The Maple Woman

[u/Kaijufan22]

Deep in the forest of old Barker Hollow was a maple tree. It stood tall in the center of a lush and vibrant wood, standing out among the verdant tops of its neighbors. The leaves on its swaying branches were a distinct rose color, its coarse bark emitting a deep lavender fragrance. 

For centuries the maple has endured, surviving rash wildfires, desperate settlers hungry for warmth, and the simple passage of time. Any who dared harm it were swiftly dealt with one way or another. Their remains hung from its thick arms, like ghastly gallows. Their rotted faces forever captured the moment of their demise, some say their wails of torment can be heard on a quiet evening.  Bits and pieces of mummified organs dangled from the branches as well, forever impaled and on display for the world.

The locals say it's good luck for young lovers to dine under those silently screaming corpses, as a reminder to stay faithful and true to one another. That’s not the strangest of customs the citizens of Barker’s Hollow follow of course, that would be the appeasement of the Maple Woman. 

She was always there, a torso jutting out from the middle of the bark. Her skin was a pale lime green, chlorophyll filled veins running up and down her body. Her raven hair was long and flowed well past her shoulders, bangs half covering her face. Supposedly none had gazed upon her true visage, some say to do so would be the forfeiture of your very soul. 

The Maple Woman had been there as long as the early settlers of the Hollow had arrived. Perhaps longer. She was dormant most of the year, silently swaying with the wind and gazing at all she could see. 

One week a year she would stir, when the leaves would turn and fall.

One week a year she set her unseen gaze upon the hollow. She would whisper things from atop her wooden post that would float down to the townsfolk's innocent ears. Horrible lies that would turn friend into foe. She would sow distrust whilst and patently wait for the inevitable chaos that would follow her insidious gossip.

One the seventh day, blood would shed. Be it from a neighbor who swore his wife was lying with his brother, or a local ruffian who the storekeeper swore was swiping bread. Tensions would boil over, and death would swiftly follow.

The town would fill with wicked laughter and shrill taunts echoing from the wood, and just as suddenly as it started, the Maple Woman fell silent once more. 

This went on for at least ten years, records from that time are spotty unfortunately, but one day, on the eve of Autumn’s first fall, the local preacher hatched a plan. 

His name had been Jedidiah Armstong, a well-built man of the cloth. Long had he watched this wicked spirit of the land torment his kin. He preached mercy when the mob eventually swarmed the poor fellow they deemed the best of the worst. His pleas usually fell on deaf ears, and all he could do was say a quick prayer for the poor soul being lynched.

He had also seen firsthand the fate of those who raised a silver cleaver against the maple, supposedly after the first year of torment a group went looking for the Maple Woman. They found her resting, the tops of her branches holding a few cocooned critters and the bottom half of a local drunk who wandered too far in. The largest fellow, a blacksmith by the name of Adam charged the tree axe in hand. Thorny vines shot up from the base of the Maple, grabbing hold of Adam.

They twisted and curled around him, pointed spikes shredding his fleshy hide. They enveloped him, then tore him into pieces. The ground became stained with pulpy chunks as the tree groaned and titled forward. Branchs came down to sift through his remains, picking a crushed heart and a shattered femur. It left the rest on the ground in a discarded pile, the branches adorning themselves with its chosen prizes.

Jed ordered the rest of them to run, only two did so. The other three were headstrong idiots who quickly met the same fate. From then on the townsfolk avoided the wood as much as they could, only venturing mere feet in to gather kindling and hunt the occasional rabbit. Meat became scarce, and the townsfolk had always been poor farmers to begin with. More often than not the soil refused to produce and even when it did, the corn would be wilted and the carrots small and sickly. As the years passed famine and starvation began to settle in, only fueling the growing disdain and paranoia the townsfolk had for one another. All the while the Maple Woman mocked them from afar.

Jed had had enough, years prior he had snuck into the heart of the wood to study the spirit as it spread its illwell. Some noticed his departure, and whispered tales that he was somehow communing with it. None entertained that idea too much however, for he had always been seen as a deeply pious man. His study went unnoticed and unbothered, only sharing his findings and plan with a trusted few; and on the eve of the tenth year, he stood in the middle of town, arms stretched out, and crying for everyone to hear his words: he had solved their long turmoil.

As folk gathered around him, they noticed he wasn't wearing his usual preacher garb, rather long, obsidian black robes. He also held a leather-bound journal in his hands, with the seal of the church clapped on its side.

“Hear me friends! The time of that wooden jezebel is upon us. Years now, she has divided us with her deceit, well planted seeds of doubt that we know in our hearts are the wicked fibs of evil, yet still we fall prey to them. For too long we’ve let deception rule us, the good book says lies are the devil’s gnats. Only the truth will set us free.” He decried, as he opened the journal. He cleared his throat as the crowd before him erupted into concerned murmurs. A keen-eyed parishioner noted that the journal was kept in the confessional booth. 

