The Leaf Lady by C.L. Hernandez

Hello and welcome to the very first part of October Stories, a month of dark poetry and short stories leading up to Halloween. I am so excited to show all those participating, but for now, we'll start things off with a short story by the amazing C.L. Hernandez!

The Leaf Lady
By C.L. Hernandez

Every small town has one. The mean guy, the one who picks on the weak and thinks it’s funny; the town tough guy. Most of the three thousand and six locals of La Loma, California quaked at the name of Ash Greene, their resident bully.
For a bully, Ash was rather small, but ruthlessly efficient. Throughout school, legions of his classmates fell victim to his acerbic tongue, cruel wit, and speedy, brutal fists. Short and thin, with his ball cap perpetually cocked at a rakish angle, Ash prowled the playgrounds, hallways and classrooms, always on the lookout for a new victim. Older kids, younger kids, boys, girls, office staff, and teachers; no one was spared. Ash Greene was incorrigible.
On the last Friday of his senior year, Ash sat slouched in an orange plastic chair, just outside the principal’s office. His large brown eyes belied his cruel nature as he scowled unblinkingly at the school secretary, Miss Abrams, and she did her best not to notice. Ash Greene occupied that orange plastic chair outside Principal Gaines’ office at least once a week and quite frankly, the kid gave her the creeps. She secretly thought of him as a felony waiting to happen. Miss Abrams heaved a sigh of relief when Ash was finally called into the office. She could hear Principal Gaines railing at the kid for his latest infraction, but she doubted it would stick this time. Authority was lost on kids like Ash.
When he wasn’t busy tormenting his fellow students at La Loma High, Ash’s favorite victim was old Hettie Larrington, the Leaf Lady. Just as every town has its bully, so too does it have its town weirdo, and Hettie Larrington did her job perfectly. As far as anyone could tell, Hettie had no real home. She was approximately sixty or so, with a craggy, weather-beaten face, and scraggly white hair which stood out around her face in a constant state of disarray. She didn’t speak much, not to people anyway. Hettie preferred the company of trees. She spent most of her time in Acacia Park, where she was occasionally observed having one sided conversations with her tree of choice for the day. She crafted and proudly wore jewelry: necklaces, bracelets, and earrings all meticulously woven from the green and gold leaves of the many trees. This earned her the nickname “Leaf Lady,” a name which the old woman seemed rather proud of. As happens with so many town weirdos, the Leaf Lady was rumored to have strange powers, and her witch-like appearance did little to dispel this notion. But she kept to herself, mumbled to the trees, and never caused trouble so the townspeople tended to accept her and for the most part, left her alone.
Except Ash of course. Like the true bully he was, Ash Greene was drawn to the Leaf Lady because she was different, and that didn’t sit well with him. He looked for her whenever he visited Acacia Park, and he always saved his best torments for her. He snatched her threadbare sweaters and jackets and threw them into a nearby stream; he pelted her with dog crap; he tore off her carefully crafted leaf jewelry and tore it to shreds, and he called her every vile name he could think of, and even a few he made up himself. Yet through all this, Hettie the Leaf Lady rarely said a word, and never made a move to defend herself. Given this lack of response, any ordinary bully would have given up. Bullying wasn’t much fun when the victim didn’t respond. But for Ash, it was only the beginning. Someday, one way or another, he was going to get this old bag to say something more, or at least take a swipe at him.
When he left Gaines’ office, Ash did not return to his homeroom as per the principal’s stern instructions. No way. Ash was too full of rage and indignation from the ass-chewing he’d gotten from old man Gaines to be bothered with algebra and ancient history. He needed an outlet. Someone needed a pounding. How dare he be treated that way! Ash walked past the door to his homeroom, sidled past a row of lockers, and slipped out a back door, unseen.
La Loma High sat at the top of a steep hill surrounded by acres of deciduous trees, and Ash Greene made his way towards the edge of that forest. He took his time in doing so, crossing the football field in a jerky hood’s strut, mentally daring one of the staff to spot him escaping the school campus. Just past the visitor’s goal post was a chain-link fence with a hole in it. Ash had cut the hole himself before his freshman year had started and it had yet to be discovered by anyone. He found the hole with ease and slid his lanky body through it and into the forest beyond. He found his faintly defined path through the trees, and followed it down to Acacia Park, at the bottom of the hill. Storm clouds moved across the sky, pregnant with rain. The outdoor temperature had cooled since that morning and a freshening breeze greeted him as he emerged from the trees. He frowned up at the sky. Thunderstorms, his kryptonite, terrified him. Best to get home before it started.
Walking with his hands tightly fisted in the pockets of his denim jacket, he entered the park with long, purposeful strides. Shaded under the brim of his cap, his eyes cut back and forth across the grassy expanse, looking for a victim, a scapegoat, a weak, defenseless individual upon whom he could vent his anger. He soon found her.
The Leaf Lady sat by herself on a park bench, her face to the sky as she gazed at the approaching bank of storm clouds. Her hands stirred restlessly in her lap, folding and shaping a pair of orange leaves. If she heard Ash’s approach, she gave no indication. Ash studied the harmless eccentric for a few moments, and his signature sneer distorted his lips. Fallen leaves crackled underfoot as he moved around to the front of the bench to face his unfortunate victim. Her faded blue eyes regarded him blandly.
