shimmering into a mouth and nose and even eyes, peering back at him.
Other branches twisted around one another, always creaking, always groaning,
until they formed two long arms and a second leg to set down beside the main trunk.
The rest of the tree gathered itself into a spine and then a torso,
the thin, needle-like leaves weaving together to make a green, furry skin that moved and breathed as if there were muscles and lungs underneath.
Already taller than Conor’s window, the monster grew wider as it brought itself together,
filling out to a powerful shape, one that looked somehow strong, somehow mighty.
It stared at Conor the whole time, and he could hear the loud, windy breathing from its mouth.
It set its giant hands on either side of his window, lowering its head until its huge eyes filled the frame, holding Conor with its glare.
Conor’s house gave a little moan under its weight. And then the monster spoke.
Conor O’Malley, it said, a huge gust of warm, compost-smelling breath rushing through Conor’s window, blowing his hair back.
Its voice rumbled low and loud, with a vibration so deep Conor could feel it in his chest.
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