A Dark Hunger
The wind howled across the barren hill like a mournful cry, carrying the chill of autumn deep into Elias Thorne’s bones. He stood motionless beside the solitary oak tree, its gnarled branches twisting skyward like skeletal fingers grasping at the fading light. The tree was ancient, older than the village nestled in the valley below, its bark etched with scars from storms long forgotten. Elias had come here every evening for the past month, drawn by an inexplicable pull, as if the hill itself whispered his name in the rustling leaves.
The villagers called it Widow’s Hill, a name steeped in legend. They said the oak had been planted centuries ago by a grieving widow whose husband was hanged from its branches for crimes he didn’t commit. Her curse lingered, they whispered, binding the souls of the unjustly accused to the tree’s roots. Elias had always dismissed such tales as superstition, the ramblings of old fools around the tavern fire. But that was before the disappearances began.
It started with old man Hargrove, the miller, who vanished one foggy morning while checking his traps. Then young Sarah Wilkins, the baker’s daughter, gone without a trace after picking wildflowers on the hill’s slope. The sheriff blamed wolves or wanderers, but Elias knew better. He’d seen the shadows lengthening unnaturally under the oak, heard the faint echoes of voices that weren’t carried by the wind. And now, his own brother, Jacob, had joined the lost. Jacob, who had laughed at Elias’s warnings and climbed the hill on a dare, never to return.
Elias shifted his weight, his boots sinking slightly into the damp earth. The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in bruised purples and reds. He clutched the lantern in his hand, its flame flickering uncertainly, casting erratic shadows on the tree’s trunk. “Jacob,” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the wind. “If you’re here, show yourself.”
The oak creaked in response, its branches swaying though the air had stilled. Elias’s heart quickened. He had come prepared this time, a silver cross from the church tucked into his coat pocket, and a flask of holy water blessed by Father Mallory. But doubt gnawed at him. What if the legends were wrong? What if it wasn’t ghosts, but something darker, something that fed on the living?
As darkness enveloped the hill, Elias lit the lantern fully, holding it aloft. The light revealed etchings on the bark he hadn’t noticed before—initials carved deep, faded with time: J.H., S.W., and now, perhaps, J.T. for Jacob Thorne? No, that was his imagination. He shook his head, trying to dispel the growing unease. The village lights twinkled far below, a distant reminder of warmth and safety, but up here, he felt utterly alone.
A rustle in the underbrush made him spin around. “Who’s there?” he called, his voice echoing unnaturally loud. Silence answered, broken only by the distant hoot of an owl. He turned back to the tree, and that’s when he saw it: a faint outline in the bark, like a face emerging from the wood. Eyes hollow, mouth twisted in a silent scream. Elias blinked, and it was gone. A trick of the light, he told himself. But his hand trembled as he reached out to touch the spot.
The bark was warm, unnaturally so, pulsing faintly under his fingers like a heartbeat. He jerked back, stumbling. Whispers began then, soft at first, indistinguishable from the wind. But as he listened, words formed: “Join us… stay… forever…”
Elias’s breath caught in his throat. He uncorked the holy water, splashing it onto the trunk. Steam rose where it hit, and the whispers turned to hisses, like water on hot coals. The ground beneath him shifted, roots breaking through the soil like writhing snakes. He backed away, but one coiled around his ankle, yanking him off balance. He fell hard, the lantern tumbling from his grasp and extinguishing in the dirt.
Darkness swallowed him whole. Panic surged as he clawed at the root, its grip tightening like iron. The whispers grew louder, a chorus of voices now—Hargrove’s gravelly tone, Sarah’s youthful lilt, and Jacob’s familiar baritone. “Brother,” Jacob’s voice pleaded, “it’s peaceful here. No more pain. Join us.”
Elias screamed, pulling the cross from his pocket and pressing it against the root. A searing pain shot through his leg as the root recoiled, releasing him with a snap. He scrambled to his feet, heart pounding, and relit the lantern with shaking hands. The tree loomed larger now, its branches drooping lower, as if reaching for him.
