She is a weird old lady, he thought, tramping over the twisted branches and musty leaves that occupied the dead forest. Of course, she does live in a house made out of tree.

So They had been correct. Ahead of him, what once was a towering behemoth of an oak now lay as a house, seemingly growing out of the gnarled roots. It was dark inside, but it didn’t fool him. She doesn’t want me here, he thought, and when that happens people usually vanish.

But he had a score to settle with this particular granny. He stepped over a root and pressed a hand to the petrified house. All of a sudden, every light in the house flickered on. The stump was no longer petrified; every root rose up out of the ground, twisting around his arms and legs. That’s not good, he thought grimly. Oh look, and there she is now.

She stood in the doorway as the roots hoisted the man up to eye level, then hardened.

“Hello,” she said in a kind old granny voice and a murderous look in her eyes.