Countless Haints (Part 2)

Madrigal dreamed of the tree upon the hill.

Shrouded in runaway scuppernong vines, the tall, grey oak cast its bent shadow across the valley and scratched with spindly branches at the sky.  Years ago, or so Madi had been told, the oak had been struck by lightning during one of the summer squalls that blew in from the east.  The tree had not grown an inch since, and a rotting hollow now yawned in the trunk.  The cavity had been filled to keep the blight from spreading, but the effort had...