He should run. Every instinct screamed to flee down the hill to the village, to the safety of hearth and home. But Jacob’s voice echoed in his mind, tugging at the guilt he’d buried deep. It was his fault Jacob had come here. Elias had shared the legends one drunken night, mocking them, daring his brother to prove his bravery. Now, Jacob was trapped, and Elias couldn’t abandon him.
Steeling himself, Elias approached the tree again. “What do you want?” he demanded. The wind picked up, whipping his coat around him. Leaves fell like rain, and in their swirl, shapes formed—ethereal figures circling the trunk. Hargrove’s stooped form, Sarah’s slight frame, and Jacob, looking just as he had in life, but with eyes that glowed unnaturally.
“The curse binds us,” Jacob’s apparition whispered, his voice carried on the breeze. “The widow’s vengeance. Only blood can break it—blood of the innocent, spilled willingly.”
Elias’s mind reeled. Innocent? He was no saint, but he’d lived a quiet life, farming the fields, helping his neighbors. Was that enough? The figures drew closer, their forms translucent yet tangible, cold fingers brushing his skin. A chill seeped into him, numbing his limbs.
“Take me instead,” he blurted out. “Let them go.”
The tree groaned, branches creaking like laughter. The ground trembled, and a fissure opened at the base of the trunk, revealing a cavernous hollow within. Darkness pulsed from it, alive and hungry. Jacob’s ghost nodded solemnly. “Step inside, brother. End it.”
Elias hesitated, the cross heavy in his hand. But the pull was irresistible now, a compulsion deeper than fear. He stepped forward, the hollow yawning like a mouth. As he entered, the wood closed around him, enveloping him in suffocating blackness.
Inside, it was not empty. Roots entwined like veins, pulsing with stolen life. Visions assaulted him: the widow’s husband swinging from the branch, her tears soaking the earth; Hargrove’s final moments, dragged under by unseen hands; Sarah’s screams as shadows claimed her. And Jacob, laughing at first, then terrified as the tree’s essence invaded his soul.
Elias felt it now—the curse weaving into his being, threading through his veins like ice. Pain exploded in his chest, but with it came clarity. The legends were wrong. It wasn’t vengeance; it was hunger. The oak was alive, a parasite feeding on souls, growing stronger with each victim. The widow hadn’t cursed it; she’d awakened it.
He clawed at the walls, but they were unyielding. The whispers surrounded him, not pleading now, but mocking. “Welcome,” they chorused. “Eternal guardian.”
Time lost meaning in the void. Hours? Days? Elias didn’t know. His body weakened, but his mind sharpened, fused with the tree’s ancient consciousness. He saw the village below, felt the roots extending like tendrils, seeking more.
When morning came, the hill appeared unchanged. The oak stood solitary, its branches swaying gently. But the villagers noticed something new: a fresh carving on the bark—E.T. And whispers spread of a new disappearance, Elias Thorne, last seen heading up the hill.
Years passed. The disappearances continued sporadically, drawing the curious and the foolhardy. One evening, a young boy named Tomas climbed the hill on a dare, standing beside the oak as the sun set. He heard whispers, felt a warm pulse in the bark. And in the wood, a face emerged—Elias’s, eyes hollow, mouth twisted in warning.
But Tomas didn’t heed it. He touched the tree, and the roots stirred.
The cycle endured, the solitary oak eternal, its guardians multiplying in silence. The hill claimed its due, and the wind carried their cries forever.
Elias’s descent into the tree revealed more layers. As he merged, memories not his own flooded in: the oak’s origin, not planted by a widow, but sprouted from the blood-soaked earth of a forgotten battlefield. Warriors slain in ambush, their spirits fusing with the sapling, twisting it into a sentinel of the dead.
Elias fought the assimilation, his will clashing with the collective. “Release me!” he roared inwardly. But the voices overwhelmed: “We are one. Guard the hill. Feed the hunger.”
He saw through the tree’s eyes now—villagers approaching, their life forces glowing like beacons. The temptation grew: to lure, to ensnare, to sustain. Guilt warred with survival. Jacob’s essence brushed his: “It’s not so bad, brother. We watch, we wait.”
