Sugarhouse
A short story for Spring Fever: Horror in Bloom
Some might say that “scary” and “spring” shouldn’t be partners. After all, spring is the season of baby bunnies, fresh new flowers, and sweet-smelling days.
Unless you live in Vermont
Here, we refer to spring as mud season. And while there are a few signs of spring (if you look very, VERY closely), it’s mostly a time of bare tree branches, squishy mud underfoot, and unexpected snow squalls.
One of the lovely traditions this time of the year, though, is maple sugaring. For those of you not familiar with the process, it’s when sugarmakers boil down maple tree sap into delicious, delectable maple syrup. That "liquid gold” is used in everything, from waffles and pancakes to desserts, and for me, sweetening my coffee and tea. Did you know that it takes 40 gallons of sap to make a single gallon of syrup?
That’s what Jed is working on in “Sugarhouse”. It’s not his first year boiling, but it is the first time he’s ever come face-to-face with something evil in the forest.
Many thanks to Top in Fiction for putting together the Spring Bloom, Horror in Bloom collab. Read my entry, “Sugarhouse”, below. But be sure to follow the link and check out all the other great, creepy stories as well.
Jed
The night air had a hollow sound to it. Pinpricks of light poked sharp against the deep blue velvet overhead as Jed re-entered the building. It was like coming off a plane from a snow-filled climate to a tropical one. His face was instantly coated in the sweet, wet condensation that permeated every corner of the small sugarhouse. A fire roared in its cast-iron furnace beneath the massive galvanized metal tray where the maple sap bubbled, dancing to the flames underneath.
Jed stirred the sap. It was too soon to test it—it would take hours more boiling for it to be close to the syrup stage. Still, he couldn’t resist holding the spoon up to the light, watching the drips plop back into the tank. He swiped his finger over the last one, bringing it to his mouth. It tasted like the sugar water he made every summer for the hummingbirds.
God, he was lucky to be here.
When he and Sierra had moved from California during the pandemic, he’d never expected it to last. It had been her idea, her newest project. He’d given it a year, maybe two at the most. But she’d surprised him, settling into rural life like she was born for it. Jed had been born for it. Growing up in the Upper Peninsula, he was accustomed to the raw loneliness of living remotely.
A strange, high humming sound came from outside, and Jed put down his wooden spoon. When electric lines were freezing, they often emitted a noise like this. But there were no electric lines here. He opened the sturdy door, poked his head out. A rush of steam followed him like a cloud of fog trailing a rockstar on stage.
All quiet.
The night was a black void after the light of the building. He paused, let his eyes adjust.
Then a crack in the woods behind the sugarhouse. A branch breaking? Though it was loud enough that Jed jumped, then laughed at himself. He stood silently a few more minutes.
Nothing.
He could get out the powerful flashlight, shine it around the forest. But somehow it felt like an intrusion, an invasion of private, primate space. He liked the thought of nocturnal animals going about their routines, safe in the darkness.
He went back inside and shut the door.
***
Jed jolted awake and looked around blearily.
Where . . .?
The sugarhouse. He’d fallen asleep in the battered folding chair. His neck felt creaky as he stretched it side to side. Walking to the evaporator, he was relieved to see the sap had thickened. Not quite ready yet, but getting closer. He slid the spoon through the liquid, about to do another drip test when—
Crack!
Crack!
He froze, heart slamming into the walls of his chest cavity. That couldn’t be a branch breaking. A tree? Had a tree fallen nearby?
Dropping the spoon, he grabbed the powerful flashlight. Sorry, night critters.
The air outside was colder than before. He swept the beam around. Stark, barren trees, lots of snow. Not much else.
But then a sound from behind the sugarhouse. A shuffling, dragging sound, like someone pulling a tree or log over dry earth. He stumbled to the back of the building, legs molasses slow in the deep snow underfoot. His breath came in white clouds. The hand holding the flashlight wobbled.
Crack!
It couldn’t be . . . a gunshot, could it?
Shuffle, drag, drag, shuffle.
