The Hangin’ Tree

By Nadia Scott

The last lamp sputtered out, engulfing the town in darkness. The old cottonwood tree swayed and whined outside Sheriff Rawlins’ second-story office. The jailhouse walls moaned into the night as the lawman shivered in his cot, heart hammering in his chest, teeth chattering. The wind carried hushed curses through cracked windowpanes. A lightning strike illuminated silhouettes dangling from the limbs of the starving tree. Faces pressed tight against the window, glassy eyes leering. Branches clawed like fingertips, snatching Rawlins from his bed. By first light, Rawlins swayed too, his lips grey, and blue eyes hollowed out, oozing crimson from deep gashes.