Under The Oak Tree 273 Novels & Stories

Robert replied. The high beams cut through the dust on the road. Kat could see the drive was lined with thick trees. “It is going to be impossible to find Jude in here if he wonders off.” She glanced worried at Robert and back at the barbequed covered boy. “Don’t worry babe. There’s a gate around the property itself.” He rubbed her shoulder. “Well this isn’t creepy or anything.” Ray snarked. “Its only creepy because its dark RayRay. Things always look different in the dark. It’s just new, new always feels uncertain, until it’s not new anymore.” Kat smiled back at Ray through the rear view.

The good thing about being Butterfly with Carson — as I've come to enjoy — was I didn't need to any longer. Carson turned to me with a perked eyebrow. In the bright white light from the ceiling and floors I could now see the slight redness in his otherwise perfect eyes and I was glad we stopped. “Where is everyone?” I waved my hand about indicating the empty space. “Don't tell me you didn't see those cars.” Carson chuckled and drew a hand over his dark stubble, an action that made me involuntarily clench my thighs. “That. Well, you did not hear this from me, but, Jaime Crawford junior also hosts an underground and very illegal poker game every Tuesday night.”

The old oak tree still stands at the center, its branches spreading like gnarled fingers against the sky. Dante pulls a shovel from his truck bed. "Thomas said the north side of the tree, three feet down." They walk to the oak in silence. Sera's heart pounds as Dante starts to dig. Every shovelful of earth feels like they're excavating their own graves. "There." Dante drops to his knees, brushing dirt away from something metallic. A small lockbox, rusted but intact. He pulls it free and sets it on the ground between them. The lock is simple—Dante breaks it with one sharp twist.

My body betrayed me with a warm ache between my thighs. 'Alright,' I said finally, voice steadier than I felt. 'But where? Right here on the road?' 'Nah, too exposed.' He jerked his head toward the woods. 'Follow me.' We trudged into the trees, branches snagging at my jeans, the ground soft and muddy underfoot. Moonlight filtered through the canopy in silver slivers, casting shadows that danced like secrets. He stopped maybe fifty yards in, by a massive oak, its trunk wide and gnarled. The air was thicker here, alive with the scent of wet earth and pine. Far enough from the road that no one would hear...or care.

“We made sure not to touch the scene, it’s exactly as we found it.” Matthias nodded, expression grim as he stepped past her. And there she was, laid out at the base of a oak tree that was older than the pack itself. Its branches twisted up ahead in a ghostly sort of canopies, leaves swaying in the airless night as strips of moonlight filtered in through, falling to the forest floors like ribbons of silver.

Birds and cricket songs are replaced by total silence, we can even hear the twigs and branches breaking underneath our legs as we walk on them. I can hear Owen's heavy breaths, even his hard swallowing. The air suddenly changes, when we get to a small opening after the thickets. There are seven tall trees, taller than the rest, which surround an old cabin. It practically looks deserted. The trees look so strange and peculiar. I have been to the woods before, but I have never come across such trees. I walk slowly towards the cabin, Owen is one step ahead of me and his hand is wrapped protectively around my waist.

In the center stood a giant, ancient oak tree, its branches spreading out like protective arms. "It has a high-tech security system, a gated community, and a twenty-four-hour patrol," Cole listed off the specs, his businessman persona momentarily shielding his vulnerability. "But look at the backyard, Sabrina. Really look at it." "The tree," I whispered, tracing the lines of the oak with my thumb.

The accumulation of fifteen years of being together had made the arrangement more fully itself, not less. They stood under the oak. The June light came through the full canopy in the specific quality of the filtered summer light — green and warm and particular. The oak's trunk was wide — wider than Ernest could reach around, wider than two people could reach around together. The bark was rough, the texture of the old oak, the specific pattern of ridges and crevices that had formed over decades. The roots spread out from the base, some of them visible above the ground, the evidence of the tree's underground life.

Then Amber felt it too. “What is that?” “I think the tree is trying to communicate with us.” “What?” Amber looked shocked. “Let’s just go see.” Isabella continued up to the top and stood under the tall oak. She looked at the leaves and half rotten acorns around its base. “It’s a black oak.” She whispered to Amber. “How can you tell?” “You have to look at the leaves and the acorns. Those are black oak leaves and acorns.” “Okay.” Amber looked up at the tree.

Colton looks like he wants to walk into a tree. I shake my head, unable to stop the small smile tugging at my lips. “You two are terrible at lying.” Oakley beams. “Thank you.” “That wasn’t a compliment,” I say. “It felt like one,” he replies. Colton exhales slowly. “Let’s just… move on. The orchard is this way.” Oakley nods quickly. “Yes. Orchard. Trees. Fruit. No mysterious healer prophecies there.” Colton mutters, “Hopefully.”