Poison Pine Needles
With a squeal, the red minivan pulled up on the dirt road outside Christmas Forest. The doors slid open, and out sprang the three little children, giddy with joy. Their eyes bulged as they gazed across the acres of pine trees, in awe of their height and beauty. Some of the trees still retained a soft dusting of 'snow' – a powder the company applied for added effect, and sold for a small price.
"Wow!"
The driver, a middle-aged man with thinning brown hair and thick spectacles, walked around the car. His friends often called him 'Buck', his co-workers at the factory knew him as 'Mr. Buckland' – if they knew his name at all – but today he was 'Dad', pure and simple. His days off were so rare, he'd almost forgotten that name.
It was moments like this that made it all worthwhile. He smiled, pleased by the awe-filled expressions of the children. Breathing in the fresh scent of pine, he sighed with contentment and walked on ahead.
"Are you kids coming, or are you just gonna stand there gawping all day?"
Awe turned to joy as the children grinned. Wrapped up warm in their puffer coats, woolly hats, gloves and scarves, the cold December air could do nothing to dampen their spirits. Their cheeks and noses glowed red and their eyes shone bright.
"Come on Timmy!"
The eldest surged forward as his sister took the youngest by the hand. To their innocent eyes, this was an enchanted forest, full of magic and fairy-tales. It was the home of talking lions and walking trees, of centaurs and witches and Arthurian courts.
"They don't have any decorations on them," Timmy exclaimed.
"Of course not. We have to put the decorations on, silly. That's part of the fun."
"There's tons of tinsel at home," the eldest said.
"But first you have to choose a tree."
The three kids ran off in separate directions, looking for the perfect tree to put their presents below. They dismissed the brown trees, the ones too wide and too skinny. Spoiled for choice they ran back and forth, laughing and pointing, while their Dad watched with a smile.
"Peter, Peter! This one is perfect!"
"No way, Elsie," Peter called, running on. "The trunk is too short."
"Make sure it's a fir tree!"
"I want the tallest one in the whole forest!" Timmy cried.
"And get one with the snow on it," said Elsie.
"I want a red one."
"You can't have a red one. They're fake. We want a real tree this year."
"We'll get a red one next time, Peter, okay? And Timmy, we can't have the tallest one. It won't fit in our house."
"Fiiine," the boys said together, before running off again.
"Aw, they're adorable," a voice said. "Their first time?"
Dad turned with a start. Behind him, a woman stood beaming, dressed in a smart green suit with white trimmings on the lapel, hem and cuffs. A small green elf-hat perched on her head, keeping back hair as red as Rudolph's nose. Her clothes were loose-fitting, but her sensuous curves were still more than apparent.
"Oh, um, yes… yes, we normally get plastic trees."
"Well, I'm sure you'll be glad you changed your mind this year, Mister…"
"Buckland. Stan Buckland," he replied sheepishly. "But you can call me Buck."
"Hmm. Buck. I like that," she said, flirtatiously. He dismissed it as part of the pitch. Anything to butter up the client. "We have some beautiful specimens. If you'd like to follow me, maybe I could show you some of the more special varieties."
She took his hand, whispering the last two words in his ear, and all at once he felt as if he couldn't refuse. Suddenly, there wasn't anything he wouldn't do for this woman. She led him a short distance to the office, a wooden hut with Christmas lights hanging from the slanted roof and an open fire burning within.
A single sprig of mistletoe dangled in front of the doorway.
"What," he stammered, his mind hazy. "What did you say your name was?"
She stopped, positioning him under the mistletoe. Her smile was mesmerizing, but there was malice in her emerald eyes. Over her shoulder, he could see the forest stretching out for miles. It was oddly, almost eerily quiet. No laughter, no voice, not even the sound of running. Where were the kids? Timmy, Peter, Elsie?
Eyes wide, he scanned the trees. Nothing but green everywhere. Pine after pine, fir after fir. Where were they? He tried to move, to run after them, to search properly, but her spell was too strong to resist, her allure to great. He stared at her, angry, scared and confused. She was still smiling at him.
"Haven't you figured it out yet?" she cooed. "The name's Pamela. Pamela Isley."
And then he saw them, out of the corner of his eyes. All three of them laid out on the floor, silent and still. Elsie on her own, the two boys together. Were they alive? He couldn't tell what had happened, what was wrong with them. And he couldn't do a thing to help them.
"You might know me better, as Poison Ivy."
When Buck woke, the world had turned upside down. Across from him, his three children dangled helplessly, unconscious. They were tied, as he was, to the trunks of fir trees, their feet wedge between the pine covered branches.
Heavy-headed, Buck struggled to look around. They were deep in the Christmas Forest now, somewhere nobody would hear the screams. And something told him there would be screams.
"Ah, you're awake at last."
"My… my children. What did you do to my children?"
"Me? Nothing. I did something to the trees." Ivy smiled, running a finger along a branch. "I've coated the needles with a special toxin that induces sleep. Once they'd touched the tree with their grubby little hands, it was only a matter of time before they slipped into a deep slumber."
"Don't hurt them, please. Just let them go."
"Oh I will, my dear. Once they've seen what happens to murderers."
