“The Corpse in the Tree”

The corpse stared at the map sitting on the ground in front of him, then folded it and put it in his pocket. He did a double-take at the clothes he wore and nodded to himself. The devil always took care of him—in return. For a moment, a flicker of his former life came to him, then disappeared like a candle flame in the wind. He shook his head and got to work.

Horror just might be the love of my life. I started my career writing, submitting, and publishing it. I used to make my horror anthology The Last Minute Before Midnight available around Halloween every year. This spooky season, I hope you enjoy these tales for free, right here on my website.

Please like, comment, share, and subscribe!

He lay underneath an uprooted tree, curled into a twisted ball of shriveled limbs and paper skin. He had forgotten his name long ago, watching the years ooze by with hollow, sagging eyes that could no longer blink. He spent his nights weaving himself further into the roots of the oak, and his days watching the legs of children walking to school. Sometimes, if he got lucky, a couple would use his oak’s trunk as a thrusting post. On a bad day, a bum used his tree as a toilet. Luckily, his sense of smell had long ago deteriorated. The acid in their urine only burned what remained of his skin. He relished in the last awareness of being alive that belonged to him. Even the laughter hurt, though, flakes of skin soughing off as the corners of his wrinkled and dried mouth moved.

Sometimes, he absorbed more than just kidney waste. The extra proteins and vitamins stored themselves in the tissues of his flesh and gave him a little color. Sometimes, if there was enough, he could blink for a few hours. During those times, he slept, hoping that he would be able to open his eyes when he woke, or that he wouldn’t wake at all.

On a cool autumn night—he only knew this because of the colored leaves that blew into his shelter—he realized he could no longer move. He and the old oak had finally become one. He smiled on the inside. It won’t be long now, he hoped. A glow filtered in through the roots and he welcomed its light.

“I have one last task for you,” a rough voice said, cutting through the fog of his thoughts.

And look, the corpse thought. I’m hallucinating.

“Oh, knock it off,” the visitor said, poking his head through the roots. Hunched over to fit, he only slightly resembled a human. Coarse black hair covered his olive skin, a fur coat for his body. Coal black eyes bore into the corpse. Silver rings on his fingers glinted in the moonlight. Slowly, the corpse remembered who his visitor was. “You’re just as alive as I am.” The devil laughed.

The corpse strained his eyes, staring at the craggy face.

“Yep, it’s me,” the devil said. “Lost your tongue?”

The corpse moaned, a dry creaking echoing through his throat.

The devil rolled his eyes. “You’ve really let yourself go, man.” He snapped his fingers and the roots of the tree loosened, spitting the corpse from their clutches. “I think I’m gonna call you Squishy,” he said, laughing as the corpse bounced onto the soft earth. “Or maybe Pepper, since you look like a dead cat.” He dragged him out from under the tree and leaned him against its trunk. From his coat he produced a flask. “Whiskey,” he said, pressing it to the corpse’s lips. “Drink up.”

The honey colored liquid flowed down Pepper’s throat, warming his vocal cords and reviving his organs. As he finished the last sip, he blinked and looked down at his hands. They were still thin and boney, but bore a more red hue—coloring him like the passersby that sexed and pissed on his tree. He smiled.

“That’s better,” the devil said. He lit a cigarette and held out the packet to the corpse.

The corpse shook his head. “Those’ll kill you,” he said.

The devil tipped back his head and laughed, its echo booming through the forest. “You’re all right, Pepper.” He sat down next to the corpse and smoked for another moment before looking at the dead man. “Go on. Ask me.”

Pepper shook his head. “If you think I can do it, that’s all the answer I need. I want to know how to die, though,” he said.

“All in time, my good friend. Do this thing for me and I will give you the answer to your question.” The devil pulled a rolled up parchment from his coat and unraveled it in the grass. “This is a map of the city,” he said. “It’s a lot different from back in your day.”

Pepper only shrugged. He had assumed as much. People got restless. Things changed. It was a part of life.

The devil poked a finger at a red square on the map. “This dick’s got Frank’s daughter dancing for him. You remember Frank, don’t you?” When the corpse said nothing, the devil continued. “Take care of this for me and I’ll tell you how you can end your suffering.” The devil stood. “I’ll see you in the morning. Happy Halloween.” He disappeared.

