A character by Jane

There are good spirits and there are bad spirits.

Frank was always a bad spirit.

He worked his small fingers, his sharp teeth, and his ragged little body into any mayhem he could muster: Fires. Bad luck. Lost things. Illness.

Frank met his match when he crossed the witch.

The stones recall Frank devouring her cat, but the yew tree insists he had stolen her runes. There are some beetles who claim he was guilty of both.

The witch worked her boney fingers, her three teeth, and her wiry frame into the curse that bound Frank to an old oak tree: Sage. Bluebell. Rosemary. Dogwood.

The stones, the yew tree, and even the beetles agreed that Frank deserved the curse.

The two brothers who stumbled across his new form 463 springs later did not deserve the curse.

Frank's twisted body was easily a behemoth compared to their small, young bodies. They were but boys then, the best of days spent with their feet in the creek or their arms outstretched under the boughs of the tree as they lay sprawled out in a sweaty, laughing heap.

Frank recoiled from their laughter.

Nicholas was the eldest brother. He was careful, thoughtful, and sensible from a young age. He loved horses and was exceedingly patient – if not mildly boring. He was hard-working and recognized the value of a dollar.

Frank despised the one called Nicholas.

Francis was the youngest and would always be smaller than Nicholas. What he lacked in size, he easily made up for in spirit. Daring, loud, and occasionally foolish, Francis was easily entertained by creature comforts. He was a sight to behold when the temper got the best of him.

Frank was revolted by the one called Francis.

The boys were easily opposites, but they had one thing in common: the tree.

The tree had become a marker for the boys, a place as familiar as their own home. It stood for the freedom of their summers and a safe haven from their responsibilities. They shared lunches, sword fights, wrestling matches, and arguments in the shade of the tree well into their young adulthood.

In time, the tree’s company grew beyond that of Nicholas and Francis as the boys chased less hares through the wood and more skirts in town.

Nicholas met Karen while working for her father in the stables.

Francis met Ruby over a pack of smokes.

Frank found both to be ugly.

The boys’ lives were changing, but they shared one thing in common: the tree.

They went on to buy the land, the creek, and the tree itself to start their lives as husbands and soon fathers. They fell Frank's great body and divided the lumber of his bones, building each of their homes as winter crept into the wood. The tree was no longer a marker for summertime freedoms and boyhood games – it had become two neighboring homes where children were raised and memories were made.

But now Frank was in their homes. He saturated their walls with his rage. He twisted around the legs of their furniture like smoke. The homes simmered in his presence.

The brothers had soon become just as divided as the tree itself. While Nicholas led his life one way, Francis led his life another. Their values differed greatly as they grew, and they spoke less and less often. Sunday tea and shared dinners collapsed into excuses and missed connections. Even the homes themselves seemed opposed to one another; while one boasted a pristine picket fence and spotless shutters, the other had become overtaken by a fruitful garden where dirt was readily tracked through the back door. Frank's own hatred tore at his very fabric.

The boys had grown to loathe one another and their glaring differences, but each was far too stubborn to leave the land they had purchased all those years ago.

Nicholas and Francis died in the winter. They were buried on opposite sides of the creek where a great, twisted stump looks on.

Francis' home was struck by lightning during a particularly hot summer, destroying half of Frank's soul in the lapping flames that followed.

Frank remains in the sagging window sills of Nicholas' home. His heart is an empty furnace. His very breath is in the garden. His mind is torn between two places.

There are good spirits and there are bad spirits.

Frank was a trapped spirit.