Treeman

“But Treeman is NOT a story! He’s real!”

Joanie’s cereal spoon became punctuation, slammed on the breakfast table at the end of each sentence, as her older brothers laughed at her, hooted like monkeys, after having baited the nine-year-old.

Mrs. Laughlin entered the kitchen, checking her purse, already running late for the office.

“Stop torturing your sister!” she warned, her brow beetling into a threat the boys could understand better than language. They got up from the table and dispersed.

Joanie’s mother held her daughter’s face in her hands and gave her the reality pep talk. It was the third time in several weeks.

“Look, honey. Your brothers are as obnoxious as anything, I know, but they’re right. There is no Treeman. That’s your imagination. I walked to school with you twice. And so did Trevor. I even asked Mrs. Soloway and Mr. Jessup if they’d seen anyone suspicious on the their streets. Nobody has seen anyone. Now if you want me to drive you to school, even though I’m running late, I will.”

“But Sean Bronk! Treeman got him!”

“Joanie, we talked about that. That’s something we need to talk about when we have time. That was truly a horrible thing. But the bad man who did that is behind bars. I can see we need to talk about that further. I don’t want to trivialize…do you know what that word means?…your feelings.”

“Sean’s father did not kill him! Sean saw Treeman too. He told me. It was a secret. “