Under the Birdhouse


I watched from the woods as the couple stopped on the path and approached the tree. I knew the rumor well. Apparently so did they. If you carved your initials into the bark under the birdhouse, you’d be together forever. They knew the rumor because it had spread all over campus. I knew the rumor because I had started it.

The boy took out a pocketknife, started carving. When they finished, I would follow them to their dorms. Nobody had yet connected the deaths of couples on campus to the tree, but they would when someone checked inside the birdhouse.

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