Under Oak Tree Novels & Stories

"I have no idea." Then I have an idea. Probably a crazy and stupid one, but it's still an idea. "Come on, let's eavesdrop on them." I told Barbie. "I wanna know what they're saying." Barbie nodded, and we quickly but carefully walked over to them, being extra careful so they won't see us. We hid behind a tree to make sure we be extremely safe. Their voices were a bit faded, but loud enough for me to hear. "So you're the guy that's going out with my Sister, eh?"

“Do you want to see the oak tree? It is where most of them live too.” Rosalyn blinked. “What’s an oak tree?” I lowered my voice slightly like I was about to tell her the world’s greatest secret. “It’s a magic tree.” Her eyes widened instantly. “It is?” I nodded seriously. “It holds all the secrets in the world. Everyone tells it their secret, and it has seen so many generations and so many people, and it knows everything that is there to know.” Rosalyn gasped softly. “No way…” “And,” I added, glancing briefly at Mia before looking back at our daughter, “it’s your turn to tell the tree one of your secrets too.”

If the hedge wants payment for entry, it can have fabric. I have paid worse. When I reach the old boundary tree, I stop. It’s not remarkable to look at, which is why it works. A thick oak with bark like layered scars. The kind of tree people pass a thousand times without remembering. The kind of tree that survives because it’s uninteresting. I press my palm to its trunk. The wood is cold. Alive. I close my eyes and listen. Not with ears. With the part of me that learned early that silence has texture.

Hart suddenly asks out of nowhere. I turn, "...what?" "I've been thinking about it." "..." "..." "...Hart." I pinch the space between my brows. "What?" "Don't. Just, don’t. Please." Half a cocktail and you’re like this? I swallow a laugh. A while later, we arrive at Oakswood. "This is a big house. You’re indeed rich.” She makes an obvious comment as we make our way inside. Oakswood sits on the quieter edge of Westside, tucked behind rows of maple trees and overlooking the lake. It isn't flashy from the outside despite its size. Just stone walls, warm lights, and wide glass windows.

Amelia's POV As I made my way through the forest, the familiar sight of the towering oak tree greeted me like an old friend. Its gnarled branches reached out to me, casting dappled shadows upon the forest floor as if beckoning me closer. With each step, the soft crunch of leaves beneath my feet echoed through the tranquil air, a comforting melody that soothed my restless soul. The canopy above filtered the sunlight into a dappled mosaic of light and shadow, casting a sense of enchantment over the secluded grove where the ancient oak stood sentinel.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN The oak tree was huge and from where Lucas stood, its shape reminded him of a piece of broccoli. The great trunk was thick and gnarled, the leaves spreading like a vast canopy of deep jade. This magnificent symbol of nature sat alone in a green field, an azure, cloudless sky as a backdrop. Lucas ambled up the hill. There was no such thing as urgency in a place such as this. His heart maintained the sense of peace he had carried since . . .

Leigh shouted into the little honey coloured house that sat quietly on one of the many rapidly occupied plains of Wild Oaks. The little town had earned its name from the ring of widespread Oak trees that sprouted out of the ground wherever they pleased. Leigh in fact, had one of the trees growing in her backyard right where a swing had been built. It provided shade on hot summer days and held most of the snow on the fiercest winters only to release them as water droplets later on.

"He was stubborn. He was loud. He took up space. He did not die easily. He was not supposed to die at all." Damon stood up. "Come on." "Where are we going." "To the nursery. We are buying an oak tree." --- The nursery was crowded. Even on a Tuesday. Even in the fall. People buying mums and pumpkins and bags of soil. Damon walked to the back. Found the trees. "Oak," he said to the man behind the counter. "What kind." "The kind that lasts." The man looked at him. Looked at me. Did not ask questions.

And there it was. The dead oak stood ahead of me, stark against the darkening sky. Massive. Ancient. Its bark was split and blackened in places, deep scars running down its trunk like old wounds. Not a single leaf clung to its branches. They stretched outward like skeletal arms, twisted and bare, reaching for something they would never touch again. Even dead, it was magnificent. Well, I did it. I completed the task in one day. Knox would be so proud. I walked closer, my steps slow and careful as I noticed something beside it.

The bark was wet from the constant spray of the streams. “Most of us call it the Twisted Oak,” Rowan responded to him. “Its growth pattern was altered by the waters that sprung from the mountains into the Oasis. But look more closely.” Rowan guided Alex’s attention with her hand to the space between the trees. As he looked around he noticed that there was something carved into all four trees. On two of the twisting oak trees positioned opposite from each other, a series of small circles were carved into the bark. Each tree had six circles cut away in a hexagonal formation. On the other two adjacent trees were six more circles carved in the same manner, except these shapes appeared to be pain