July 23, 2025 • 24 mins
Children vanish, trees move at night, and a young girl begins to ask: Why is the forest stalking her?
Aged 9-10, Matt Smart traded silver in London and Essex, England. In his teens, Matt began sculpting, using materials for car bodywork repair that he learned when his mother’s agoraphobia led her to drive recklessly, often crashing during panic attacks. He ran several research funds at Oxford University, and is published academically in psychiatry, and governmental technology investment. Matt ran a London gallery representing artists diagnosed with mental health conditions. He was also in the archaeology team that found the burial site of the missing Romanovs in Russia. See MattSmart.org for his sculptures. Matt loves art, music, writing and dancing!
You can read "They Said It Was The Trees" at https://www.kaidankaistories.com.
Website: kaidankaistories.com
Please feel free to contact me through the website contact form.
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Aged 9-10, Matt Smart traded silver in London and Essex, England. In his teens, Matt began sculpting, using materials for car bodywork repair that he learned when his mother’s agoraphobia led her to drive recklessly, often crashing during panic attacks. He ran several research funds at Oxford University, and is published academically in psychiatry, and governmental technology investment. Matt ran a London gallery representing artists diagnosed with mental health conditions. He was also in the archaeology team that found the burial site of the missing Romanovs in Russia. See MattSmart.org for his sculptures. Matt loves art, music, writing and dancing!
You can read "They Said It Was The Trees" at https://www.kaidankaistories.com.
Website: kaidankaistories.com
Please feel free to contact me through the website contact form.
Follow us on:
Bluesky
Substack
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Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:10):
Welcome to the kaiton Kai Podcast, where every story takes
you ever deeper into the world of the strange, the eerie,
and the unknown. I'm your host Linda Gould and Tonight,
I'm reading They Said It Was The Trees by Matt Smart.
In Tonight's story, a young girl begins to unravel the
secret that has haunted her new home for generations, but
(00:34):
she learns that the line between protectors and predators can
become dangerously blurred. When aged nine to ten, Matt Smart
traded silver in London and Essex, England. In his teens,
Mack began sculpting, using materials for car bodywork repair that
he learned when his mother's agoraphobia led her to drive recklessly,
(00:57):
often crashing during panic attacks. He ran several research funds
at Oxford University and is published academically in psychiatry and
Government Technology Investment. Matt ran a London gallery representing artists
diagnosed with mental health conditions. He was also in the
archaeology team that found the burial site of the missing
(01:18):
Romanovs in Russia. See his full bio and social media
information in the episode description and Now dim the Lights
settle in and prepare yourself, for they said it was
the trees by Matt smart Enjoy. It's dark. Evelyn is
(01:42):
not sure where she is. She knows she was sleeping.
There are unfamiliar shapes in the room, and then she
remembers this is her new home, her family moved in spring.
As she does not yet know her room's patterns and habits,
that pale light from the tall window, the angles of
(02:04):
sounds when they echo off walls and furniture, or the
mysteries lurking in the shadowed corners. She goes to the
window and looks down into the garden. Spread out below
in the moonlight, a silvery lawn dotted with fruit trees
stretching away to the forest's black edge. There is a
glow in the sky above the nearby town. Her papa
(02:27):
told her that out here, among the trees and grass
there used to be farming. She sees the glimmer on
far fields, where shreds of determined weeds scratch upwards, wild
among weeds, as if the crops wouldn't give up after
the folk moved away. Evelyn gazes across the garden toward
(02:47):
the remains of the abandoned houses along the track a
beaten line of timber shells. She unfastens the window and
opens it wide. Fresh air drifts into the rooms, mixed
scents of old beams and young paint. The daisies on
the lawn, which seemed to smile during daytime, are unseen,
(03:08):
now quietly dreaming. There's no breeze. It's midsummer, approaching the
new school year, and she thought she might hear an
owl in the evening's heat, but the land lies silent.
Everyone is not yet used to this rebuilt house. When
(03:29):
she looks at the painted walls, they tell her nothing.
If a door creaks when no one is there, she
cannot interpret what it says. She often feels that the
house is trying to reveal something, but she doesn't know
its language. All she can do is watch and guess.
For instance, there's a tree in the garden down there,
(03:51):
down near the forest's edge. She's sure she hasn't seen
it before, even though it's tall, what Grandpa would call
a mighty oak. She waves at it, a branch moves
as if waving back humph. She chuckles, and then closes
the window and goes back to bed. In the morning,
(04:11):
before her parents wake up, Evelyn runs outside to meet
the new tree. She cannot find it. She lines up
her arm with her bedroom and squints along her finger,
pointing at the dark rectangle of window. She's in the
right place. Huh. A big tree cannot hide on a lawn.