But Elias resisted, plotting escape. He focused on the cross, its silver burning in his pocket. Channeling his fading strength, he envisioned it piercing the heartwood. A crack formed, light seeping in. The tree shuddered, branches thrashing wildly.
Outside, storm clouds gathered unnaturally. Lightning struck the oak, splintering a limb. Villagers watched from below, crossing themselves. Father Mallory led a procession up the hill, armed with axes and prayers.
Inside, Elias felt the blow, pain lancing through him. But freedom beckoned. As the villagers hacked at the trunk, he pushed outward, his form emerging like a birth from wood.
The tree screamed through the wind, roots lashing out. One impaled the sheriff, another ensnared Father Mallory. Chaos erupted, but Elias broke free, collapsing on the grass, human once more—but changed. His skin bore bark-like patterns, eyes glowing faintly.
He grabbed an axe, joining the fray. “Burn it!” he yelled. They doused the hollow with oil, flames roaring to life. The whispers turned to wails as souls escaped, dissipating into the night.
But as the oak burned, Elias felt a void. Part of him remained bound. In the embers, a sapling sprouted, innocent yet ominous.
He knew then: the hunger persisted, waiting to rise again.
Decades later, on a rebuilt hill, a man stood beside a young oak, whispers beginning anew.
45 thoughts on “A Dark Hunger”
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Horror stories don’t do it for me; not through fear or excitement. I mostly just roll my eyes at what people will engage with, contrasting it against their dull lives, all in an attempt to feel -something-. The only horror I can truly endure is the Alien saga, because it actually has something to say: and what it says is very telling.
I clicked on this one simply because it had a tree in it. Wow — you wove it just like that! A couple of moments caught my attention:
“Pain exploded in his chest, but with it came clarity.”
Is that how your clarity emerges?
What kind of explosion causes it? You’ll probably say: reason.
But then, why does pain cause it too? Or, in reverse — why does reason create pain?
“Elias fought the assimilation, his will clashing with the collective. ‘Release me!’ he roared inwardly. But the voices overwhelmed: We are one. Guard the hill. Feed the hunger.”
That’s a very accurate reflection of what we live as a society. Yet it seems the villagers are on their way to burn that oak-collective down.
“But as the oak burned, Elias felt a void. Part of him remained bound. In the embers, a sapling sprouted — innocent yet ominous. He knew then: the hunger persisted, waiting to rise again.”
Nothing changes. Same loop, same hunger — pain didn’t bring clarity after all.
Yes dearestJordyguin:
To me a story written without the true understanding of Faith. Almost a rebellion. Why? For me the light is love, kindness, compassion, unity, community. Why would someone not want that? They never knew it. The sadness is they never will. It creates an imbalance we must balance.
I loved this one, Mr. Tudor. It gave me hope. Elias broke free from the oak, just like the empath can break free from the narc. It was beautiful.
Thank you Leigh, I totally missed that but your comment made it make sense. Interesting story to read and even better now.
You’re welcome, AV. This one really resonated with me. This one will go down as one of my favorites because I am Elias.
You saw yourself, that is so cool!
Leigh,
That’s great…did you see your brother as Jacob? I found hope in this story too. Xx
Hi Rebecca,
No I didn’t see Jacob as my brother.
I’m going to say something but I don’t want anyone to feel bad for me. I made my own bed, now I must lie in it.
Even though Elias had awareness, he was still bound and I felt the suffocation of the branches and roots that were binding him. Thats why I loved that he was finally able to break free. It gave me hope.
I meant my last comment to go to Jordy and Leigh. Xx
Thanks for sharing that Leigh. Glad you have hope. ❤️
Dear Leigh,
Let’s hope you’re not Elias. It’s a dark story with a dark ending. That which infected the oak descended into Elias: he became the carrier of the curse. When he emerged from the oak, he was changed for the worse, as the void had now become his:
“But as the oak burned, Elias felt a void. Part of him remained bound. In the embers, a sapling sprouted, innocent yet ominous. He knew then: the hunger persisted, waiting to rise again.”
This line speaks to Elias’s self-awareness: his recognition of the hunger for souls, the same hunger that once belonged to the oak:
“The legends were wrong. It wasn’t vengeance; it was hunger. The oak was alive, a parasite feeding on souls, growing stronger with each victim.”