The beam of light illuminated the small clearing behind the sugarhouse. There was a pile of old metal, tarnished and rusted. Left by some long-ago farmer. Bare sticklike saplings bordered the woods closest to the building. Bigger trees spread out behind, lots of maple and feathery green pines.
He slowed down the sweep of light. Nothing. No glowing eyes, no brown or gray sides to indicate a deer or coyote was nearby. There wasn’t any—
Wait.
Jed swept the light back. Had something moved there, near the small copse of big pines? He squinted. Took a few steps forward.
A figure hunched near the largest tree, mostly hidden in its shadowy branches. It was huge—seven feet at least, or would have been if it were standing up straight. Instead, it was hunched around the shoulders, a large craggy head hanging over them like the tongue of a big bell. It flinched from the light, shrank back into the shadows of the trees.
What was it?
Jed clearly thought, Run. Get out of here! Yet his feet moved toward the thing, his arm outstretched with the light trembling so that the beam jostled and bounced.
He tried to speak, to call out, but his throat had closed over.
Closer to the trees.
Turn back, turn back!
He was nearly there.
The thing had shrunk back from the light. It was frightened of it. Of him. The thought propelled Jed the last several yards to the pine trees.
Within arm’s length of the tree, gray, bony talons shot out, clamped over Jed’s hand. He yelled as the thing gripped his hand, squeezing, squeezing. The thing crushed his hand in its grip. The bulb and glass in the flashlight popped.
Crack!
The dark shape’s head jerked upright. Black holes where eyes should be, its mouth opened into a maw of ragged razor points sticking out of black gums. A smell like roadkill left in the hot sun whooshed over Jed. It was like a craggy gray tree had come to life. Branch-like arms protruded from the thick, rough trunk-like body. Tattered black fabric flapped in the light breeze.
Jed tried to move, to escape its grip. Told his feet: run, run, run.
The thing pulled him closer, its grip superhuman.
A warm stream drenched Jed’s right leg, urine running into his boot.
Oh my God.
This was it.
The black maw opened, razor spikes loomed over Jed’s head.
One week earlier
Sienna
Sienna fiddled with the flower arrangement, moving it once more on the side table. It was her turn to host book club. Well, okay. Wine club. She felt unexpectedly nervous. There were only four people coming tonight; the others had various travel plans and illnesses.
After visiting Elizabeth’s lake house mansion, Sienna felt that her own new timber-framed home wasn’t quite as beautiful as before. Silly. She shook off the thought, grateful that she had a quiet house to herself. Ben was sleeping, and Jed was sugaring.
They’d left San Diego for a quieter life. The country—and all its acreage—had been a forced way to slow themselves down. And they’d wanted that, for Ben. At four, he’d adapted as well as his parents to their new life in the country.
They still kept busy, but it was different here. Jed had a lot of outdoor projects. One for each season: in the fall, there was hunting, in the winter, off-trail skiing, and in the spring, sugaring. Sienna didn’t mind—she’d joined the book club and some mom groups, and Ben kept her busy between work hours. In summer, they took care of the garden as a family, hiked, and hosted various members of their families who wanted to get a taste of “the good life.”
***
An hour and a half later, with nearly three bottles of empty wine between them, Sienna felt loose and carefree. It was stupid to have worried about what her new friends thought of the house. Becky had oohed and ahhed over the exposed beams and fieldstone fireplace that rose up in the center of the living area. Ashley had said she’d murder for a sink and stove like Sienna had chosen, and Elizabeth called everything “just lovely.”
Elizabeth reclined now on the smallest couch, her long, dark hair spilling over a pillow. The glass of wine in her hand shimmered in the firelight. A pop from one of the logs made Becky squeal in surprise, and everyone else laughed.
“. . . so glad you moved here,” Ashley said, knocking a piece of bruschetta off her plate and then clumsily chasing it on the hardwood floor with her napkin. “It’s hard to remember what it was like before you came, Sienna.”
All three toasted their hostess with their glasses and sipped.
“I don’t know why, but tonight reminds me of a sleepover. Remember those as teens?” Becky asked.
“Yes.” Ashley and Sienna said simultaneously. They chuckled and clinked glasses.
“I remember telling ghost stories and getting so scared no one could sleep.” Becky rolled her eyes. “That was the best.”