(04:32):
A proud oak wouldn't want to. She looks into the grass.
The sun licked daisies or bright as stars. Were you real?
She asks, as if the oak were right there beside her.
Did you come to see me? Why? At breakfast? Evelyn's
mom laughs, honey, you are just remembering what those old
(04:55):
folks said when we moved here. Evelyn frowns, she doesn't
remember any old folks. Papa puts down his mug and
tells her there were about twelve of them, all waiting
by the front porch when they first arrived, a mass
of cotton hair and warm coats. They all shared friendly smiles,
but their eyes quietly professed worry. Those smiling folks told
(05:21):
us that ever since the area was first lived in,
children have gone missing here, some adults too. Evelyn's mom adds,
don't worry, honey, They were probably meeting a long time ago,
when people didn't look after their kids as we do today.
You must have been listening in They said trees come
in to night and people vanish. Evelyn doesn't remember any
(05:45):
of that, or even that any old people visited at all.
Her mom laughs again, well obviously you heard, sweetie. Where
else would these dreams come from? Evelyn frowns. The following night,
the moon is brighter. Through her window, she spots another
tree freshly appeared in the garden. It looks like a
(06:09):
quaking aspen. It shimmers, and the mighty oak is back.
It's closer, this time, half way up the garden. In
the morning, when she looks out, they are gone. But Mom,
Evelyn huffs, it's not dreams. I saw them. And supposing
(06:30):
they're right, these old visitors, how can you say it's nothing.
Evelyn's mother holds her daughter's tense arms and speaks down
from a high, stony plateau half way up the hill
of years. Listen, baby, I care about your happiness, which
includes you not upsetting yourself with things that you imagine.
(06:50):
Her mom strokes her hair, Honey, I know it all
feels real. When I was younger than you, my papa
read the Hobbit to me and my set for months.
I saw goblins in the garden, and wizards and hairy
toed hobbits under the stairs. Together, they strolled down towards
the forest. Evelyn's mom waves an arm across the lawn
(07:13):
with its tiny flowers. You see she comforts No new trees,
no hobbits, no wizards, Honey, most of what we worry
about isn't real. Now, come with me into town. Evelyn
squats down and touches the smooth, empty grass. Walking back
to the house, she blinks. It felt as if a
(07:36):
leaf brushed her eyelids. Chairs are full. In the hairdresser shop,
it's busy. Evelyn's mom wants a cut in color. Evelyn
guesses it's for her parents' night out at a party
that they've been invited to, and her mom is trying
to entice Evelyn to come along too. The place smells
of shampoo and heat and swimming pools. It's clamorous with
(07:59):
young and old alike, from the splashing sinks to the
hands bustling with scissors. When Evelyn mentions moonlit trees, her
mother says that if she keeps thinking about trees, it's
only natural that she'll see them more. You really should
come out with us tonight, there will be other children there.
Evelyn interprets this as if you'd make more friends, you'd
(08:22):
dream of happier things. Luckily, it's her mom's turn to
have a plastic sheet around her neck. The trimming begins.
It reminds Evelyn of those tidy hedges they passed in
the town's small gardens. A town haircut, Evelyn goes out
into the street before anyone suggests she'd get a cut too.
(08:42):
Evelyn likes her hair. She likes its wildness, free in
the wind, open to possibilities, and ready to connect in
all directions. Of course, her mom wouldn't believe that trees
move at night. Town haircuts are as if your thoughts
are cut into a simple, smooth shape, some one else
cuts it for you, taking away your points. Mom has
(09:05):
never embraced the thoughts of the land. Why did Mom
and Papa move here? As Evelyn thinks this, a lady
stops next to her, awkwardly close, and then another lady
stands the other side of her, and one says, you're
from the track. It's not a question. Their coats oppressively
(09:25):
close to her nose, smell like rugs and broth. The
women step back and hold out their hands to her,
like ants offering woeful flapjacks. Heaven's not about to hold
the hands of strange folk on the street. You must leave, child,
murmurs one of them, Your family must leave. The trees
(09:46):
always come. Their faces show kindness and wrinkled eyes above
smiles dusted with fear. Evelyn tells them about the mighty
oak and the quaking aspen. One of the women grabs
her shoulders. It's not safe around, child, not until the
forest begins its autumn rest, after the hunter's moon, before
winter's sleep. If your heart is pure, they will take you.
