Horror and Thriller Fiction posted June 20, 2024


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A coconut palm tree is fed up with humanity!

Cocos Nucifera

by Rene Tyo


The author has placed a warning on this post for violence.
The author has placed a warning on this post for sexual content.

 The Cocos Nucifera

I am tall. Majestic. I have stood for many years—eighty-three, to be exact. However, my time is growing short. I’ve heard rumours that I’ll be felled in a controlled way in two weeks’ time, so as not to disturb you wretched devils. We’ll see about that! Before the fortnight is through, I will take control of my own demise, but more on that later. I have a few stories to tell before I part. The locals call me el árbol malvado, “the evil tree.” Interestingly enough, the coconut palm is considered, “the tree of life.” They’re not wrong, but they’ve yet to see the worst from me.

I was already over fifty years old when I first encountered you devils on two legs. Even then, I was the tallest of my siblings. I was a sight to behold towering over all. My crown was made up of well over thirty pinnate leaves, some as long as three of you imbeciles standing atop one another. Yet, the only reason I survived was that I happened to be outside the perimeter of a pool and large deck area that developers planned to install. I witnessed my peers being ravaged and razed by you humans, watched as the entire area was cleared for the resort to be built. I heard their cries of anguish as they were burned or turned into buildings, crafts, ropes and furniture. Did you care? Hell no! It was “business as usual”: rape the land of all that came before you. Is this not how your kind acts? Destroy a natural habitat in the name of progress and entertainment? Yes, I was spared, as well as a few of my peers. Over the years, we have been witness to further atrocities committed by your infernal species, not just to the innocent nature around you but even in the daily savagery with which you treat each other.

We survivors learned quickly that you call yourselves “human,” suggesting you have humanity, I am a Cocos nucifera, a coconut palm, and I beg to differ. Surely, I knew more about being humane back when I was able to flourish in my unspoiled habitat. Bending and undulating with the breeze; living a serene life among my friends and the lush flora and fauna of the island; sharing my fruits and my shade with all the animals that lived in harmony with us. They, too were killed or driven away.

After several years of work, the construction of the opulent resort (your idea of opulence is purely disgusting, if you ask me) was complete. It was during this stage that I came to posses the evil that you speak of in hushed tones—allow me to explain. As mentioned, I was on the perimeter of the proposed deck around the largest of four man-made pools. The head engineer insisted that I was to be saved at all costs (at least he could see my beauty). After the backhoes and digging implements had done much of their work, I was still in good form.

As a bit of an aside, I must tell you that my kind are marvels of engineering. Our fibrous root balls often go no deeper than three feet, yet the tallest among us can tower over one hundred feet high. I personally, due to my size, was already greater than this at the time, both in height and the expanse of my roots. We do spread out, and inevitably, our roots intertwine—especially after decades in our undisturbed state.

My hatred of you humans increased tenfold when a worker was charged with the task of freeing my exposed root system from those of my peers who had been laid low. He pulled and, delicately (so he believed), snipped and stripped my roots from their entanglement. No machete for this worker, and it was agony! My juices bled out into the ground. He subjected me to this insane torture for two days, telling the lead engineer that the work was meticuloso if I was to survive. I had never felt such pain. I had to make him stop.

Hector was the man’s name, and he would often push through lunch or skip it entirely. He did not eat with the other workers. They knew that he was not quite right, that he didn’t think as they did. Hector was a loner, an outsider among your kind. As it turns out, they discovered after his death that he had Dahmer-like tendencies, cannibalism and killing young boys. Other workers suspected that he was responsible for a number of rumoured injustices that had taken place in past years but turned a blind eye. He worked hard and kept to himself. They didn’t know the depth of Hector’s depravity.

