The Miracle Tree: a harrowing tale for All Hallows’ Eve

It began so innocently. Just snap, edit, post.

It was back in 2020 in the COVID times, the last weekend of Autumn when it seemed the whole city was out for one last walk on the Cemetery Path: women jogging, kids on scooters, men biking, dogs straining on their leads, panting and sniffing every last bit of decaying matter on the trail, oblivious to the graves deep beneath their greedy paws.

The virus had made us humans wary of each other. But here on the trail, in the safety of the outdoor air, citizens gathered to exchange the news, express their views, exercise their schnauzers, and laugh a little before the weather would inevitably turn too wintry to venture out.

In my mask, and knitted toque, I sauntered forth amid the rows of solemn grey monuments, shuffling through the crimson leaves – mind wandering, feet following.

All at once, I saw it, and it stopped me cold. My eyes caught the image of a human face emerging from the small hollow in the trunk of a tree. It was unmistakable, remarkable, and I wondered why I had not noticed it before in the countless times I had trod this same path through the cemetery. Was it natural, or supernatural?

The face was partially obscured on the left, and on the right a luminous half-oval surrounded the image with what for all my imaginings looked like an almond shaped halo. The tree itself seemed to have exuded a golden liquid that lent shimmering tones to the representation, giving the impression of copious tears flowing from the solemn visage.

Without a second thought, I snapped a photo and posted it to social media. Snap. Share. ’Miracle Tree.’

Later that night I got a phone call from a friend who never calls. “You’d better check your Facebook page. That photo’s gone viral!’

I returned to the tree the next day and was curious to find a small sticky note tacked up saying, ‘Thanks to Miracle Tree for healing COVID’ with initials and a small heart. The day after, several notes were tacked up: ‘Thanks to Miracle Tree for finding lost keys’ and ‘Thanks to MT for new job.’ The following day the tree was smattered with notes, and a small group of teenagers were circling the tree murmuring a strange song that sounded like a mash up between ‘Kum Bah Yah’ and ‘The Maple Leaf Forever.’

Soon the trail had become impassable. Kids were gathering in droves at the tree, smoking up and singing loudly, and ecstatic, dancing adults were burning their sticky note offerings, testifying to the Tree’s benevolent powers.

The Police came to break things up. But the crowds kept coming. Something had to be done.

By Hallowe’en a group of concerned citizens had formed the ‘Miracle Tree Preservation Society’. Funds were raised to build a protective structure around the tree and organize the visits. In a few months an impressive temple was built around the area, a ticket booth for the collection of a small entrance fee, and a one-way cordoned off walkway for pilgrims to circle the tree and leave their notes. Soon licenses were granted to vendors who sold trinkets around the premises – tiny plaster reproductions of the tree, ball caps, T shirts, COVID masks with slogans like ‘I Touched the Tree’ or ‘Saved by MT’. The Miracle Tree Preservation Society was soon turning a tidy profit and improved the edifice surrounding the tree to include public washrooms, a restaurant, and a bouncy castle for the little ones.

After a particularly harsh winter, everything on the Cemetery Path burst back to life with greening trees, returning songbirds and blooming flowers. Business was booming for the Miracle Tree Preservation Society. Since the Covid vaccine had freed the world from restrictions, crowds poured into the Miracle Tree Temple to offer thanks and bring home a souvenir.

But something was terribly wrong. No new buds were forthcoming on the Tree of Trees. Its bark was curling, its limbs were cracking. The Miracle Tree seemed to be dying.

Experts were called from the university to examine the situation. They claimed the tree was threatened since the foundations of the temple had cut off the water supply to the roots of the tree, and the roof overhead obscured the life-giving sun’s rays. The report warned ‘If the pavilion is not immediately dismantled and the tree returned to its natural condition it will surely be dead within the year.’

But the Miracle Tree Preservation Society had invested far too much. They owed the contractors for the restaurant expansion and couldn’t pay their bills unless people kept on coming to the tree. They had dug themselves in too deep and couldn’t comply with the report’s recommendations unless they were willing to shoulder a great debt.

That was when the hate mail started to arrive in my inbox – “Tree killer”, “Enemy of the Tree” and so forth.

Since I had started all this by posting that blasted picture, people were blaming me for all the hullabaloo. I was afraid for my life and overcome with anxiety. My vision blurred, my breath became laboured, and strange marks developed on my limbs that my doctor couldn’t explain. In my hallucinatory state, I believed that I was dying in sympathy with the tree. I was admitted to hospital and slipped into a deep coma.

Years have passed now since that awful time. I was apparently out of it for many months and narrowly escaped the mysterious complications none of the doctors here can explain even now. I’ll be living in this convalescent home for quite some time until I can regain the use of my limbs.

Friends visit occasionally. They report that the Miracle Tree pavilion has fallen into ruin, the tree has toppled over, and the city has a permit to bulldoze the whole area and put up a parking lot.

No one goes there anymore. They have diverted the path, so no one has to see the pathetic image in that tree on the ground and recall the circus it inspired.

But I am told that a small group of 20-somethings still visits around twilight, singing a weird song recalling that peculiar Autumn of 2020.