(10:10):
You will be lost to the forest. The other looks
in her eyes. Long ago it began. The first woodcutters
among the settlers learnt the lore of the forest. Trees
and crops and man alike. We harvest, and we are harvested.
The trees know as they grow in the circle of
(10:31):
life and lives taken. Forests know this fate and are
at peace with it. They bear no grudges. But this
forest is different. It's not at peace, child. Folk never
should have settled in that place. To the trees, the
ground there is sacred, but no one knew the forest
(10:54):
seeks payment for what was done. Thousands of trees cut
down for houses, chairs and tape, and fires and fields.
Young branches taken for our first woven baskets, and wood
burnt for the baking of bread. It's a place of
remorse and revenge. The forest takes the first born. If
(11:18):
pure of heart. Oh, the woodcutter did what he could
to save them. He cut back the trees that came
for sweet souls, but there were too many for his axe.
This was long, long ago, when that place was only
a line of simple shacks and a thin dirt track.
(11:38):
Many houses have grown there since, and many have fallen
abandoned through the loss of loved ones. Through the window,
Evelyn watches the hairdresser's movements, precise as a ballet, her
mother's haircut and the trimming of the curly blonde locks
of someone else that she recognizes from school. Snips snip,
(12:01):
like chopping trees. She loves trees with their branches in
all directions, like her hair, but she feels that she
understands these women and her mom. Sometimes a cut can
be for protection. Evelyn cannot ask her folks to move
somewhere far simply to be protected from ghost trees. Her
(12:22):
mom would laugh, protecting her only from dangers she understands. Snip, snip, snip.
A blond tangle of twigs silently hits the floor. Her
mom will not let her go away. While the moon
drains and refills to become the hunter's moon. That night,
(12:43):
there's a cracking sound from the garden. Tiredly, stumbling to
the window, she sees many new trees. They're so bright
that they glow. They are much nearer the house now
and waving in a phantom wind that the calm feet
do not feel. Then she sees a man. She leaps back.
(13:07):
There's a huge man in the garden, standing next to
the mighty oak. He holds an axe. She creeps to
the side of the window to not be seen and
peers around through the barrier of glass. The tall man,
like the trees, shines under the moonlight. He wears furs
like those wax models of early settlers and scenes in
(13:29):
a museum. The man lifts his giant axe and swings
it into the trunk of the oak. Branches sway like
seaweed in a pool, slow and silent seaweed that drifts
in a wave, coming towards the house, towards her. The
huge man swings again and the tree shakes. He lowers
(13:50):
his axe, looking down and getting his breath back. Suddenly
he looks up at her. He stares straight through the
windows shield and the years between their times. Evelyn gasps,
he knows she is here. The man is grizzled with
a rough beard. He wears thick cloth tied with animal skins.
(14:15):
His boots are clogs knotted with fur. A fur hat
clings around his head like a couple of cats. Everything
about him looks like mist, so well padded with that
furry head, he reminds her of a toy bear, a
big protector. He seems almost transparent in the colorless moonlight.
(14:36):
His eyes are dark. Then he looks back at the
growing woodland. His enormous axe cracks into the trunk. Evelyn
grips the window frame tightly. The oak creaks as if
it knows it will soon fall, and then the man
in the tree start to fade. There's a splintering sound.
(14:57):
The oak topples before it hits ground. Trees and man
are gone. Not sure if she's breathing, she puts a
hand to her heart. She's still there, awake, she thinks.
She breathes heavily into the window glass, leaving a thin mist.
With a finger, she traces the forest. The mist evaporates,
(15:20):
and she breathes again and dabs where the trees were
and where she saw the woodcutter. The image fades. She
breathes again, and the picture reappears, a trace of being
and of vanishing, a proof she will be able to
show to herself if she wonders whether this was all
a dream, and proof for her mother. When she wakes,
(15:42):
desperate to tell her parents, she hurries to her door,
but something isn't right. It's still dark outside. There are
footsteps downstairs. It doesn't sound like her papa. Mom and
Papa are still asleep after their party, and there's someone
(16:02):
else in the house. These are hard, slow boots treading
heavy through the kitchen. She rushes to the window. The
garden is a forest, hundreds of trees. Branches scratch at
the house downstairs. The footsteps stop, then climb the stairs.
