Camphor tree
Unnatural Recollections #10
Part 2: Strange People
Camphor tree
On the evening of Cam’s disappearance, I visited that dilapidated house. The door was not locked, just as it was when Cam was still here. The things inside did not seem to have been moved, like always, as if its owner had just stepped out and would be back any moment. There was hardly any furniture, just a broken table and a low bed hastily assembled from wooden planks. On the bed, there was a neatly folded quilt and the clothes that Cam often wore. There was also an old large wooden box, deep brown in color with carvings of flowers and branches, its paint already peeling off. Cam said that it was an item left by many generations of ancestors. The sky gradually darkened, and there was no light inside the house. I sat on that wooden box, waiting until I could no longer see anything.
Not long after Cam disappeared, the old wooden box began to sprout tender buds. Initially, a few branches broke through, then ten or more branches emerged, covered with bright green leaves. I tried to lift the box, only to find its thick roots had firmly taken hold of the ground. Years later, when the house collapsed, the “box tree” grew taller and taller. The trunk had deep cracks, it bloomed light yellow flowers in spring and bore small, black berries in autumn. Upon crushing the leaves, I could smell the scent that once lingered on Cam. Afterwards, I wondered, why didn’t I open the box that day?