“Hello, you old nutcase. Haven’t seen you around in a while.”
Ash’s voice hissed with sarcasm, and his eyes smoldered with malevolence. He rummaged in his pocket for his battered pack of cigarettes, and he lit one with a grand flourish. The strengthening breeze tore the smoke from his lips and carried it away.
“Been talkin’ to any trees lately?”
A quick swipe of his hand sent her leafy handiwork to the ground and Ash pulverized it under the heel of his boot. The old woman’s hands remained in her lap; her fingers entwined like a bundle of twigs. She gazed back at him unblinkingly and an odd little smile began to form on her lips. She indicated the unsettled sky with a stubby, crooked finger.
“Storm’s a-comin,’” she said, and her voice crackled like the dry leaves underfoot. Her eyes went back to the clouds and she raised her gnarled hands to the sky now, making curious beckoning gestures. “You don’t like storms, do you?”
Ash stared back at her, lips agape. How the hell did the old crone know his one weakness? The cruel words he’d been meaning to say died on his lips, as thunder muttered to itself from above. Struggling to push down his rising fear, Ash smirked and spit on the ground at the Leaf Lady’s feet.
“You’re the one who should be worried,” he said. “I’ll bet you melt like brown sugar in the rain, don’t ya? Nasty ol’ witch.”
The Leaf Lady giggled.
Another peal of thunder reminded Ash of his one true fear, and he turned to go. “You smell like twenty pounds of shit in a ten-pound bag,” he said over his shoulder, “I’d love to stay and chat, but you’re puttin’ a real hurt on my nose.”
She giggled again, behind her hands, like the world’s oldest kindergartner.
“Better get home,” she advised, smiling up at the boiling black clouds, “rain, hail, thunder, BOOM!”
The chill which slithered its way down Ash’s back had nothing to do with the cold wind. He’d never noticed how creepy the old woman really was. He stifled the urge to run. Despite his growing fear of both the approaching storm and the cackling old woman, he still had an image to maintain. He sauntered down the path which led out of the park with his fingers hooked into his belt loops, and his cigarette jutting from his lips.
The old woman called out after him, “Druantia! Nantosuelta!”
Ash took one last look over his shoulder. She didn’t appear to be yelling at him. She was on her feet, her head thrown back, and the first cold drops of rain ran down her face as she called out to the storm clouds, “Nantosuelta! Druantia!”
Ash doubled his pace and tucked his head down against the rain, no longer amused. The town weirdo had gone from curious to creepy in a matter of seconds. Behind him, the old woman shouted some more, but her words were completely lost to another peal of thunder, much louder than the first. Ash took off running, suddenly unsure what scared him more: the thunderstorm or the creepy old weirdo. He got as far as the next bend in the path when he heard her call out his name.
“Ash!” She cried out in a voice which sounded decidedly less than human now, “Fraxinus pennsylvanica! Ash!”
“Holy crap…” Ash gasped out loud, tearing through the rain, “I promise I won’t laugh at crazy old women no more…”
Cut off in mid-sentence and mid-step, Ash became firmly anchored to the ground by an unseen force. He stood on one leg, frozen in mid-stride. He would have taken a breath to scream, but he could no longer expand his lungs. A strong gust of wind tried to upset Ash’s precarious balance, but he just swayed back and forth a bit. His body had gone stiff and wooden. Even his eyelids were locked into place. Ash couldn’t even blink. His fear-bulged eyes began to fill with rain, blurring the figure of the old woman who now stood in front of him. Although she shifted in and out of focus, he could clearly see her gleeful, distorted smile as she laughed at him. Her shriveled lips moved, forming words that Ash just barely caught as his hearing shut down.
“Enjoy the storm, my friend.”
The last thing Ash saw was the Leaf Lady scuttling away, toting her various purses and shopping bags. The rain drew a dark curtain in front of his eyes, blinding him. He was still aware of the storm, however, but he could only sway in the fierce autumn wind with a scream forever caught in his frozen throat. The icy rain turned to hail, and the tiny white pellets began to fill the blackened holes where Ash’s eyes used to be.

The park was gorgeous this time of year, and the landscaper surveyed his day’s work with pride. He took a quick look around as he paused beneath the shade of a tree. His crew had scattered to various locations in the park, and he was alone on the leaf scattered path. Time to sneak a smoke. Leaves drifted down from the branches of the park’s extensive variety of trees, orange and yellow, and red, as the landscaper whistled happily to himself and recited the names in his head.
Betula detniensis, the Sicilian Birch
Populus tremuloides, the Trembling Aspen
Populus nigra, the Lombardy Poplar.
The tree he leaned against was a particularly fine specimen, and he patted its smooth bark as he blew out a luxuriant cloud of smoke.
“Fraxinus pennsylvanica,” the landscaper said out loud, “the Green Ash.”

Bio

C.L. Hernandez is a literary cryptid who has been occasionally spotted lurking somewhere in central California.
She was once a multi-published author of unusual horror novellas and short story collections and has been featured in several anthologies. Sadly, most of her work is no longer in print.
After a long hiatus, she is clawing her way back to her writing desk and hoping for a successful comeback.