(16:25):
The thuds approach her room. Evelyn presses back into the
corner against the wall. Where are Mom and Papa? Don't
they hear it? There's breath by the door, She closes
her eyes, squeezing them tight, and tells herself, this isn't real,
This isn't real. She hears him in the room now,
(16:46):
though the door didn't open, A smell of shacks and
billygoat hair and brown leaves twisted and blown to settle
on damp earth. Bootsteps scrape the floor, they echo from
the walls. She opens her eyes. The woodcutter stands over her,
(17:06):
tall and pale as moonlight on a lake. She can
almost see through his faint figure. She feels frozen, too
afraid to run. Deep empty eyes stare down at her
through her as if in a void. She feels something
slide past her ribs. It's a branch, and then another,
(17:28):
piercing through the wall. The branches, like vines, twist around her,
and he raises his axe and swings, shattering the cage
that is forming around her. More branches splinter the walls,
dragging her away, and some twist toward him. As he
hefts his axe again. Evelyn is pulled back towards the window,
(17:50):
towards the dark forest. It's too soon, she whispers, I
won't be taken. The woodcutter advances, striking at her thickening
cocoon and branches fall. He pauses, puffing through his beard
to catch his airless breath, and in this brief moment,
(18:10):
the trees hurl Evelyn toward the door. She sees wooden
vines grasp for his wrists, but he bats them away easily,
and in the darkness of his eyes, she understands the
trees are not trying to take her. She swings the
door open and runs. Evelyn's bare feet dash over familiar
(18:35):
wonky floorboard ridges under the hallway carpet. She runs down
the stairs behind she hears heavy footsteps, and her mind
flashes to her pictures of people she has known, parents, teachers, friends.
They want to help you grow up, telling you what
you should do and how to behave like it's a
(18:57):
game of climbing a mountain, where they focus on the
pathway they're told to and don't stop for the view.
But the view is why you climb mountains. None of
them are here with her to help her, no wonder
she feels alone. They don't see the things she sees.
Why climb like they do? She hears the trees whisper, yes, yes,
(19:23):
why climb, Stay with us in our forest? You don't
need to tread the hills pathways, not yet. First you
have to be to feel stay with us where you
are safe. Down by the front door, she sees the
(19:43):
woodcutter's pale shape descend the staircase, a beast, a glow
with cloth and fur, and centuries broken. Those ladies with
their warnings. They were kind. Huh, But so can fused
lost in clouds as white as their hair, barely able
(20:04):
to see the ground where they once played or their
final stone. So near we harvest, and we are harvested.
Evelyn opens the door and rushes outside into the sparkling
sea of trees. It's as if the woodland has returned
to the way it was before people came, before the
(20:26):
first woodcutter, centuries passed. When he came here among the
settlers and the village was built, he began to hear
the trees speak of their desecration. He couldn't stop hearing them,
and he knew Fearing for his soul, he brought them
the first borns among the villagers who had called for
the trees to be cut, sacrificing the forest to make
(20:49):
their homes in comfort. But his soul was not released.
Evelyn senses as she walks that is not the trees
that seek the souls of the good and innocent. The
vanished are his unseeing penance, this revenant spirit who perpetuates
(21:10):
his own purgatory through the unwonted offerings that he brings
to their feet. Stepping among the spectral, lustrous trunks, Evelyn
feels that the trees do not want to take her.
See how they curve and bend, bowing to her with care.
They cherish the cycle of passings and rebirths that they
share with us and all living things. She feels them
(21:34):
welcome her. As she walks on through the trees, she
feels their delicate gossamer shapes caress her face. Behind her,
she hears the wood cutter snarl as the twisting branches
hold him back like a tethered dog. Thick vines rap,
and then roots pull him down. But Evelyn alone now
(21:58):
doesn't hear the world anymore. She is drawn into the
shining leaves all around, and she hears more clearly their
embracing russell. She feels protected at peace in her nightgown,
she sings, stepping onwards, onwards into the forest. Oh, they
(22:23):
said it was the trees. This story quietly got under
my skin. It plays with something ancient in us, our
reverence for nature, our fear of it, and mostly our
inability to understand it fully. Evelyn's journey is one of
(22:45):
awakening not only to the unseen forces around her, but
also to the truth that adults often can't or won't see.
She senses what others ignore, and she listens. What I
love is that the forest isn't the villain here. It
isn't even vengeful, despite the centuries of harm inflicted upon it.
(23:08):
The true horror isn't in the trees themselves, but in
the man. It begs the question, who is he trying
to appease the forest that never asked for blood sacrifice
or his own bloodthirst? He is another adult who thinks
he knows best, never listening to what is actually around him.