The corpse stared at the map sitting on the ground in front of him, then folded it and put it in his pocket. He did a double-take at the clothes he wore and nodded to himself. The devil always took care of him. For a moment, a flicker of his former life came to him, then disappeared like a candle flame in the wind. He shook his head and clambered to his feet.

The place was only a few blocks away. The corpse caught a cab and, when the cab driver announced his fare, was not surprised to find a wallet in his back pocket. When he arrived at the location—a squat building with a flashing sign declaring live nudes—he was also unsurprised to find a driver’s license in his wallet declaring him well over age for the establishment. The name on the ID read Stephen Steele. He tasted it in his thoughts, but nothing about the name felt familiar. The nickname that the devil gave him did just fine. The guard at the door—a man as squat and solid as the building he allowed admittance to—waved the corpse in and took the next man’s license.

Pepper stood in the entrance, his newly revived sense of hearing cringing as the sound pounding out of the speakers assaulted the delicate bones in his ears. His stomach twisted and turned, and for a moment he thought he might be sick before he could even start his mission.

“Hey there, sugar,” a honey sweet voice purred in his ear. “Shot?” Pepper turned and blinked, his eyes taking in her sleek waxed and oiled body, clad only in a few triangles of cloth that, in his opinion, did not pass for a bikini. Yet no one seemed to care and, as he glanced around the room, he realized the others girls wore even less. His eyes widened and he took the shot that she pressed into his hand, tipping his head back as he drank.

“Tequila,” he growled, and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “How about some whiskey?”

She laughed and took the empty glass from him. “We just ran out,” she said.

Pepper snarled. “What kind of place runs out of whiskey?” He rolled up his sleeves and glanced around the room again. “Does a girl named Claudia work here?” The name came naturally to him, and he wondered what else had been in the devil’s whiskey.

The shot girl shook her head, bouncing her curls. “I don’t know no Claudia. All the girls here have nicknames.”

Pepper gave her a nod and strode away. He passed the stage and moved toward the bar. He snuck looks at the stage as he passed. A girl hung from a shiny metal pole in the center of the stage by her legs. Another girl licked her stomach. He grumbled and marched up to the bartender, a muscular blond man with piercing blue eyes. “Give me something, anything, just not that tequila,” he said.

The bartender grinned and handed him a cold beer.

As he sipped, the corpse leaned against the bar counter and checked out the room again. “Do you know the girls here?”

The bartender smiled and flexed his muscles. “Depends on who’s asking.”

“My buddy Frank’s wondering about his daughter, Claudia. Wondering how she’s doing.” The corpse gulped down the rest of the beer. He sneered as he set the bottle on the counter. “This is more water than beer. Gimme something with bite.”

The bartender cocked his head, one eyebrow raised. “You know Frank,” he said as he poured a glass of thick and dark beer.

Pepper let the beer flow down his throat. It tasted better than the other beer, but wasn’t quite right. He wondered whether all of the “I know lots of people,” he said.

The music softened slightly and a voice boomed over the speakers. “Now get ready, gentlemen, for the crazy, classy, sassy Diamond!”

A tall woman with flowing black hair and bright green eyes strut onto the stage, a silk robe wrapped around her. The music kicked back on at full volume and she shook her hair, curled her fingers around the pole, and lifted herself up.

Pepper gaped. The bartender laughed. “There’s your Claudia.”

As the tendons in her muscles bulged, the corpse noted the track marks lining her arms. He shook his head and withdrew a handgun from his jacket. No doubt the stuff she injected into her veins had been invented by the devil himself, but he never got involved in the devil’s games, he remembered. At the sight of the weapon, the bartender flattened himself against the shelves of liquor. Bottles crashed to the floor, glass shattering, and the fumes of alcohol filled the corpse’s nostrils. He smiled as the patrons around him scattered. The music remained on, though, and he used it to his advantage, running toward the stage and the unsuspecting Claudia, who spun from the top of the pole, her legs and arms spread like a halcyon.

