“It is most unusual,” it said. “Nothing I do seems to make you frightened of me.”
“You’re just a tree,” Conor said, and there was no other way he could think about it.
Even though it walked and talked, even though it was bigger than his house and could swallow him in one bite,
the monster was still, at the end of the day, just a yew tree.
Conor could even see more berries growing from the branches at its elbows.
“And you have worse things to be frightened of,” said the monster, but not as a question.
Conor looked at the ground, then up at the moon, anywhere but at the monster’s eyes.
The nightmare feeling was rising in him, turning everything around him to darkness,
making everything seem heavy and impossible, like he’d been asked to lift a mountain with his bare hands
and no one would let him leave until he did.
“I thought,” he said, but had to cough before he spoke again. “I saw you watching me earlier when I was fighting with my grandma and I thought…”
“What did you think?” the monster asked when Conor didn’t finish.
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