(23:29):
They said it was the trees reminds us that sometimes
fear keeps us from understanding, but when we stop and
look closely, when we feel rather than fear, we might
find something sacred waiting in the shadows. Of course, the
lesson from other kaidon Kai stories is to be afraid
and run if you feel you should, and that's why
(23:51):
you should subscribe to the kaiiton Kai, which features stories
from every genre once a week. The kaiiton Kai Substack
is where you can learn and what inspired the authors
and hear a little bit of extra analysis that's put
in context, maybe with something that's going on in our
modern world. And if you're into art like me, follow
(24:12):
me on Instagram, Facebook, Blue Sky, or substack because I
often post pieces that catch my eye, spark a feeling,
or kind of just haunt me in the best way.
All the links are in the episode description. So thank
you so much for listening today, and I'll see you
next week with another awesome story.
Welcome to the kaiton Kai Podcast, where every story takes
you ever deeper into the world of the strange, the eerie,
and the unknown. I'm your host Linda Gould and Tonight,
I'm reading They Said It Was The Trees by Matt Smart.
In Tonight's story, a young girl begins to unravel the
secret that has haunted her new home for generations, but
(00:34):
she learns that the line between protectors and predators can
become dangerously blurred. When aged nine to ten, Matt Smart
traded silver in London and Essex, England. In his teens,
Mack began sculpting, using materials for car bodywork repair that
he learned when his mother's agoraphobia led her to drive recklessly,
(00:57):
often crashing during panic attacks. He ran several research funds
at Oxford University and is published academically in psychiatry and
Government Technology Investment. Matt ran a London gallery representing artists
diagnosed with mental health conditions. He was also in the
archaeology team that found the burial site of the missing
(01:18):
Romanovs in Russia. See his full bio and social media
information in the episode description and Now dim the Lights
settle in and prepare yourself, for they said it was
the trees by Matt smart Enjoy. It's dark. Evelyn is
(01:42):
not sure where she is. She knows she was sleeping.
There are unfamiliar shapes in the room, and then she
remembers this is her new home, her family moved in spring.
As she does not yet know her room's patterns and habits,
that pale light from the tall window, the angles of
(02:04):
sounds when they echo off walls and furniture, or the
mysteries lurking in the shadowed corners. She goes to the
window and looks down into the garden. Spread out below
in the moonlight, a silvery lawn dotted with fruit trees
stretching away to the forest's black edge. There is a
glow in the sky above the nearby town. Her papa
(02:27):
told her that out here, among the trees and grass
there used to be farming. She sees the glimmer on
far fields, where shreds of determined weeds scratch upwards, wild
among weeds, as if the crops wouldn't give up after
the folk moved away. Evelyn gazes across the garden toward
(02:47):
the remains of the abandoned houses along the track a
beaten line of timber shells. She unfastens the window and
opens it wide. Fresh air drifts into the rooms, mixed
scents of old beams and young paint. The daisies on
the lawn, which seemed to smile during daytime, are unseen,
(03:08):
now quietly dreaming. There's no breeze. It's midsummer, approaching the
new school year, and she thought she might hear an
owl in the evening's heat, but the land lies silent.
Everyone is not yet used to this rebuilt house. When
(03:29):
she looks at the painted walls, they tell her nothing.
If a door creaks when no one is there, she
cannot interpret what it says. She often feels that the
house is trying to reveal something, but she doesn't know
its language. All she can do is watch and guess.
For instance, there's a tree in the garden down there,
(03:51):
down near the forest's edge. She's sure she hasn't seen
it before, even though it's tall, what Grandpa would call
a mighty oak. She waves at it, a branch moves
as if waving back humph. She chuckles, and then closes
the window and goes back to bed. In the morning,
(04:11):
before her parents wake up, Evelyn runs outside to meet
the new tree. She cannot find it. She lines up
her arm with her bedroom and squints along her finger,
pointing at the dark rectangle of window. She's in the
right place. Huh. A big tree cannot hide on a lawn.
(04:32):
A proud oak wouldn't want to. She looks into the grass.
The sun licked daisies or bright as stars. Were you real?
She asks, as if the oak were right there beside her.
Did you come to see me? Why? At breakfast? Evelyn's
mom laughs, honey, you are just remembering what those old
(04:55):
folks said when we moved here. Evelyn frowns, she doesn't
remember any old folks. Papa puts down his mug and
tells her there were about twelve of them, all waiting
by the front porch when they first arrived, a mass
of cotton hair and warm coats. They all shared friendly smiles,
but their eyes quietly professed worry. Those smiling folks told
(05:21):
us that ever since the area was first lived in,
children have gone missing here, some adults too. Evelyn's mom adds,
don't worry, honey, They were probably meeting a long time ago,
when people didn't look after their kids as we do today.
