The Listening Stump

They call it the Watcher’s Stump, though no one remembers why. Old-timers say a woman once stood there, waiting for a husband who never came home from the war …. waiting so long the forest simply grew around her.

Now the shelf fungi jut from its bark like pale, curling ears, layered one atop another, always listening. Walkers who pause too long beside it report the same thing: a faint whisper, just below hearing, matching the rhythm of their own breath.

The path bends sharply just past it, as though the trail learned to give the stump a wide berth. Ivy chokes its base, moss creeps up like a shawl. Nothing dares fell it twice.

Touch the fungus, locals warn, and it remembers your voice. Whisper back, and it never forgets your name.

NAR©2026

This is “In The Woods Somewhere” by Hozier

Crimson’s Creative Challenge #099

^{Everything seen here was created by me, unless otherwise indicated, and may not be used without permission. Thanks for your consideration. NAR©2017-present.}