We were out for a walk — well past dark — and came to a little park with a Giant Sequoia tree. The branches were dense, and grew all the way to the ground. Looking up, the top almost faded into the darkened sky, far above the branches that were lit by the lamp post nearby. When the wind blew, it swayed like the skirt on an old metal frame.

Landon said he’d seen other kids climb it before. They were younger than us, he claimed, and made it nearly to the top.

We circled it looking for a gap at ground level and pushed our way inside. Once behind the layer of green needles, it felt more like standing in a tunnel to the sky. The branches spiraled around the tree, so dense that some seemed to grow from the same spot, or in a vertical row with too few inches in between. We climbed on the wet branches, taking care to hold close to the trunk in case we lost our footing. We must have been fifty feet in the air when we stopped — when the branches were too thin to trust with our weight. We were so high in the tree that we could almost reach the outer wall, and could feel the trunk swaying with the breeze. Jasper lit up, and Landon checked his phone while I watched the waves ripple across the branches, exposing patches of the world outside.

A car door closed and three people came into view below, led by a dog on a leash. Jasper let out a cloud and looked at me, gesturing: cupping his hands to his mouth with upward thumbs. Do the bird call, he said, just to mess with them. I laughed and Landon looked up from his phone, either intrigued by the idea or waiting to see if I actually would.

They were right below us when Jasper gestured again. Now, he whispered so they wouldn’t hear. I found a branch to sit on and secured my feet on some others below, then raised my cupped hands to my mouth and began to blow. I opened and closed my left hand repeatedly, sending the pitch wavering. Their dog stopped walking and turned towards the tree, growling in our direction. They didn’t notice in time and the little dog’s neck was yanked by the leash, almost pulling it to the ground. The friends looked back for what the dog was reacting to, but all they saw was a quiet park and a tall, gently swaying tree. They tugged at the leash, and the dog reluctantly followed.

They continued down the dimly lit path that looped around the park. Every time they passed beneath a lamp post, I made the call again — a silly, half assed attempt at invoking a Pavlovian response. It eventually seemed to work for the dog, but I was probably just seeing what I wanted to. Or maybe the dog just came to anticipate the scolding it would get when it turned and slowed in response to my call.

At the last lamp post before the pathway turned, the group stopped again when I made the sound. The frontmost friend in the group turned to scan the park, the leash holder tended to the frightened dog, and the last just stared at us, seeming not to notice anything unusual at all. It must be a chipmunk, one of them said with a kind of effortful confidence. Jasper and I chuckled in nervous excitement, watching it all from high in the tree. Landon no longer had his phone out. Did they really not see any of us? He asked. It’s something I assume we were all wondering. It seemed obvious that they’d be able to — maybe they did and we couldn’t hear them say it. They started around the path again, past the playground and through the dark cluster of trees that lined the fence on the other side.

When they came back around we tested our luck. Jasper and I made the sound together, then traded off in a call and response. Their eyes shot up at us, and we paused for a moment, trying to be still, then when it felt safe, started calling again. They were huddled together, talking about our calls I assume, but it was hard to hear all they were saying. They glanced at one another, then up at the tree and around the park. Their dog stood, shaking, growling with a piercing stare that made the thick outer branches feel like windows. After a minute or so of silence, their dog calmed, and as if that was enough to ease their minds, they continued their walk.

Maybe we should head home, I said. Mom will start to worry soon. We glanced at each other’s shadowed faces, waiting for a consensus to make itself clear. It wasn’t what I wanted either, just something I thought we should probably do. We sat in silence, or anticipation, letting the thought drift from our minds. This was too good to give up on, we all seemed to agree, especially so soon.

They were passing under the lamp posts again when Jasper’s foot slipped off a slick branch. His worn shoes against the soaked bark sent a loud squeak through the park. The friend trailing behind the group froze suddenly. Clearly terrified, he said: Did you hear that? But the others didn’t respond. Did you hear that? He repeated, louder and more desperately. Hear what? They finally asked, and listened in silence. We suppressed our nearly constant giggling, holding still and close to the trunk of the tree. They hesitated this time to start walking again. The friend in the back lingered for a moment longer. He looked towards us with more confusion and concern than I’d ever seen on someone’s face. Then, upon realizing his friends had left him behind, hurried to catch up.

Not a moment after he was with the others again, a blood curdling shriek came from the far cluster of trees. It was a hell of a sound, and it wasn’t clear from our perch whether it came from the trees themselves or the houses on the other side. The group below stood in fear, though we couldn’t see it on their faces. Even the dog was scared into silence. We all looked at each other from our spots in the tree, as if for guidance on how to react. Concern, fear, and uncertainty flashed across our faces, then gave way to excitement.

Now, Landon said. This is perfect, he giggled. I cupped my hands again and called louder than before. This time I kept my palms shut and blew, like an owl, in patterns of three. They frantically scanned their surroundings, like they were expecting something to jump out at them. I kept on calling at regular intervals and Jasper joined in too, with high pitched wavers that gave the impression of manic instability. It was impossible to suppress our laughter. They were being bombarded with strange, unsettling sounds from all sides — and seemingly couldn’t pin down any one source.

In a strange sort of way, I began to feel scared on their behalf. I think we all did, to some extent, imagining how we would reason our way back to sanity if we were in their position. Just the thought of them not knowing where the sound came from made our giggling more contagious.

The friend with the leash was facing our general direction, with a stern face that seemed to suggest she was searching for a logical explanation. Another typed and scrolled on his phone, repeatedly lifting the speaker to his ear. He was probably listening to animal calls, we decided, and giggled some more. It must be coming from that tree, one of them said, pointing in our direction. Or those over there, gesturing to the far trees against the fence.