You must have been listening in They said trees come
in to night and people vanish. Evelyn doesn't remember any
(05:45):
of that, or even that any old people visited at all.
Her mom laughs again, well obviously you heard, sweetie. Where
else would these dreams come from? Evelyn frowns. The following night,
the moon is brighter. Through her window, she spots another
tree freshly appeared in the garden. It looks like a
(06:09):
quaking aspen. It shimmers, and the mighty oak is back.
It's closer, this time, half way up the garden. In
the morning, when she looks out, they are gone. But Mom,
Evelyn huffs, it's not dreams. I saw them. And supposing
(06:30):
they're right, these old visitors, how can you say it's nothing.
Evelyn's mother holds her daughter's tense arms and speaks down
from a high, stony plateau half way up the hill
of years. Listen, baby, I care about your happiness, which
includes you not upsetting yourself with things that you imagine.
(06:50):
Her mom strokes her hair, Honey, I know it all
feels real. When I was younger than you, my papa
read the Hobbit to me and my set for months.
I saw goblins in the garden, and wizards and hairy
toed hobbits under the stairs. Together, they strolled down towards
the forest. Evelyn's mom waves an arm across the lawn
(07:13):
with its tiny flowers. You see she comforts No new trees,
no hobbits, no wizards, Honey, most of what we worry
about isn't real. Now, come with me into town. Evelyn
squats down and touches the smooth, empty grass. Walking back
to the house, she blinks. It felt as if a
(07:36):
leaf brushed her eyelids. Chairs are full. In the hairdresser shop,
it's busy. Evelyn's mom wants a cut in color. Evelyn
guesses it's for her parents' night out at a party
that they've been invited to, and her mom is trying
to entice Evelyn to come along too. The place smells
of shampoo and heat and swimming pools. It's clamorous with
(07:59):
young and old alike, from the splashing sinks to the
hands bustling with scissors. When Evelyn mentions moonlit trees, her
mother says that if she keeps thinking about trees, it's
only natural that she'll see them more. You really should
come out with us tonight, there will be other children there.
Evelyn interprets this as if you'd make more friends, you'd
(08:22):
dream of happier things. Luckily, it's her mom's turn to
have a plastic sheet around her neck. The trimming begins.
It reminds Evelyn of those tidy hedges they passed in
the town's small gardens. A town haircut, Evelyn goes out
into the street before anyone suggests she'd get a cut too.
(08:42):
Evelyn likes her hair. She likes its wildness, free in
the wind, open to possibilities, and ready to connect in
all directions. Of course, her mom wouldn't believe that trees
move at night. Town haircuts are as if your thoughts
are cut into a simple, smooth shape, some one else
cuts it for you, taking away your points. Mom has
(09:05):
never embraced the thoughts of the land. Why did Mom
and Papa move here? As Evelyn thinks this, a lady
stops next to her, awkwardly close, and then another lady
stands the other side of her, and one says, you're
from the track. It's not a question. Their coats oppressively
(09:25):
close to her nose, smell like rugs and broth. The
women step back and hold out their hands to her,
like ants offering woeful flapjacks. Heaven's not about to hold
the hands of strange folk on the street. You must leave, child,
murmurs one of them, Your family must leave. The trees
(09:46):
always come. Their faces show kindness and wrinkled eyes above
smiles dusted with fear. Evelyn tells them about the mighty
oak and the quaking aspen. One of the women grabs
her shoulders. It's not safe around, child, not until the
forest begins its autumn rest, after the hunter's moon, before
winter's sleep. If your heart is pure, they will take you.
(10:10):
You will be lost to the forest. The other looks
in her eyes. Long ago it began. The first woodcutters
among the settlers learnt the lore of the forest. Trees
and crops and man alike. We harvest, and we are harvested.
The trees know as they grow in the circle of
(10:31):
life and lives taken. Forests know this fate and are
at peace with it. They bear no grudges. But this
forest is different. It's not at peace, child. Folk never
should have settled in that place. To the trees, the
ground there is sacred, but no one knew the forest
(10:54):
seeks payment for what was done. Thousands of trees cut
down for houses, chairs and tape, and fires and fields.
Young branches taken for our first woven baskets, and wood
burnt for the baking of bread. It's a place of
remorse and revenge. The forest takes the first born. If
(11:18):
pure of heart. Oh, the woodcutter did what he could
to save them. He cut back the trees that came
for sweet souls, but there were too many for his axe.
