An old woman sits in a meadow. It is a dark, gloomy meadow, covered in eerie fog. There was once a tree here, she knows. Yes, she knows about the tree. A murderer was hanged there. She wonders about the murderer often.

She hates the murderer.

He was charged for the killings of three people, she knows.

Oh, but the old woman knows better. Yes, she knows that he killed four. She knows that he is the reason her daughter is dead.

Dead men do not kill. But one had.

***

"No." The little boy said stubbornly.

"Come on!" Said the girl, exasperated.

"No! It's scary there."

"There are trees there," she tried. "Really big ones. We can climb them."

He hesitated. "Trees?"

"Hundreds," she said. "Maybe thousands."

"What if my mother notices me gone?"

"She won't." The girl promised.

How she would regret that promise.

So the two ran off to go climb the trees in the meadow. She showed him how the mist rose from the nearby swamp, and he, who had never seen mist before, was amazed at the water droplets forming on his skin. He decided that the mist was not so scary as he had thought. She showed him how the dark shadows created shade to escape the hot sun. She showed him how the eerie whistling came from the wind blowing through the tall grass.

He loved it all. He loved the place itself, and named it the Hidden Place. He loved the trees, and the mist, and the shade. He loved not having to listen to his mother. But most of all, he loved her.

She showed him all the special things about the place she loved so much, and when they were done, they climbed the tree. It was the tallest tree, and it stood at the very centre of the meadow. It was the only place where a bit of sunlight reached, right at the very top. They both sat on a branch and looked out upon their Hidden Place. And the little boy and the little girl were happy.

When the little boy got home, he was immediately accosted by his mother. She questioned him where he had been, but he refused to tell. Furious, she locked him in his tiny room to wait for his father. He cowered in the corner in fear, until the door swung upon and he could see his father's eyes, bloodshot and full of rage.

***

A week later, the little boy and the little girl planted wildflowers in their Hidden Place. The girl had carefully dug them up to make the meadow more cheerful.

Shyly, the little boy displayed one last flower. It was a lily.

"It's for you." He said.

And the little girl loved the flower. But even more, from that moment on, she loved him.

She chose not to ask about the scars on his back. She knew it would only upset him.

It was another very bad decision.

                             ***

Years passed. The little boy was no longer a little boy, and the little girl was no longer a little girl.

They were just a boy and a girl. And they both loved each other.

The boy would go to the girl's house when his father came home. They would sit on her swing together and wait. Sometimes they could hear the boy's brother, calling, but they always hid. The boy's mother threatened, but she never found out where the boy would go during the day.

The boy had more scars now. She knew what they were from, but they never talked about them.

She didn't think they needed to.

And, once again, she was wrong.

One night, after the boy had been beaten, brutally, for eating an extra piece of bread, he went over to the girl's house. The back of his shirt was covered in his blood.

He asked her to forgive him. She didn't know what he meant, but she said yes.

That night, he swiped his father's knife and killed them: his father, his mother, and, for good measure, his brother, who had never been beaten once.

He could have gotten away that night.

He couldn't stand to leave. He couldn't leave her. So he tried to hide it. But you can't hide three people suddenly vanishing off of the face of the earth.

And he was caught. The people decided that he was too dangerous to be kept alive, so they searched. They searched for the perfect tree.

They found one in a meadow. It was a tall tree, taller than any other there. It was surrounded by mist, and by darkness. The only light was at the top of the tree.

The boy showed no recognition as he was led into his Hidden Place. The only sign that he had, possibly, been there before, was when he stuck out his finger slightly and watched the mist turn to water.

The boy was led to stand on a crate. A noose was fitted around his head. He stood there still as they did it, his head held high. For one brief moment, his eyes caught the girl's in the crowd.

She didn't cry out.

Then the crate was kicked out from under him and the noose tightened around his neck.

And the boy entered the sunlight that he had, many years ago, tried to reach.

***

The girl had wonderful parents. They knew she had been friends with the boy, and they comforted her.

The girl lay in bed that night thinking of her beloved's last words.

"Emmaline, are you coming to the tree?"

They had taken on a new meaning for her.

She made a decision. She ran outside and cut down her swing. Then she ran to the Hidden Place.

The flowers were crushed from the boots of the men.

Rage filled her at the defilement of her meadow. She threw the rope up next to the boy and made a loop.

"Yes." She said. "I'm coming."