You saw what you expected to see in that story — yourself — missing the telltale signs clearly expressed in the writing.
Thank you for your view, Jordy. You’ve given me something to consider.
Dear Jordy:
Your analogy as usual is right on xxxx
Hi Jordy,
I’ve had some time to think about this and here are my thoughts.
No where in this story does it say or even imply that the curse or hunger of the oak descended into Elias. Elias doesn’t become the carrier of the curse. The new sapling does.
Elias is aware of the oak’s hunger because of his Contagion element. Elias felt a void because even though he was free from his imprisoner, empaths can still feel lost and empty when when becoming free. He also still felt bound because again, empaths can still feel bound even when freed. Think of the fly that keeps hitting the lid on the jar. They eventually learn to stop hitting the lid. So even when the lid is removed, the fly still won’t fly out. They’re still bound to the jar. Elias was aware that the tree was a predator and feeding off of him but was still bound to the tree. That’s me in a nutshell.
“His skin bore bark-like patterns” – That’s Elias developing a thick skin which can often happen to empaths when dealing with narcissists.
“In the embers, a sapling sprouted, innocent yet ominous.” – This is Elias’ Contagion element at play again. He knows that the sapling has the hunger because he can feel it.
Could you be missing the tell tale signs clearly expressed in the writing or maybe we just have different views?
Hi Jordy,
Elias after he got out reminds me of what happens to a lot of people after escaping a narcissistic relationship, it changes the victim, sometimes not for the better, sonetimes that darkness corrupts them too and they become a bit bitter and angry, and at the same time they long for the narcissist….it becomes an ache that they live with, sometimes you can push it to the back seat, sometimes you can push it out of the car. I’m glad when it comes to LMRSnarc at work, that I pushed the ache out of the car. Little wins. Xx
Hi Rebecca,
I agree that being ensnared by a narcissist can change the victim and it can cause bitterness and anger. But the beautiful thing about having empathy is that bitterness and anger eventually subsides. Look at us, Rebecca and so many others here. We’ve been ensnared since birth. That oak tree can be our mothers. In my case it can be both parents. But we don’t let that anger and bitterness dwell in us. We overcome it. Maybe we become more cynical and develop a thicker skin. But I think we need that to keep us protected from other predators.
That sounds like a BIG win to me Rebecca! 👌
Hi dear Rebecca,
Your observation is accurate, and precisely because of what you’ve pointed out, Elias isn’t a good role model to associate with if the darkness has corrupted him to the point where he has become bitter, angry, and longing for the narcissist: longing for the destruction of his soul and of his individuality, which the oak took from him, making him part of the collective curse it absorbed from the battlefield of the past.
However, I recognise what you see in the aspect of Elias breaking free from the prison of the oak. That’s the only aspect that matters for you and Leigh at the moment, since you’re both still in situations bound to the “oak,” and breaking free would naturally be on your radar more frequently than the other aspects.
I agree with what you said, Leigh. I think empathy helps us understand this stuff eventually, to whatever degree and not excuse it, but ultimately realise we’re just hurting ourselves if we become *too* bitter or really roll around in self pity for too long (I think we do need to for a while). I’ve grown a respect for myself in this process, I can see what happened to me, process it etc but also see what happened to other people (to whatever degree) such as my mum. I do feel for her (from a far) and actually though it’s been hard, i became an empath so am grateful for that.
That’s a really good point too, Jade. We only hurt ourselves if we remain bitter or sit in self pity. I normally don’t experience bitterness and self pity. Sometimes with my mother I do. Like when I wrote that comment about my mom and my hair on the questioning thread. My first thought was, she’s such a bitch. She can stir up bitterness in me. But that’s because I had no control then. I actually don’t feel bad for my mom. She gets what she deserves. I think that’s my super that drew a line though. Anyway, that bitterness doesn’t last long. I move on from it pretty quickly. I can’t let her get to me because that only hurts me, not her.