This was long, long ago, when that place was only
a line of simple shacks and a thin dirt track.
(11:38):
Many houses have grown there since, and many have fallen
abandoned through the loss of loved ones. Through the window,
Evelyn watches the hairdresser's movements, precise as a ballet, her
mother's haircut and the trimming of the curly blonde locks
of someone else that she recognizes from school. Snips snip,
(12:01):
like chopping trees. She loves trees with their branches in
all directions, like her hair, but she feels that she
understands these women and her mom. Sometimes a cut can
be for protection. Evelyn cannot ask her folks to move
somewhere far simply to be protected from ghost trees. Her
(12:22):
mom would laugh, protecting her only from dangers she understands. Snip, snip, snip.
A blond tangle of twigs silently hits the floor. Her
mom will not let her go away. While the moon
drains and refills to become the hunter's moon. That night,
(12:43):
there's a cracking sound from the garden. Tiredly, stumbling to
the window, she sees many new trees. They're so bright
that they glow. They are much nearer the house now
and waving in a phantom wind that the calm feet
do not feel. Then she sees a man. She leaps back.
(13:07):
There's a huge man in the garden, standing next to
the mighty oak. He holds an axe. She creeps to
the side of the window to not be seen and
peers around through the barrier of glass. The tall man,
like the trees, shines under the moonlight. He wears furs
like those wax models of early settlers and scenes in
(13:29):
a museum. The man lifts his giant axe and swings
it into the trunk of the oak. Branches sway like
seaweed in a pool, slow and silent seaweed that drifts
in a wave, coming towards the house, towards her. The
huge man swings again and the tree shakes. He lowers
(13:50):
his axe, looking down and getting his breath back. Suddenly
he looks up at her. He stares straight through the
windows shield and the years between their times. Evelyn gasps,
he knows she is here. The man is grizzled with
a rough beard. He wears thick cloth tied with animal skins.
(14:15):
His boots are clogs knotted with fur. A fur hat
clings around his head like a couple of cats. Everything
about him looks like mist, so well padded with that
furry head, he reminds her of a toy bear, a
big protector. He seems almost transparent in the colorless moonlight.
(14:36):
His eyes are dark. Then he looks back at the
growing woodland. His enormous axe cracks into the trunk. Evelyn
grips the window frame tightly. The oak creaks as if
it knows it will soon fall, and then the man
in the tree start to fade. There's a splintering sound.
(14:57):
The oak topples before it hits ground. Trees and man
are gone. Not sure if she's breathing, she puts a
hand to her heart. She's still there, awake, she thinks.
She breathes heavily into the window glass, leaving a thin mist.
With a finger, she traces the forest. The mist evaporates,
(15:20):
and she breathes again and dabs where the trees were
and where she saw the woodcutter. The image fades. She
breathes again, and the picture reappears, a trace of being
and of vanishing, a proof she will be able to
show to herself if she wonders whether this was all
a dream, and proof for her mother. When she wakes,
(15:42):
desperate to tell her parents, she hurries to her door,
but something isn't right. It's still dark outside. There are
footsteps downstairs. It doesn't sound like her papa. Mom and
Papa are still asleep after their party, and there's someone
(16:02):
else in the house. These are hard, slow boots treading
heavy through the kitchen. She rushes to the window. The
garden is a forest, hundreds of trees. Branches scratch at
the house downstairs. The footsteps stop, then climb the stairs.
(16:25):
The thuds approach her room. Evelyn presses back into the
corner against the wall. Where are Mom and Papa? Don't
they hear it? There's breath by the door, She closes
her eyes, squeezing them tight, and tells herself, this isn't real,
This isn't real. She hears him in the room now,
(16:46):
though the door didn't open, A smell of shacks and
billygoat hair and brown leaves twisted and blown to settle
on damp earth. Bootsteps scrape the floor, they echo from
the walls. She opens her eyes. The woodcutter stands over her,
(17:06):
tall and pale as moonlight on a lake. She can
almost see through his faint figure. She feels frozen, too
afraid to run. Deep empty eyes stare down at her
through her as if in a void. She feels something
slide past her ribs. It's a branch, and then another,
(17:28):
piercing through the wall. The branches, like vines, twist around her,
and he raises his axe and swings, shattering the cage
that is forming around her. More branches splinter the walls,
dragging her away, and some twist toward him. As he
hefts his axe again. Evelyn is pulled back towards the window,
(17:50):
towards the dark forest. It's too soon, she whispers, I
won't be taken. The woodcutter advances, striking at her thickening
cocoon and branches fall. He pauses, puffing through his beard
to catch his airless breath, and in this brief moment,
(18:10):
the trees hurl Evelyn toward the door. She sees wooden
vines grasp for his wrists, but he bats them away easily,
and in the darkness of his eyes, she understands the
trees are not trying to take her. She swings the
door open and runs. Evelyn's bare feet dash over familiar
(18:35):
wonky floorboard ridges under the hallway carpet. She runs down
the stairs behind she hears heavy footsteps, and her mind
flashes to her pictures of people she has known, parents, teachers, friends.
