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Gathering his courage, A.J. prayed, much as he did when he was a POW and squatting in a filthy tiger cage back in Nam. “I ain’t scared of no old tree,” he told it as he walked through the cemetery. “I ain’t scared of you, no, I’m not. I’ve seen worse in this world than your sorry ass. My eye is on the sparrow.”

The ground around the tree vibrated in a deep humming thrum as he sat the chainsaw on the ground and put on the heavy gloves. The intense thrumming reminded him of standing too near a ground hornet’s nest. He swallowed, choking down the dread that rose along with bile to the back of his throat.

“Let not your heart be troubled,” he sang as he adjusted the choke on the chainsaw. “His tender word I hear and resting on his goodness.”

The chainsaw erupted into a loud wrup, wrup, wrup. It came to life in his hands, the noise drowning out his song. Lord, steady my hand, he prayed, I’m ready to do this.

A.J. stepped forward, but hesitated. A green shape formed in front of the tree. The thrumming sound was louder now, drowning out the crazed wrupping of the chainsaw. The ground shook as if lightning touched it.

The shape twisted and coalesced, much like the spectral field hands he saw earlier. A body emerged and A.J. recognized her at once. The chainsaw died and he began to cry.

“Mama?”

“Yes baby,” the woman said, holding out her arms. “I’m right here. I hadn’t died, just slept for a while.”

“But Mama, why are you here? How did you get here?”

“A miracle,” she replied. Her arms spread wide, inviting him in. “Come to me, baby.” She smiled, her hair gray tinged, her eyes warm and loving. “Come and get close to your Mama. Lord, I’ve missed you so much.”

He wept, tears streaming down his face and smearing the day’s grime on his throat. “You ain’t my Mama,” he said. “You ain’t, you can’t be. My Mama died a long time ago.”

“I said it was a miracle.” Her brow furrowed. “Why do you question what the Lord has done? Hasn’t he kept his eye on the sparrow?”

“Oh, Mama,” he wailed, feeling lost, like a little boy who wandered into the woods one day and couldn’t find his way back. This is a dirty trick, he knew. An evil trick played on him by the devil’s tree. But he wanted to believe it, oh so much. He took a tiny step forward, ready to embrace the image before him. Yet the annoying, logical side of his mind shrieked, Look at her, boss. She ain’t changed in forty years! How can that be? And why’s she here instead of standing at the right hand side of God?

“…Mama, yes,” she was saying, though he had lost most of the conversation. “Now come here, chile, let me have a look at you.”

“No, A. J. moaned. “No, you ain’t my Mama. You might look like her, but you’re not. This is wrong. You are wrong. You can’t look the same after all these years, it ain’t right.”

The apparition howled. The eyes and mouth melted away. The sockets shot out beams of light. “You will come,” a voice demanded, as the face warped and distorted, melting like a plastic doll’s head. The ground rumbled, unsteadying him.

“No,” A.J. shouted as he yanked hard on the chainsaw cord. It refused to start. Not one single wrup came from the motor. Sobbing, he grabbed one of the double-bitted axes and, shrieking in anguish and fury, lunged for the trunk.

The ground softened around the roots, and he stumbled, falling at the foot of the tree. The axe tumbled away. He looked up, too horrified to scream. The bark was peeling away, slowly at first, but then quicker, exposing a brilliant emerald green interior that seemed to burn with a nuclear heat.

His mind was distant, hypnotized. There’s something inside, something alive and squirming around in there like glowworms. A.J.’s mind snapped back into reality. He scrambled backwards, trying to avoid the glowworms that weren’t glowworms at all but thick, woody cords that launched themselves toward him. He screamed as his wrists and legs were bound so quickly he didn’t have time to react. The cords yanked him forward. He screamed as he was dragged on his hands and knees towards that awful sight.

“Oh Mama, Mama,” he bawled, as he was dragged head first into the tree.

Within seconds, A.J. Jones, formerly Abendego Jones of Mercer’s Bayou, Arkansas, was absorbed along with his screams. The tree sealed itself, the lights dimmed, the vibration lowered until it dropped completely.

Around the base, the dead patch of earth expanded another ten feet. The fallen chainsaw and the axe lay abandoned. Moments later, wolves slid into the cemetery, wandered among the graves, singing their death song.