Hi Jordy, Leigh and Jade,
I’m a bit concerned because I still hold some resentment towards my mother. I don’t let it affect my day to day, but when I have a reason to think of her, I sonetimes think, what a b#@%&, but other times I think she was abused too, so I shouldn’t be so hard on her, in my mind….I still have conflicted feelings about her, sometimes I wish I could talk to her again, during one of her kind moods, where she was like a real mother to me, warm and loving, and soft touches….that I miss and long for, so I understand how Elias can long for the Oak, like I sometines long for my narc mother. Xx
Hi Rebecca,
“…so I understand how Elias can long for the Oak, like I sometimes long for my narc mother.” – While I don’t long for my mother, I do long for “a” mother. But this is exactly what I meant when I said we can still be bound to the narc even after freedom.
Hi Leigh,
I long for my mother’s kind side, her positive manipulations towards me….When I was a kid/teen and got sick, sometimes my mother was nice to me. Her nice behaviors meant so much to me, when I was sick. I rarily got sick, but she sometimes made me soup and tea, made me feel loved and valued. I know it was a manipulation , but I still miss her “care”. Xx
Hi Rebecca and Leigh,
I think that longing for “a” mother is normal especially for ACONs. And I don’t think there’s anything to be concerned about Rebecca re resentment.. I think it’s part of the process isn’t it, and an ever evolving thing? I find I go in and out of it. At the moment when I don’t see or hear from her it goes away mostly and then comes back more when I have contact and she starts her shit again. But we’re human and I think it’s a perfectly reasonable reaction to hurt (even if they can’t change or see what they do).
I’m glad your super side has helped too, Leigh. Whatever moves us on, is good, imo but also compassion when we’re conflicted. Being an ACON is the biggest head fuck and I don’t know about you guys, but I think we’re doing pretty well all things considered! 👌
Ps for me HGs information about unaware and aware narcissists has been the biggest game changer. I feel like I’ve had a crappy hand in life in some ways but I imagine being an unaware narcissist and feel better 🥴😅
I feel the same as you, Jade. I find I can go in and out of resentment and bitterness too. I don’t let myself stew in it. Its not healthy or helpful.
I agree that we’re doing great all things considered! We’ve been conditioned, salami sliced and gaslit since birth! Thank goodness for Mr. Tudor for giving us the gift of clarity.
Thanks Jade,
I don’t feel so messed up here and it’s comforting to be so understood here too.
I get told by some people that I shouldn’t hold the pain and resentment, but the truth is, I really don’t know how to put it down and leave it. She raised me, had a big part in who I am today. How do you put that kind of hurt and anger down? It doesn’t control my whole life, but it does affect how I feel about myself. Xx
Ask yourself what purpose does it serve?
Answer – none.
Therefore it is your responsibility to remind yourself of this and in so doing you diminish its effect.
It is easy to give in to the feeling. You must diminish it and extinguish by the application of discipline and logic.
Hi all, I think sometimes things like this are an ongoing process imo. We keep letting go and do a little more each time. That’s my experience anyway… When I first learnt about narcissism I spent time each day writing it all out.. for about a year, letters to all the people who’ve hurt me. No holding back, I’d swear, rant, write whatever I felt like and then tear it up. I stopped at some point but if something new arises I do it or chat to chatgpt.
Sometimes reminding myself of my mortality helps me too. To enjoy this day as much as possible because life speeds by and the narcissists have “taken” enough of it already. But still coming here helps too, it’s part of our experience.
Also beating yourself up for not having let go enough doesn’t help either. 😅
For me, knowing most of them are unaware makes me think what’s the point giving too much headspace anymore (and if they’re aware, they are who they are).
I’m definitely a work in progress with this stuff too though. And it’s all relative.. we all have different scenarios and make ups.
Hi Jade,
Agreed! There’s no point in giving any narc any space in our brains!
I would be careful about writing about the narc though. Mr. Tudor advises against it because it can raise our emotional thinking.
Also HG thank you for the point about discipline. That’s something I’m working on (a bad habit I mentioned recently is low self discipline with certain things). I do think that’s important in being able to have more control over ourselves vs them …
Dear HG,
Thank you for that slap of logic…You’re right, it serves no purpose and it’s not good for me. Thank you for logically slapping me out of the wheel I was tripping over. Xx
Hi Leigh, I recognise how you see the story, thank you for expanding. My view of it is nuanced in a different way. I’m sorry, but I can’t agree with you.