They were quiet for a few seconds, listening to the fire crackle and the hiss of steam that arose when flames licked at some sap in the wood.
“I’ve got one for you,” Elizabeth sat up on the couch and crossed her long legs underneath her. “A real-life ghost story. Who’s heard of Skudakumooch?”
“Skuda-what?” Ashley laughed.
“Skudakumooch. It’s an old Abenaki legend. Well, some people say that it’s from a tribe up in Maine. But Vermonters say that she was from this area. This part of the state, even.”
“Who was she?” Sienna’s mouth felt dry. She needed water, not more wine. She took another small sip anyway.
“A ghost witch. The Abenaki people named her that—Skudakumooch.” Elizabeth lowered her voice a little as she leaned toward them. “The legend says that she was an old woman who lived here and practiced magic. Dark magic, not like the kids’ books. She put spells on people if they crossed her or looked at her wrong. She put curses on their crops. She’d kill off the livestock of someone she believed did her wrong.
“Not surprisingly, she was hated. So, when she died, they took her body and put it in a tree,” she pointed north. “For the birds and other animals to pick at. And they left the bones there, up on the hill. You know, the big hill by the river?”
All three women nodded. There was no way to avoid driving by the big hill if you wanted to go into town.
“The legend says that’s where they put her body. She wasn’t allowed to be buried because they believed she had a blackened soul. So, they tied her to a tree, and that’s why some people think she still haunts this area. She can’t rest in peace. There’s a diary entry from one of the town’s founders about her.”
The room was silent, other than another pop from the fire. This time it was Sienna who jumped.
“You’re bullshitting us,” Ashley’s voice was a little too loud, half laughing.
But Elizabeth shook her head. “My father’s seen her.”
“Oh, come on.”
“It was a long time ago—maybe fifteen years or more. He saw her when he was checking the taps late at night. It was about this time of the year—people say she’s more active in the spring, because it’s warmer and she comes down from the hill then.”
It was just a stupid story. But for some reason, Sienna shivered, wrapping her arms around her knees.
“He only talked about it once, and that was after he’d had a little too much birthday bourbon. But when he told my mother and me about it, his face turned absolutely white. And his hand shook so hard that he lost half the bourbon on the kitchen table. Huh,” Elizabeth smiled and shook her head. “I’d forgotten about that.”
“What did he say?” Ashley asked. Her face, which nearly always wore a smile, was serious, her eyebrows coming together. “What—what did she look like?”
“He said she was huge—like eight feet tall. And horrible looking. Leathery gray face, no eyes, and these like talons instead of hands. He said she was part tree—that she blended in with the trees around her. All rough and gray. At first, he thought it was something else—a shadow or the light playing tricks on him. But when he saw her fully, he nearly yelled.”
“I’d yell,” said Becky.
Elizabeth smiled faintly. “Me, too.”
“So, then what happened?” Becky asked.
“He got the hell out of there. He jumped back on his snowmobile and rode full throttle back home. He said he sat across from the front door the rest of the night with the shotgun over his legs, but she never came.
“I can’t believe you guys have never heard this story,” Elizabeth said, twisting her long dark hair up behind her head and then letting it cascade back over her shoulders. “There’s a poem we used to say when we were kids.” She frowned, squinted slightly.
“I’ll never forget it. It gave me the creeps.”
“Well, tell us!” Ashley demanded.
Elizabeth smiled slowly, then said:
Witch of the wood, witch with a hood,
Come to us now. Come to us now.
Black witch of yore, to you they swore,
to hang in a tree, for eternity.
Witch of the wood, dark witch here stood,
Come to us now. To thee we bow.
Ashley shrieked a little, then let out a nervous giggle. “Are you serious or did you just make that up?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “No, we really used to say it. You guys haven’t heard it before?”
Becky and Ashley both shook their heads.
“It sounds like an incantation.” Sienna’s mouth was so dry that it was hard to get the words out.
Elizabeth shrugged. “If you believe in that stuff. We said it all the time, and she never appeared.”
“Well, maybe that’s why your dad saw her,” Becky said.
