The Hollow Tree Pact
The first time I found the hollow tree, I didn’t know what it was. I thought it was just some weird old stump—dead and cracked open, half-covered in moss. It didn’t even look that special. But I’d been crying, and I was alone, and I needed something. Anything.
It was the night my dad finally left. Slamming doors. Shouted words I couldn’t unhear. And after it was over, I just ran—out into the woods behind our house, not caring where I ended up. That’s when I saw it.
The hollow tree had a hole just big enough to fit my arm through, right at the center. Black sap dripped from the bark like veins. When I leaned closer, I heard whispers.
I know how this sounds. Like I’d lost it.
But then the whisper said, "Make a wish."
I don’t even remember what I said exactly—just that I wanted everything to stop hurting. I wanted peace. I wanted quiet. I wanted my life back.
And I got it.
The next morning, my mom was smiling again. Like really smiling. She got up early. She made pancakes. She hugged me. School felt lighter. Even the bullies who usually shoved me in the halls just… walked past like I wasn’t there.
For once, things were okay.
But that night, I had a dream.
I was standing in the woods again, barefoot and cold. But it wasn’t me. Not really. My face was wrong. My reflection stood across from me, grinning, its eyes empty and dark.
It whispered, "One wish, one piece."
I woke up gasping, drenched in sweat. I didn’t tell anyone.
A week passed. Then another.
And then I went back.
It wasn’t because I needed to. I just... wanted to see it again. I think part of me hoped the first time was a fluke. That I’d imagined it. But no—the tree was still there. Still hollow. Still whispering.
This time, I wished for confidence. I was tired of being the weird kid, the quiet one. I wanted to speak without shaking, to look people in the eyes and make them see me.
The wish worked. Better than I expected.
By Monday, I was answering questions in class like it was nothing. I started standing up straighter. I joined conversations I usually hid from. People laughed at my jokes. Girls noticed me.
But something else changed, too.
My shadow started doing things I wasn’t doing. Small things at first. I’d reach for something, and it would move half a second too early. I blinked, and I could swear it smiled on its own.
The third dream was worse.
This time, the other-me stepped closer. It looked more like me now. Less like a reflection and more like a twin. It reached out and touched my chest and whispered, "Two down. Five to go."
When I woke up, there was black sap under my fingernails.
I stopped going to the tree after that.
But stopping didn’t stop it.
I started losing time. A few minutes at first. Then hours. One night, I woke up in bed with mud on my shoes and scratches down my arms. Another time, I found my journal filled with handwriting that wasn’t mine—pages of thoughts I never wrote.
The worst part?
Some of the wishes kept coming true. Even ones I didn’t say out loud.
I thought about being taller—and I grew an inch overnight. I thought about someone shutting up, and they tripped over their own tongue the next day and had to go home. The tree was still listening. Still giving. Even without permission.
I wasn’t making the wishes anymore.
It was.
I finally told my friend Rowan.
He didn’t laugh. Not even once.
“I’ve heard of stuff like this,” he said. “Witch trees. Forest pacts. Old nature spirits—like fey, but worse. They take pieces of you. Trade something small at first. But they always come for more.”
“How do I stop it?”
“You undo the pact. All of it. You take back your wishes—or give something bigger to end it.”
The next night, I returned to the hollow tree.
It was worse now. Bigger. Taller. Like it had fed on me. The bark pulsed like skin. The hole at its center had widened—just enough for a person to crawl through.
My shadow stood beside it.
It was me. But sharper. Smiling.
“You can’t win,” it said. “You are me now.”
“No,” I said. “You’re just what I thought I wanted.”
It lunged.
We fought in the clearing—me and it—shadows twisting, hands clawing. I didn’t know if I was winning or losing. All I knew was that I had to reclaim what I gave up.
So I made one last wish.
“I wish to undo every pact I made.”
The hollow tree screamed.
Dark wind ripped through the forest. Roots snapped from the ground. My shadow shrieked, dissolving into black dust. The tree cracked down the middle, splintering from the inside out.
And then—silence.
It’s been three weeks.
The tree is gone. There’s just a scorched ring of earth where it used to be. No sap. No whispers.
I’m still me. I think.
I’m quieter again. Less confident. My mom doesn’t smile as much. The bullies are back.
But it’s real. It’s mine.
I see my reflection, and it doesn’t grin on its own anymore.
Sometimes, though… I hear faint whispers when the wind blows.
And I wonder:
Did I undo the pact?
Or just delay it?
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