Hi Leigh,
“Hi Rebecca,
I agree that being ensnared by a narcissist can change the victim and it can cause bitterness and anger. But the beautiful thing about having empathy is that bitterness and anger eventually subsides. Look at us, Rebecca and so many others here. We’ve been ensnared since birth. That oak tree can be our mothers. In my case it can be both parents. But we don’t let that anger and bitterness dwell in us. We overcome it. Maybe we become more cynical and develop a thicker skin. But I think we need that to keep us protected from other predators.”
Just came across this comment Leigh, so good! It is so much about us taking our own power and for some of us for the first time ever. This is what I learned from Dark Cupid, I gave up my own responsibility, I wanted someone else to be in control, instead of having a relationship where we were equals, partners. I was raised for that, as I believe most or all ACONs are, in some way. That oak tree is both of my parents too, I am Elias also, and there is always another waiting to wrap his or her tendrils around me and suck their life from mine. I agree, we must become stronger, thicker skinned, less sensitive, less dependent while still maintaining who we actually are, which is sensitive, caring people. It can be learning to discern when something or someone warrants our caring. It can be a determination in us rather than anger or bitterness, which I agree will only hurt us. I’m almost coming to see it as it’s growing up finally. Normals seem to arrive at adulthood in a much more organic way, they don’t give up their power, even when it’s been taken from them by narcissists. It is so hard when we’ve literally been trained from birth that we are allowed no power. I hate narcissism so much. Thanks for writing the comment.
Thank you, AV!
“It can be learning to discern when something or someone warrants our caring.” – I remember when WC said something similar on the Compassion article. That’s so true and so important.
“It can be a determination in us rather than anger or bitterness, which I agree will only hurt us.” – Determination! That’s exactly it! We need that determination!
“I’m almost coming to see it as it’s growing up finally.” – Its a little different for me because I had to become a grown up very young. I was forced to take on an adult role because my mother is a child and didn’t know how to be a mother. But I do see it as an awakening and I love this journey so far.
Dear Rebecca, the bitch is dead. Let the illusion die about what she was not, and could never be. Dance on her grave with me.
Last small tip some of you may find useful: aim to keep your energy bundled when you’re cultivating new steps. That means don’t overtalk it, flogging it to death and giving all the energy away through words, only to be left with little energy for the actual steps to be taken, depleting the intention.
Overtalking is generally linked to the need for validation, and much of an empath’s energy is often directed toward it. Even when it’s subtle, it’s noticeable how you pour your energy into wanting to be recognised and validated. And once you receive that validation -being the main driver – you’ve already gained what you were after, leaving you with much less energy to find new motivation to implement what you were overtalking, draining the very intention.
Awakening is a better word Leigh, thank you.
A wealth of treats tonight from Tudor Manor.
Thank you HG.
Ooh, looks like another eerie new tale…will save this one to read for a grown-up treat later. (After taking my son out for some Halloween fun.)
Happy Halloween HG, and everyone.
Hi WhoCares,
We got spoiled yesterday by all the Halloween treats from HG! 😄xx
Thanks, HG for all the special Halloween treats! I shared them, they were so good! 😄xx
Josephina was almost “off into the sunset” (which she not only planned but also announced), but something made her stop. She simply couldn’t miss the bedtime story about Elias! ))
It seems to me that the author’s talent lies in the effect of immersing the reader in the atmosphere of the narrative… and HG, you do this superbly.
Absolutely wonderful!
Thank you.
P.S. What I love most is that you can write in completely different ways, across various genres and tones. It feels as if you’re reading not just one author, but several.
I haven’t had a chance to get to these.. will save for later. ☕
I agree with Josephina, such a range. I’m listening to the seduction series on YouTube atm.. so good! #50shadesofHG
Happy Halloween everyone ☠️⚰️⚡🎃💀👻🕷️🕸️🕯️🔮🦇🧛
Jade, I hope you ended your Halloween and HG’s stories! Xx
Jade, I meant to type “enjoyed” not “ended” ! 🙄🫣xx