“That was years later. It’s just a stupid rhyme, and not even a very good one. Someone made it up on the playground, and the rest of us all thought we were cool repeating it to each other. You know, like saying Bloody Mary in the mirror three times and Ouija boards and all the rest. No one seriously thought they were calling the witch out of the woods.”
“We should say it now, together. It will be ike we’re back in junior high.” Ashley set down her wine glass and gave her head a quick shake, like she was physically trying to clear away cobwebs.
“Come on.” She sat cross-legged in front of the coffee table. Elizabeth looked at her with a bemused smile on her face. Ashley held out both of her hands and wiggled her fingers. “Come on you guys. It’s my birthday next week, and this is what I want for it.”
Becky snorted. “Good. I can return the gift I got you at Fjällräven then.” But as she said it, she too slid to the floor and sat with her legs crossed underneath her, grabbing one of Ashley’s outstretched hands.
Elizabeth cocked an eyebrow at Sienna. This was stupid. They weren’t teenagers, and the entire thing made her want to laugh out loud. But Ashley—the youngest of them—looked at her expectantly.
What would it hurt?
Sienna slid into place beside Becky, and Elizabeth finished the circle with all four of them grasping hands.
“It’s said to bring good luck if you see her and survive,” Elizabeth said.
She asked Sienna to turn off the lights. The women’s faces were bathed in a buttery yellow light from the fireplace and a few candles strewn over the coffee table. Sienna sat back down and held onto Becky and Ashley’s hands.
Together, they repeated the rhyme, following Elizabeth, as though she were a priest and they the congregants. When they got to the last line, “to thee we bow,” one of the candles blew out. Ashley gasped, gripping Sienna’s hand so hard her rings bit into the skin.
“Oh my God, did you do that?” She looked at Becky, who shook her head.
“You did.”
Ashley shook her head. “I swear I didn’t. Did one of you?”
Elizabeth and Sienna both shook their heads.
Ashley giggled, her eyes darting around the group.
“It was probably just a draft.” Sienna released their hands and got to her feet. She felt slightly queasy and suddenly wished they’d all leave.
***
Later, as she was washing the last of the glasses, Sienna glimpsed a light bobbing in the darkness. Jed’s flashlight. The clock on the stove read twenty-five past midnight. He’d said there would be late nights during sugaring season, and he wasn’t kidding.
Sienna yawned and turned out all the lights in the kitchen, other than the one over the sink, then went to the living room to straighten the pillows and return throws to the backs of the chairs and couches.
Jed walked in, bringing a blast of frosty air and the smell of woodsmoke with him.
“Hey, babe, you still up?” He dropped a kiss onto her head after taking off his boots.
“Yeah. Late book club.”
“You have fun?”
Sienna nodded. “It was. No one liked the book much, but the zinfandel was a hit.”
Jed shrugged out of his coat and wrapped Sienna in a hug. She shivered as she burrowed in. He smelled of woodsmoke and fresh air.
“Have you ever heard of the Skudakumooch?” She murmured against his chest.
Jed grunted. “The what?”
“Skudakumooch. It’s an old legend about a witch from this area. Elizabeth was telling us about it.”
“Nope. But if I see her, I’ll let you know.” He pulled back, looked down at her with a smile.
They shut off the rest of the lights. Jed put his phone on the charger by the door and then looked at Sienna.
“I almost forgot. I found this on the front step. Is it from one of your friends?”
He dug in his pocket, retrieved something, and handed it to Sienna. It was a piece of gray cloth. At first, she thought it was a glove, but the material was very coarse. It almost reminded her of tree bark—the same color and dappling as an ash tree.
“Weird. I don’t think so. Maybe it blew over from one of the neighbors.”
Jed shrugged. “Yeah, maybe. Let’s go to bed.”
Don’t forget to head over to Top in Fiction and check out the other short horror/suspense stories in the Spring Fever collaboration. Thanks for reading and your interest in my work!
J.P. Choquette authors atmospheric, gothic-inspired novels. The themes of art, nature, and psychology are frequently found in her 11 novels, which have been downloaded nearly 25,000 times across multiple platforms. Learn more by visiting the author’s website or find her books on Amazon.