Another shriek rang, louder than the last, too high pitched and unruly — I decided — to be a full grown human. A video I once saw of a goat screaming with an eerily human-like tone peaked out of my memories. It must be some kind of animal I thought, but I’d be lying if I told you I didn’t consider calling Child Protective Services for a moment. One of the lamp posts flickered, and a short gust of wind sent us swaying again. Almost at once, the three friends held up their phones, switching on their flashlights. Like cops searching the scene for a perp, they waved around their beams of light.

They passed below, further from the tree’s base this time, and shining their light into our eyes. This game was over now, we thought to ourselves, and called wildly again, in one last hurrah. But the confusion never left their faces, as they inched towards the street where they had parked their car.

On the side of the tree that faced the sidewalk was the biggest gap in the tree’s outer wall. We could see them clearly now, with no branches in the way, and the street lights shining on them. Okay, what the actual fuck, Landon said, putting words to what we were thinking. We were staring straight at them, in full view, and they were staring straight back at us, but still they had no clue we were there.

They eventually drop their flashlights and walk towards their car. Jasper does the call again, which two of them seem to ignore, but the third looks up, increasingly unsettled. He leans his head forward, and fear floods his face. Shit! Let’s go! He says to the others, and speeds his way across the street. The others follow, with dog in hand, asking what the hell happened. With enough distance between, and a weary watchman, they huddle on the other side of the road. I try to listen, though I can’t make out any words. Landon must have heard something, because he starts laughing hysterically. One of us should scream, he manages to say through joyful tears. No, I think, maybe we’ve gone far enough, remembering the sound like children being slaughtered, which we still could not explain. But before I get a chance to speak, Jasper expels a bitter shriek into the night.

They sprint towards the car and tear open the doors. We thought that would surely be the end of it — or at least I did — but instead they drove backwards, towards the park again. From the safety of their closed windows, they gaze up at the tree, and then across the open grass. I peer down at the park, to the stand of trees from where the other shrieks came, as if I too am expecting something to happen — for something I know that we did to be explained. Their phone lights scatter across the window, washing out their faces. The park is as quiet as ever, and the scene remains undisturbed. Jasper screams again, but they don’t seem to hear. One by one, their phone lights drop to their laps, and they drive back into the night.

When the sound of their car can no longer be heard, we start making our way down the spiral ladder of branches. Half way down I have an idea. Wait, I say, one of us should stay up here in the tree. I still can’t believe they couldn’t see us. Jasper, who’s shoving his jacket in his pack, says he’ll hang back. Anyway, I still have a few hits left in my joint, he says. Landon and I make our way back to the ground.

To our surprise, everything above where the lamp posts shine is little more than a hazy silhouette. Jasper’s movements sway the tree, but they only seem suspicious when there isn’t a breeze. The lamp posts are blinding when looking up from the ground. We head towards the street, to the side with the large gap, and Jasper tries to make himself visible again. The gap is big enough that we should see all of him. After a moment I think I know which shadow is Jasper, but still my eyes flicker between seeing different shapes and shades, struggling to resolve them in the near absence of light. Even when he waved his arms around, it wasn’t clear exactly what we were looking at. Only that something moved, and that it wasn’t a branch, but something alive, perched high in the tree.

Alright, I hollered up at Jasper, let’s go home. Landon and I leisurely walked the lamp lit path, giving Jasper a chance to catch up.

Oh, what were they talking about in the middle of the street? I asked Landon as we waited. He started chuckling again. Oh yeah! The guy said, ‘I swear on my grandfather’s grave, I saw orange eyes!’

What the hell? I laughed in confusion. Do you think they could have been seeing the red straps on Jasper’s backpack or something?

We stopped under the last lamp post and looked back at the tree, somewhat impatiently. I was exhausted, and now that we were standing still, my eyes had a hard time staying open. I press my knuckles to my eyelids, trying to rub out the sleep.

I don’t know man. I think we just spooked that guy so much that his brain started seeing things.

I let out a chuckle and looked, slightly irritated now, up at the tree. Jasper! I yelled. Hurry up!

A chilled breeze blew across the grass. I checked my phone: it had just passed midnight.

You good dude? Landon called to him. We waited, but there was no answer.

I bet he’s just trying to mess with us now, I said. Let’s just go, he’ll come down if he thinks we’re gone.

Landon stares at the bottom branches for a moment longer, then reluctantly follows.

Just as we step off the opposite curb, we hear a pattering from behind us. We turn around in time to see a vertical row of branches bouncing back into place. The bottom of the tree starts to rustle, and a couple branches are slowly parted.

A dark wrinkled head peaks hesitantly out of the tree. That child-like shriek fills the air again. Trailing behind, it’s lanky frame crawls out on all fours. Its skin is pitch black and glistens in the lamp light, as if made from sopping wet clumps of leather.

After a few false starts, it gallops awkwardly across the grass, towards the cluster of trees on the other side. It’s front limbs are shorter than its hind, sending its back end waving through the air. I stare in awe, not sure whether to believe what I’m seeing.

Landon looks back frantically at the tree for any sign of Jasper, then calls his name again. The creature stops in the middle of the grass, and turns to us suddenly, with a long twisted neck and wildly shaking knees. Its eyes are set in two sunken pits, and glow a deep dim orange. The screams return, with more voices now, like a family of monkeys warning of danger.

Run! I scream, and grab Landon’s arm, who resists, still waiting for Jasper to appear. The creature flinches and starts running again, but I don’t wait around to see in which direction. We sprint across the street and I don’t look back. A car horn blares as it speeds past in a near miss.

From the other side I look back across the road for what I fear has followed us, but the creature is nowhere to be seen. The little park sits seemingly undisturbed, the playground doesn’t so much as creak, and the tree sways quietly in the breeze.