Trees. Lurking in gangs, watching in silence.
Trees! Their resentment simmering after millenia of abuse, remembering every log cabin, every paper factory, every sawmill, and every indignity left by your dog.
Trees … fanning the coals of their hatred. Luring us into complacence, until they STRIKE! Suddenly and without warning. Sacrificing themselves in true kamikaze spirit.
It’s my own fault. As a paperback writer, I should have realized I had a special place on their enemies list. How many of their kind have I killed, building a career on their pulped corpses?
But even as I was writing about Oakbottom, the man-tossing oak in Goblin War with heartwood of stone, never could I have imagined how truly evil these creatures could be in their pursuit of splintery vengeance, striking not at me, but at my children’s playsets.
I mean, come on! That’s just cruel!
Thankfully, nobody was hurt. The playsets are history, but damage to the house itself was minimal. The kids were pretty shaken up, though. Not looking forward to working with the insurance company, tree removal, fence repair, and the rest of it. Still, it’s only stuff. All in all, it could be so much worse.
Pictures behind the cut.