“Miller,” Sam Patterson called out, walking over. The foreman looked more stressed than usual. His thin face seemed drawn, with dark circles under his eyes.
He rarely asked direct questions, preferring to hint at things.
“That one’s not on the plan,” he said, casting a quick, uneasy glance at the pine. “It’s not threatening the road.”
Alex nodded, not arguing. He wasn’t the type to buck orders without a reason. But right now, he had one. Just not one that was easy to put into words.
“It’s a strange one,” he said calmly. “Might be hollow inside. After a storm like that, these are the ones that fall the way you don’t expect.”
Sam frowned. He looked at the tree again, then at the ground at its roots. His fingers twitched nervously.
“Make it quick,” he finally said, “and be careful.”
It wasn’t exactly permission; it was an evasion of responsibility.
As Alex prepped his saw, Ethan walked by. The young logger cast a curious look at the pine.
“Is it diseased or something?” he asked tentatively. His voice was still high, his face open and freckled, not yet used to hiding what he felt.
“I don’t know,” Alex replied. “And that’s the problem.”
He cleared the brush around the base, exposing the lower trunk. The more he saw, the stronger the feeling of “wrongness” grew. The largest burls were exactly at human height. Not higher, not lower. Right where a man’s hands would be. Alex checked the wind and planned his retreat path.
He did everything slowly, meticulously, as if the tree might react to being rushed. In that moment, a strange thought crossed his mind: it wasn’t fear, but a reluctance to cross a boundary. He cranked the chainsaw. The roar sliced through the morning quiet, but the forest seemed to absorb it.
Alex brought the chain to the bark. The first contact was normal. Resistance, vibration, the scent of sap. Then, the sound changed. It became deeper, easier. Too easy.
He stopped. He repositioned the saw, changing the angle. The chain bit deeper, and then he heard something he never expected from a solid trunk. Not a crack, not a groan. A hollow, echoing thrum, as if there were a void inside. Alex took a step back.
His heart was racing, but his mind remained clear. This wasn’t his imagination. He knew the difference between wet wood and something else.
“What is it?” Ethan asked, moving closer.
“Stay back,” Alex snapped. “Tell the others to keep their distance.”
He throttled the saw again and continued the cut. The resistance came in waves. Sometimes the chain bogged down as if hitting dense layers, then it would slip through effortlessly. The sound inside the trunk became more muffled, like a breath in a closed room…
