It Looked Like Wet Noodles on a Tree. The Truth Made My Blood Run Cold

After the storm passed, I stepped into the yard and noticed something strange clinging to the bark of our old pine. Thin, orange ribbons draped down the trunk, slick with rain. I brushed it off in my mind as trash blown in by the wind—until I saw them quiver. Not from the breeze, but on their own. Days later, the smell of rot seeped through the yard. Birds stopped coming. Even my dog refused to go near the pines, whining whenever I tugged him close. And then, one night, I pulled back the curtain and saw the orange tendrils stretching—reaching from branch to branch, weaving the trees together, as if something alive was trying to…

It started after a stormy night, the kind where the trees moan against the wind and the gutters overflow with black water. The next morning, I walked the yard and noticed it—bright orange ribbons clinging to the bark of our old pine like something half-melted, half-alive.

At first, I thought it was trash. Strips of wet plastic, maybe. But when I leaned closer, I saw them quiver. Not from the breeze—on their own.

I stepped back. Something in me whispered: Don’t touch it.

By nightfall, the growth had doubled.