It didn't make any sense. Buck's head was groggy, but even so, this woman was talking nonsense. He'd never hurt anyone in his life, much less killed. He wasn't capable of it. Struggling against his bonds, he said as much to Ivy.
"Oh, no, you wouldn't see it that way, would you?" Ivy seethed. "After all, it's just a tree. It doesn't have feelings or thoughts. You heartless fool! You wanted to cut down one of these poor, defenceless trees, just for somewhere to put your presents."
Ivy was dressed in her usual costume now, the green bodice and boots. Her pale skin made her hair look like fire, and her temper burned hot enough to melt the snow. A chainsaw swung ominously from her hands.
"Well, now I'll show you how it feels. It's your turn to be cut down!"
The chainsaw roared into life, like a hungry beast about to feed. Razor-sharp teeth lurched into motion as Ivy smiled with dark erotic pleasure. Hefting the tool high, she advanced, ready to rip into his flesh. There was no question in Buck's mind. She was crazy enough to do it.
""No, please, don't. I'm begging you, don't do this," he pleaded desperately. "I'll get a fake tree. Peter wanted a red tree anyway. And…and I'll plant new trees, out in the yard. Firs and pines. Anything you want, please, just don't kill me!"
"Darling, who said I was going to kill you?" Poison Ivy asked. "I'm only going to cut a little above your roots."
With her silky voice, she almost made it sound appealing. There was something irresistible about her, something that urged him to please her however he could. But his kids kept his brain focused. Bound and gagged and suspended from trees right in front of him, they reminded him what was important.
"There's no need to do this. You've proven your point. Don't rob my children of a father," Buck sobbed. "I'm a good man. I care about the environment. Our household recycles, we conserve energy, we even grow our own vegetables in the yard. I've been looking into solar panels for the roof. Whatever it takes. I'll do anything, I swear. Just let my family go!"
As the mechanical saw moved closer and closer to his exposed throat, Buck gazed longingly at his children. How he wished to hold them, to say goodbye if that was what it came to. He'd give anything to be able to stop Ivy, to save his children. But he wasn't a hero. He was just a factory worker.
His eyes fixed on the saw as the metal teeth prepared to bite into his flesh. Swallowing hard, he mouthed a silent prayer, his lower lip trembling. Only inches away now. His jaw ached from clenching his teeth, holding back the scream.
Suddenly, the saw flew loose.
"You've sewn enough destruction this night, Poison Ivy."
"Batman!" Ivy exclaimed. "Nice pun. The Christmas period always did put you in the pantomime mood. But this time, pumpkin, you don't get to be Prince Charming."
Buck watched in awe as the floral femme fatale raised her hands. In answer, slithering like snakes beneath the black-clad vigilante, ropes of ivy climbed. They wrapped themselves around the Dark Knight's legs holding him in place.
Batman swiped and slashed at the bonds, but they grew too fast, crawling up and around his body, covering his chest, tying his arms, always constricting. Poison Ivy laughed, a cold mirthless laugh. Retrieving the chainsaw, she walked with triumphant poise.
"Don't worry darling," she told Buck. "I haven't forgotten about you."
Casually, she sashayed over to the vigilante, a cruel smile on her lips. Buck watched from behind as she reached out and caressed the side of the cowl, from cheek to chin. Batman's jaw set squarely, seemingly immune to her unnatural charms.
"Now, tall dark and gruesome," Ivy said, the words dripping from her lips like honey. "It's time you were de-limbed."
"Ivy! You know this only ends one way," the dark detective growled.
"Oh, I know. Too bad for you."
"Think about what you're doing Ivy! What do you hope to achieve?"
"I will achieve an end to the slaughter," she shrieked. "The thousands of tree hacked to pieces for decoration. That's what I'm doing, Batman."
"And what do you think will happen to the trees when there's no longer demand for them?"
"What – what do you mean?"
"Think about it, Pamela. There are acres of trees here, with one purpose. Take that purpose away, there's no business. The same thing will be done here as everywhere else: the tree will be cleared, the land repurposed. A mall, new housing, a chemical waste dump."
"No, no. I don't want that."
"No more trees."
"Nooo!"
With the villainess distracted, Batman sprang into action. He sliced through the weeds keeping him immobile and threw a handful of pellets at the eco-freak's feet. An instant later, the capsules exploded, releasing a quick-freezing solution to that encased Ivy in solid ice.
Before Buck could say a word, the hero had freed himself from the remaining greenery and come to his aid. Buck fell to the ground with a thump as the ropes were cut. Groaning, he sat upright and looked up into the grim face of the Batman.
"Here," he grumbled, handing Buck a batarang. "Free your children. I have some grounds keeping to take care of."
Buck glanced at the sharp, bat-shaped metal in his hand. Until today, he had never fully believed the Batman was real. It was a story people told, like the boogie man, or Santa Claus. Maybe, he mused, Santa isn't just a story either.
"Thank y-" he began, looking up. But the Bat was gone.
After a moment longer sitting in wonderment, Buck raced to the trees and hastily untied his children. He had finished releasing the eldest before any of them stirred at all. What a story he had to tell them, he thought.
"Uh- Dad?" Peter mumbled as he woke. The others were waking now too. "What – what happened?"
"It's okay, you just fell asleep for a little while."
Then again, perhaps not.