Capítulo 22: Chapter 22
Harrison was the kid everyone knew. The one with the laugh that filled a room and the smile that made others feel at ease. His life was a string of parties and quick laughs, his popularity making him almost untouchable.
But on Christmas Eve, he wandered away from the warmth of his friends and family. His house sat on the edge of town, near an old woods nobody visited anymore. People said it was dangerous, but Harrison never listened.
The snow fell in thick clumps, the quiet so absolute that Harrison couldn't hear his own footsteps. He liked the cold. The way it stung, the way the world seemed different, like everything was wrapped in a layer of ice.
He had gone out there often when he was younger, but tonight something felt wrong. The trees seemed to stretch toward him, like long fingers reaching out to grab him. He ignored it. Maybe he was just tired. He was just bored.
Then he saw it.
At first, it was hard to tell. The tree stood just beyond the line of firs, gnarled and twisted like it had grown in a storm, yet there was something about it that made his heart race. It wasn't right. It had dark veins running down its bark, veins that pulsed. The branches weren't covered in snow like the other trees; they hung limply, twisted, and jagged.
Its leaves, if they could be called leaves, looked like torn bits of paper, shredded and curled. He squinted, trying to figure out why it felt off, but he couldn't. The cold bit at his skin, but it wasn't the same sharpness as before. It was a pressure, like the air was thickening around him.
He stepped closer. The ground was solid beneath him, but something felt wrong. There was a hum now, too low to hear but vibrating through his chest. He glanced back, but the path he had walked seemed longer, the lights from his house flickering like distant stars. He should've turned back. But he didn't.
The tree. It called to him.
"Come closer," a voice rasped, though Harrison swore the wind hadn't moved. He froze, looking around. There was nobody else, nothing but the flickering streetlights far off.
He stepped closer. His feet didn't quite obey him, as if something else had taken control. The air thickened with the smell of rot and something sweet, too sweet, like decay. The tree creaked and groaned, its branches moving like arms in slow motion, as though stretching to pull him in. The hum turned into a low growl, the sound vibrating the bones in his skull.
The bark split. Thin, jagged tendrils shot out, faster than he could blink, wrapping around his arms, his legs. Harrison screamed, but the sound was swallowed by the wind. He tugged, but the grip tightened, pulling him in.
The branches curled, wrapping around his throat, pressing into his skin. His hands were trapped, his legs useless. The tree—no, *it*—was pulling him closer, the bark against his skin now turning into something else—something wet and soft. He couldn't see the face, but he knew it was there, watching.
And then the ground gave out beneath him. His feet were no longer on earth. He was being dragged into the tree, into the twisted branches that didn't bend but split open, revealing darkness.
Harrison clawed, but his fingers were useless. The pull grew stronger, and the tree began to feast. His flesh tore as it was drawn in, the pain a brutal sharpness that stretched his screams into silence.
When they found him, it was too late. The tree had already taken him. All that remained were the bloody remnants of his jacket, lying in the snow beneath the twisted limbs of the monster that called itself a tree.
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