sleep against the tree’s massive trunk.

A cool wind continuously shook the leaves, whispering-singing to him, calming, comforting him.

The next day, Sarah and Jason headed back into the city to finalize the family’s business affairs. They would be back the next evening, Saturday, when Tom had planned to surprise his son with the tree house he had asked for.

After they were gone, Tom drove his dusty Explorer into town and purchased the wood and supplies he would need to build the tree house. As he unloaded the truck beside the big oak, a shiver ran up his spine. Suddenly he remembered all the tormented nights he had spent as a boy because of this tree. He laughed nervously, and decided to leave his childhood fears in the past, where they belonged.

As he drove the first nail into tree, he was almost certain he heard an audible whimper of pain. "Too much sun, getting too hot already," he said aloud, trying to convince himself. It didn’t work for a long time.

Tom worked long into the night, and slept soundly in his old bedroom, the one that now belonged to his son. He wasn’t consciously aware of sleeping there, hadn’t meant to fall asleep lying across Jason’s small bed. He had only wanted a last look at the tree house before showering and going to sleep – in his own bed – but had dropped into sleep almost as if in a hypnotist’s trance.

He never heard the scratching at the window, though his dreams were hot and wild, big oak trees chasing him around, trying to nail pieces of wood into his arms, his chest, his eyes.

Tom awoke from sleep, not rested and irritable. He vaguely remembered having nightmares, but try as he might he wasn't able to bring them to memory. He looked blearily out the window facing the twisted oak tree, and the almost-complete tree house. With a sigh, he rose, and trod through the silent house toward the shower.

A little past noon and Tom was finished with the tree house. He was exhausted, soaked with sweat, and hungry.

But he was finished, and Jason would be so excited, so happy when he pulled into the driveway with his mother! He’ll probably want to sleep out here, Tom thought. Sleep…out here… in the… the cool wind… the… leaves… blowing…

Just past eight that evening, Sarah and her son pulled into the driveway, the headlights flashing across the tree house.

"Oh, wow, he did it, he did it! Wow… wow!" Jason was out of the car and up the ladder before his mother even had the Honda in park. "Wow, wow, oh wow, Dad! Thanks, Dad, thanks! Wow!"

In his excitement, Jason didn’t bother looking around for his dad. His mother nodded appreciatively at the tree house then went inside to congratulate her husband on such a fine job. She called for him over and over, searched every room, even in the basement, but couldn’t find him anywhere.

She went outside, thinking maybe he had slipped out there with Jason, but he wasn’t there either. His truck was in the driveway, and she’d had their only other car, so he was surely here somewhere. The outside security lights came on, flooding the house with brilliant light, but not revealing a trace of Tom.

Strange, Sarah thought, that gnarled, story-book oak tree looked bigger than she remembered it, fatter somehow…

… but where the devil was Tom?