No one but me knew about the manor house.  The trees that surrounded it made people forget.

People just looked through the rusty iron railings at the corner of the street and thought, “Those are nice trees,” and went about their daily business.

Somehow, I knew about what was beyond the trees. Whether I was immune to the alien telepathic powers of the trees, or whether I’d seen the manor house before the trees had blocked the view, I wasn’t sure. What if there was someone trapped inside the house trying to get out, but couldn’t because of the trees?

I’ve been trying to cut them down for goodness knows how long, so that people would see the manor house and remember. They’ve got tough, thick barks, and there’s so many of them.

I don’t know how long I’ve been working on trying to cut them down, I’ll get through them eventually.