What Hides in the Arms of the Dead Oak
Two miles from Hilda’s Bridge is a dead oak tree with gnarled arms twisting outward like the rigor mortis limbs of a stiff, and not even vultures dare roost upon its white, knotty branches. Children whisper among themselves that a troll lives in the tree. But what unwary travelers see—or swear to see—is something far more concerning. They profess that this shy creature emerges from the top at twilight, and in shape, is vaguely anthropomorphic; but the proportions of its head, neck, arms, hands, and legs are exceedingly unnatural. Yet whether the testimonies in taverns or stories in schoolhouses are any truer than the other is perhaps a far greater mystery.
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