The Dead Tree

It lives.  It towers, immense and looming, over the valley below. Malevolently, it peers its evil down upon the little boys and girls, the innocent families, the industrious merchants, the wary townspeople.  On the 31st night of October, every year since the Salem Witch Trials, it spews its dark magic -- summoning, hypnotizing one lone victim to become entwined into its gnarled and twisted boughs.  Luring the unfortunate soul to a bloody, violent death, its branches writhe and choke the life out of its human sustenance.

Then it devours, through its gaping, wooden pores, the crumpled mass that was once a living being, only to resurface as another bulging tentacle of the beast’s complex root system.

The dead tree can now rest, satiated for another 365 days, and life goes on in the little town below, one citizen less.

(Writing exercise from writers' group 10/22, using picture prompt.  Boy, is this fun!)