He jumped onto the stage, more people jumping back from him. Pepper reached out for her arm as she lowered herself to the floor. He felt thick fingers close on his shoulder. His body jerked back as the usurper yanked him off the stage. A beefy dark man sneered in his face. The bouncer’s breath smelled like vodka and onions. “Did you think you were going to get away with this?” the man asked. The corpse wrinkled his nose. Pepper realized that he still held the gun, though. Hoping that he did what he thought it did, he fired into the ceiling.

The bouncer laughed. “You think that’s going to stop me?” He tightened his grip on Pepper’s shoulder, yanking him away from the stage. “I’d pummel you myself but—”

Yellow flames lit up the room, searing exposed flesh like a third-degree sunburn. It licked and burned the speakers stationed throughout the establishment, plastic oozing to the floor. The music stopped. The air crackled and sizzled.
The bouncer yanked his arm away, and ran toward the exit. Pepper smiled to himself. He turned back to Claudia.

She sat on the stage, naked but wearing a glazed expression. He reached her without hassle this time and clamped his cold fingers around her wrist. She stared up at him with widened eyes, her red lips forming an O. He squeezed her arm tighter and absorbed the heroin in her system into his own body. With a belch, he freed the drug into the air. She blinked and shook her head, tears springing to her eyes.

“Not so fast,” a voice boomed. The corpse turned to a fat, bald man, his arms covered in tattoos that wrapped around his muscles. “That bitch is mine.”

Pepper pointed his gun at the man, who laughed and drew his own. Before the corpse could fire, the man put a bullet into Claudia, who sagged to the floor.

His jaw dropped open and his arm sank to his side. He looked down at Claudia’s limp form. Sputtering, he stared at the man who killed her.

“That’s right,” the fat man said. He snapped his fingers and two men climbed up onto the stage. They dragged her body to the edge, then jumped down. As they prepared to maneuver her to the floor, Pepper shook his head.

He pointed his gun at them. Pale yellow flames consumed them, their flesh crackling and twisting. When the fire died out, only steaming, charbroiled bones remained.

“The gal comes with me,” Pepper said, “dead or alive.” He pointed the gun at the fat man, who dropped his own gun and held up his hands. The corpse glanced around. Patrons cowered in small groups, grown men clinging to each other. He pointed his gun at one of them and the man whimpered. Dark urine trailed down one leg of the man’s khaki pants. Pepper laughed and strode across the stage. He lifted Claudia’s body, draping her over his shoulder, and jumped down.

Outside, he waved his gun to hail a cab idling at the curb. As he ducked in behind the girl’s body, he used his gun one more time.

The establishment went up in citrine flames, puffy grey smoke curling against the black sky.


“It’s a damn shame,” the devil said, looking down at Claudia’s body. They stood in Pepper’s cemetery, the only place the corpse could find a patch of ghost flowers to use to summon the devil. The devil sighed and snapped his fingers. Claudia’s body disappeared. “Frank will see that she’s buried properly.” He lit a cigarette and again held out the packet to Pepper. The corpse shook his head.

“I’m sure you’re wanting your reward now,” the devil said. Pepper shrugged. The devil pulled an envelope out of his coat and handed it to him.

Pepper accepted it with cold fingers and stared at the front, stark and blank. He looked up at the devil. “Why did she have to die?”

The devil sighed. “Don’t get sentimental on me,” he said with a wave of his hand. He finished his cigarette and flicked it into a headstone. “I suppose this is goodbye.” He tipped an imaginary hat, then snapped his fingers and disappeared.


The corpse crawled back into the tangle of roots of the old oak, the envelope tucked safely into his jacket. As soon as his limbs were wrapped around the roots, he pulled the envelope out. Squinting at it in the dim light of the moon, he read the devil’s words—the secret to ending his existence. Absorbing the knowledge, he tucked it back into his pocket. Perhaps it wasn’t quite time yet. There were other girls to save. He could get faster. Maybe the devil could find him a better weapon.

He would sleep on it, he decided as he closed his eyes. He had lived so many hundreds of years. One more night wouldn’t hurt. Perhaps it didn’t matter, anyway.

Cold moonlight filtered in through the hole. The corpse slept.

Thank you for reading “The Corpse in the Tree.” For more short horror stories, please subscribe!

Photo by Mitchell Orr on Unsplash