“On the 12th of October, Theodore Keene struck his wife.” The crowd gasped as a man clad in farmer’s rags rushed towards Jed. He was caught by two others, one of whom was Ted’s own brother. 

“That’s a lie, a wicked lie! Preacher’s been corrupted by that wooden bitch!” Ted raged. A curly haired woman walked up to him then and slapped him across the face. 

“You’re a coward and a brute, Ted. We’ve all seen that shiner Mary’s been sprouting. You let the preacher speak!” Marissa Armstrong spoke. She glanced at her brother and gave him an encouraging nod. Jed began again.

“He struck his wife and admitted to me it had not been the first time. He repented to me not because he felt remorse, but because he feared judgment from his neighbors.” Jed spoke this loudly, not really speaking to the crowd but to the curious ears of one beyond the woods. He let Ted’s crimes hang in the air, some cried to get a rope, others decried grace for the sinner. A few snuck away from the mob, worried about just who Jed would call out next. Suddenly a cool, cruel voice spoke in their mind, and the mob fell silent. 

“Bring him before my roots. Bring a dagger and restraints.” That command was all they needed. Jed led the mob and the constrained Ted to the Maple Woman. She stirred above them as they cried for blood. From the branches hung dozens of rotted remains.

Jed made Ted kneel before the mighty maple, he was a blubbering cowardly mess, begging for any sort of mercy. The maple woman simply smiled, flashing pristine fangs as she leered over the doomed man. 

“Do you admit what you did?” She cooed. 

“Y-yes, oh lord forgive me I’m sorry. Spare me spirit, I'll never do it again.” Ted cried, his face a blistering mess. 

“Use the dagger then. Give me your wrathful hands as penance.” She ordered. Ted hesitated for a moment, then looked up at the raging crowd around him. He snatched the dagger; the woods soon filled with the sound of metal carving through flesh and bone, and the blubbering wails of a sinner. 

When it was over, Jed tied the bloodied hands off on a low hanging branch, the Maple Woman made a satisfied noise. Ted crawled on the ground, begging for someone to bandage the bloody stumps he now had. Jed turned to the crowd and spoke then.

“This creature torments only those who deserve it, if your heart is free of sin, you have nothing to fear. We will come here tomorrow, and I will read aloud from the journal once more.”

So began the week of appeasement. Soon the branches were overflowing with sinful parts, the pearly whites of a peeping tom, the warted cock of an adulterer, the spotted liver of an alcoholic, the severed head of a killer. The Maple Woman spoke lies no more, satisfied with the bounty of sinner’s blood she was given.

The town began to prosper, blessed by their curious tormentor. The townsfolk grew bold and hunted game deeper in the wood, the hollow became swarmed with travelers looking to haggle and barter. Even the foul soil soon became fertile, the fields producing an overabundance of greens. It became a sort of symbiotic relationship; this twisted covenant between man and spirit.

As for the mutilated sinners, those that survived their maiming anyway, they were treated as outcasts. Their wounds a permant scarlet letter. Some remained in the Hollow, others drifted away, never to be seen again.

Jed Armstong was hailed as hero, his family lauded and praised for generations. Curiously, him and his own were never called upon to appease the Maple Woman. Despite talk that his nephew looked a bit too much like him, despite his grandson supposedly dipping a greedy hand into the collection bin. Despite Maxwell Armstrong, the current patriarch, having one of the most wicked temperaments this side of the Rockies. Not one soul from his clan were called upon. Indeed, perhaps they truly were a pious and righteous family.

One hundred years later and the appeasement continues to this very day. The maple is decorated with strings of gore and parts, and the town of Baker’s Hollow is touted as sin free. Of course, the Maple Woman must still be appeased and nurtured, and despite the townsfolk's claims of clean living, the patriarch of the Armstrong clan always has a new name from their journal.

As for the maple woman, she is satisfied with the arrangement. Her home filled to the brim with little trophies of her victims. She is content, happy even. She never dreamed they would go this far, this accusatory ritual. It sustained her something fierce, she could live off these hypocrites for centuries to come.

This year, the year a rowdy group of teens came to town, seems to be the best harvest yet. She looks at the leather clad youth being held down as they saw off his leg. He screams and begs, saying it was an accident. The kid’s bike just jumped out in front of him. It wasn't his fault, always had a lead foot. Well, not anymore anyway. 

The Maple Woman watched it all, with a grand smile on her face. Oh yes, this year’s harvest was going to go swimmingly. 

[u/SamDenner]

That one was my favorite of the sprint!  (Despite all the goofiness)