The small patch of woods behind Eleanor's house had always seemed deeper than it should have been.

Every evening, she stood on the verandah with a glass of wine searching for life beyond the back fence, a wall of dark trunks and tangled undergrowth stared straight back. Even on summer afternoons, the shadows danced between the trees like glittering sunbeams.

That night, everything seemed stoic. The rain hung heavily in the air. The clouds almost covering the moon, turning the world a dismal grey; lifeless.

Eleanor took a deep breath and wandered through the trees, the little patch of trees quickly swallowed any sound from town. The groan of branches shifting overhead and the wet crunch of leaves beneath her boots cocooned her.

Then she heard it.

A whisper.

A rustle of thousands of dry leaves all trying to speak at once.

A thick vine slid across the ground behind her, slowly creeping closer.

Eleanor stumbled backward. Another vine dropped from above, wrapping tightly around her ankle with startling speed. She screamed and clawed at it but the more she fought the tighter it became.

More and more came slithering from the darkness coiling around her legs.

The forest floor opened beneath a blanket of roots that twisted like snakes.

The trees all leaned closer.

Watching.

Waiting.

The vines pulled her this way and that, dragging her to the base of an enormous oak hidden in the middle of the wood. Its bark split apart with a slow, wet crack.

She felt roots crawling beneath her skin.

Felt them threading through her muscles, wrapping themselves around her bones. Her fingers stretched and hardened, becoming brittle branches. Bark appeared across her arms in rippling waves. Her legs fused together as roots penetrated into the earth below.

The transformative pain lasted for hours, until it became a part of her.

Search parties arrived before dawn.

She watched them pass beneath her branches.

Her husband.

Her sister.

Neighbours carrying torches.

They called her name until their voices broke.

She tried to answer, to groan or make any sort of noise but only a small creak emerged.

Twenty-four hours later, the search had officially ended. Life moved on.

As the weeks turned to months, Eleanor watched her husband laugh again. Watched another woman move into her house. Watched her children smile more often than they had with her.

The loss faded from their faces as quickly as she had.

They were happier now.

Every night she stood entombed in the silent forest, watching the world thrive without her.

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