Now, I must admit that this butcher of your kind was as gentle with me as his work allowed. Prior to me, he had saved the second largest nucifera encompassing the pool decks. He was nearly done with me on the second day when the other workers were about to take an afternoon siesta. He declined their offer to join them and continued to work at my roots. He had cut his hands several times during this surgery, the worst of which bled all over me. I could feel his evil energies intermingling with my palm juices. His essence was running into my fibres. I discovered how his brain worked: almost always tuned to how he would mangle his next victim. I’m not ashamed to say that I took on a semblance of his bloodlust—it will serve me well.

~~~

Here is a story from a different time. A man decided to show off and scale me for a meagre American single or two. Now, if you look closely at my trunk, you will notice that I’m remarkably unscarred compared to my friends surrounding the pool area. There is a reason. It was infrequently that anyone would climb me. Yes, I’m tall, but you will also recall that I’ve established something of a reputation around here, he was fully aware of my notoriety. This man took up the challenge anyway, hellbent on retrieving a coconut from me. The fool!

In this case, it was for two young British tarts vacationing on their own. They had envisioned bedding this local, um… “gentleman.” Daddy’s money had footed the bill for their fortnight away, and they were going to shag anyone who met their low standards. These two would screw a snake in a rockpile, in my opinion (excuse my coarseness.)

Like many of my type, I have a sturdy base that is considerably larger in girth at the ground. I have a gentle slope that has been augmented by steady winds over the years. However, as I grew, I became quite upright. No angle exists beyond my first fifteen feet. Escondido (my, how they loved his name) scaled me. He was showing off yet again. He blew off the whispered stories of my heinous nature: he had two chicas to chingar that night!

Escondido dug in the spikes of his leather boots and ascended me. I felt them tear into my flesh. The pain was unbelievable, nearly as bad as what Hector had caused me: birth a child, kick a man in the testicles, that type of pain! He didn’t care. He was on a mission. Now, truth be told, this boy was a born athlete. He’d done this before. He was the coconut-retrieving champion—until he met his match!

The ladies looked on and squealed with delight at his demonstration of athletic prowess. Escondido was near my crown; however, his confidence began to wavering. I swayed in the breezeless day, and he could feel my animosity. He gripped me tightly with his sinewy thighs and reached for the machete that was strapped to his belt but unsheathed. He was about to hack away a coconut, my fruit, when I decided, “Enough of this indignity!” I bled my juices where his limbs fully encircled me. His dungarees became slick. I bent and swayed. He lost his grip; I’d given him no choice. I laughed at his futility. Escondido fell to the ground sixty feet below, slamming to the earth. He was crumpled and broken. The machete came straight down on him, piercing his heart. My crown of leaves waved a salute, a goodbye of sorts, that only Escondido would have been able to acknowledge. The bikini-clad beauties could only scream in disgust and fear. There would be no sharing Escondido tonight! I could only hope that they’d be scarred for life at what they’d witnessed.

~~~

Back to the present: I think of the pillaging your kind does. The fact that you have an advanced brain is what has made you the most dangerous of all species that inhabit this planet. Extinction, genocide, death and destruction, all at your hands. Does a tree care of religious crusades? Of the “superior” race and holocausts? Of territorial conquest? Of course not. An animal does what is needed to survive. It kills for sustenance, not for pleasure. I’m not proud to say that I have become like you humans, but I have, and this fact will make a point of ensuring that my demise will not go unnoticed.

I will admit that Hector was delicate with my root surgery—he was a botanist and a killer. On the day he died, I was responsible. As the others left for their siesta, Hector stayed put in the trench at my footing. My opportunity presented itself. I shook mightily, dislodging a coconut from my crown. An average coconut can weigh three pounds. As you’ve likely ascertained, I’m anything but average. My four-plus-pound fruit dropped down upon him from my hundred-plus foot height. A direct strike on the head of this nature would consequently lead to imminent death.

However, perhaps you laughable beings have instincts that I can not comprehend. Hector sensed something wasn’t right. He looked up at the right moment. My nut was hurtling toward his upturned, ugly mug at terminal velocity. He managed to pull away, and my coconut struck a glancing blow to his head, enough that it rendered Hector unconscious and shattered his clavicle. He buckled and fell into the trench with barely a sound. If I could’ve high-fived a sibling beside me, I would have. All I could do was shiver with delight. One of my enormous, deceptively feathery leaves became dislodged as I celebrated. Heavy in its own right, it fell on Hector. Between his khaki-coloured clothing and my massive frond, he was obscured from view.