They want to help you grow up, telling you what
you should do and how to behave like it's a
(18:57):
game of climbing a mountain, where they focus on the
pathway they're told to and don't stop for the view.
But the view is why you climb mountains. None of
them are here with her to help her, no wonder
she feels alone. They don't see the things she sees.
Why climb like they do? She hears the trees whisper, yes, yes,
(19:23):
why climb, Stay with us in our forest? You don't
need to tread the hills pathways, not yet. First you
have to be to feel stay with us where you
are safe. Down by the front door, she sees the
(19:43):
woodcutter's pale shape descend the staircase, a beast, a glow
with cloth and fur, and centuries broken. Those ladies with
their warnings. They were kind. Huh, But so can fused
lost in clouds as white as their hair, barely able
(20:04):
to see the ground where they once played or their
final stone. So near we harvest, and we are harvested.
Evelyn opens the door and rushes outside into the sparkling
sea of trees. It's as if the woodland has returned
to the way it was before people came, before the
(20:26):
first woodcutter, centuries passed. When he came here among the
settlers and the village was built, he began to hear
the trees speak of their desecration. He couldn't stop hearing them,
and he knew Fearing for his soul, he brought them
the first borns among the villagers who had called for
the trees to be cut, sacrificing the forest to make
(20:49):
their homes in comfort. But his soul was not released.
Evelyn senses as she walks that is not the trees
that seek the souls of the good and innocent. The
vanished are his unseeing penance, this revenant spirit who perpetuates
(21:10):
his own purgatory through the unwonted offerings that he brings
to their feet. Stepping among the spectral, lustrous trunks, Evelyn
feels that the trees do not want to take her.
See how they curve and bend, bowing to her with care.
They cherish the cycle of passings and rebirths that they
share with us and all living things. She feels them
(21:34):
welcome her. As she walks on through the trees, she
feels their delicate gossamer shapes caress her face. Behind her,
she hears the wood cutter snarl as the twisting branches
hold him back like a tethered dog. Thick vines rap,
and then roots pull him down. But Evelyn alone now
(21:58):
doesn't hear the world anymore. She is drawn into the
shining leaves all around, and she hears more clearly their
embracing russell. She feels protected at peace in her nightgown,
she sings, stepping onwards, onwards into the forest. Oh, they
(22:23):
said it was the trees. This story quietly got under
my skin. It plays with something ancient in us, our
reverence for nature, our fear of it, and mostly our
inability to understand it fully. Evelyn's journey is one of
(22:45):
awakening not only to the unseen forces around her, but
also to the truth that adults often can't or won't see.
She senses what others ignore, and she listens. What I
love is that the forest isn't the villain here. It
isn't even vengeful, despite the centuries of harm inflicted upon it.
(23:08):
The true horror isn't in the trees themselves, but in
the man. It begs the question, who is he trying
to appease the forest that never asked for blood sacrifice
or his own bloodthirst? He is another adult who thinks
he knows best, never listening to what is actually around him.
(23:29):
They said it was the trees reminds us that sometimes
fear keeps us from understanding, but when we stop and
look closely, when we feel rather than fear, we might
find something sacred waiting in the shadows. Of course, the
lesson from other kaidon Kai stories is to be afraid
and run if you feel you should, and that's why
(23:51):
you should subscribe to the kaiiton Kai, which features stories
from every genre once a week. The kaiiton Kai Substack
is where you can learn and what inspired the authors
and hear a little bit of extra analysis that's put
in context, maybe with something that's going on in our
modern world. And if you're into art like me, follow
(24:12):
me on Instagram, Facebook, Blue Sky, or substack because I
often post pieces that catch my eye, spark a feeling,
or kind of just haunt me in the best way.
All the links are in the episode description. So thank
you so much for listening today, and I'll see you
next week with another awesome story.
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