A heavy equipment operator intent on getting back to work returned from break and fired up his backhoe—the diesel stench I was subjected to during those months haunts me to this day. He did not see Hector. The heavy teeth of the backhoe bucket dug into the earth. The operator repositioned and raised it again. By this point, the noise was enough to rouse Hector. He screamed as the bucket descended a second time. I loved hearing his plaintive cry. The bucket sliced through Hector like a warm knife through butter. His scream was cut short, unheard over the other noises. The bucket scooped up another pile of dirt along with Hector’s upper body, his entrails hanging over the teeth of the bucket. The backhoe operator saw the look of shock on Hector’s grimacing face. He let out a piercing scream as he shut down the backhoe, obviously far too late. Hector’s bottom half—streaming intestines, internal organs, blood, urine and feces—bled out into my root ball and the surrounding detritus. I soaked in his essence and relished his pain and anguish. I realized then that there was some form of vengeance to be wreaked on your kind after all. I changed: I became even more like you through this experience.

~~~

The resort has existed around me for going on thirty years now. I am one hundred and ten feet tall, yet I age; my vitality is sapped. I no longer bear fruit, and my leaves fall at random, creating a hazard for those foolish enough to lounge underneath me. The resort staff have planned to lay me low, as demonstrated by their placement of heavy equipment and a cordoned-off work area. They cannot afford any more of the negative publicity they have received of late. Much of this is due, in part, to me. I have imposed my will on you snivelling, weak-minded humans.

As you can tell, I love relating my retaliatory parries into your world. If so, it is because of the barbarianism and selfishness I have witnessed within you. My examples could continue ad nauseam: a local girl being gang raped in the wee hours by four teenage tourists (Canadian hockey teammates) under the watchful eye of a sickening hotel staff member who’d planned the event and was paid handsomely for it; an assault on a drunk female in an elevator; deaths attributed to cocaine cartel warfare; numerous fist fights due to alcohol-fuelled bravado; parents inducing corporal punishment until unruly children were bleeding; marital infidelities; I could go on, but I’m sure you get the picture. Locals would say that I was to blame, that I exacerbated and egged on those situations. To this I say, “Hogwash! I’m merely a tree—barely even marvelled at anymore.” Right?

~~~

Another glorious day poolside! It is mid-May. The resort is quieter, the busy season over (thankfully… the noise is nearly unbearable when this place is at capacity). Six days of my existence remain, according to the resort planner’s schedule. I have been watching the tourists this week. I see their routines. There is a belligerent husband speaking in guttural German, once again berating his pretty wife. Beyond them, a Latino family of four, the mom breastfeeding her infant daughter like clockwork. Yes, there she goes, no modesty, as an older American couple looks shocked at such behaviour. Meanwhile, the husband had been absolutely titillated by a Superbowl halftime show involving gyrating, scantily clad performers just months prior. Hypocrites!

All of them and more in my chosen trajectory!

I believe that, in total, there may be twenty-two people in the line of fire when I fall. I won’t wait those six more days. I’ve summoned the indigenous animals to aid me in my quest: raccoons, spider monkeys, ocelots, margays, coatis and more. They prowl the resort and surrounding hills under the cover of darkness. They have banded together under my influence, natural predators with one common goal: to undermine my roots system overnight, leaving me primed to fall at the slightest breeze. It has been painful, reminding me of Hector, and my resolve grows. I’ve strategically dropped my leaves to disguise the erosion—the staff won’t clean up my inevitable daily downfall until the afternoon.

My plan has come to fruition. I have taught my remaining vertical friends how to take out their frustrations on you humans. They will be inspired by my example. This resort will never be the same: nature can and will strike back! I envision the resort being closed down and overrun by vegetation and animals once more. Our story will be carried to other vacation destinations. Collectively, we can bring about change. And we will—perhaps on a global scale. One can dream, and I dream big!

It all starts with me and my sacrifice: one I’m happy to make. It’s noon, and the pool area and my path are full of unsuspecting prey. I know this is my end, but what a way to go! I shiver. I shake. I bleed. There is a tremendous rending noise as I tilt forward, gravity taking over.

I’m feeling young again, like a sapling. Here I go!

Wheee... 




Horror Writing Contest contest entry


This story was inspired by a recent vacation
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