The Treehouse Secret

When I opened my eyes, the world felt smaller, different. My reflection wasn’t my own—I was a boy, pale-skinned, no more than ten or twelve years old, though I barely looked eight. The treehouse around me groaned under its own weight, a mess of rickety planks, mismatched cushions, and fading memories of its better days. My older brother, fifteen but worn beyond his years, lay beside me on the lumpy makeshift bed. We called this place home, an abandoned fortress hidden just outside of town.

The treehouse had two rooms: the bigger one in the back where we slept, and a smaller one up front with cushions that served as our “living room.” In winter, we’d slap cardboard over the open window holes to fight the drafts, but the gaps between the wooden planks ensured it was never quite warm. Today, spring or summer must have arrived—no cardboard covered the windows, and the air was alive with faint birdsong.

My brother was talking, his voice full of life as he spoke of a girl he was infatuated with—a wealthy older girl, maybe nineteen or twenty. She was, in his words, our ticket out of poverty. He was sure she’d change everything. His age was a lie, a story he’d been telling for years to land jobs and protect us. He always looked older than he was, which helped him pull it off.

“She doesn’t know about you yet,” he admitted, brushing a lock of hair from his face, “but I’ll tell her. When the time’s right. You want this too, don’t you?”

I nodded, twice. It was instinctive, a silent pact.

His words turned quiet, heavy with something unspoken. He spoke of his fears—her finding out the truth, how he’d do anything to make her love him. His voice was steady, almost rehearsed, when he asked for my help in practicing, to pretend I was her so when he spoke to her he sounded confident. I didn’t fully understand, but I nodded again. It seemed like the right thing to do.

When his voice finally quieted and his breath evened out into sleep, I lay awake. The treehouse felt too small, too suffocating. Hours passed before something caught my eye—a pale, bluish light filtering through the gaps in the wall.

I turned to face the source of the glow and froze. In the smaller room, beyond the planks, stood a woman. She was radiant—a small black woman with short curls framing a face that seemed both kind and commanding. Her slim but well-defined arms gleamed under the faint, otherworldly light that hovered beside her, shimmering softly. Her entire form seemed to glow with a warm, golden hue, as though she carried the essence of sunlight within her. I knew she was magic—there was no other explanation.

Carefully, I slipped out of bed, moving my brother’s arm from around me. I crawled through the gap in the wall, past the trash bin we used for scraps, and stood before her. She didn’t waste words.

“There’s something I need you to do,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “It must be done before dawn. If you return in time, your brother will never know you were gone.”

I nodded. No questions, no hesitation. With a blink of light, we vanished.

---

I don’t remember the task she gave me—only that it was done (if you want to know the other dream I had that night, click here). When I returned, I found her sitting in a different small room, on a couch that didn’t belong in our world. To our left, the same battered wall that divided our two treehouse rooms stood, but everything else was different. I had no doubt she’d merged spaces with her magic.

“It’s time for you to go back,” she said. She gestured to a dryer, of all things, sitting in the corner. “Climb in. When it spins, it will take you home. You’ll step out of the trash bin as though you never left.”

I didn’t move. The idea of returning to that filthy, crumbling treehouse made my chest ache. She was clean and kind, her presence warm and safe in a way I hadn’t felt in years.

“Will I see you again?” I asked, my voice trembling. It was the first time I’d spoken aloud in her presence.

Her eyes softened, but she didn’t lie. “Unlikely,” she said. “But you must go. The sun is rising.”

Reluctantly, I climbed into the dryer. As it spun, the world blurred, light and sound twisting together until I tumbled out, back into our treehouse, through the same small trash bin.

---

Walking back to the bed, the squalor of our life hit me. Bags from convenience store snacks littered the floor. Our few clothes were scattered everywhere, sticky with grime. Dirt clung to every surface. A folded metal chair sat absurdly at the foot of our bed.

I stood there, the dawn’s orange light spilling through the cracks in the walls, and thought, We can do better than this. Maybe we couldn’t change everything, but we could at least keep this place clean, make it ours until we found a way out.

Resolute, I decided I’d clean later in the day while my brother was gone. But as I moved to lie back down, he stirred, his hand gripping my side tightly.

“Did you go somewhere?” he rasped, his voice groggy with sleep.

“No,” I whispered, slipping under the blanket.

His hand stayed there, heavy and questioning, but eventually, he drifted back to sleep. I stared at the ceiling, thoughts of the glowing woman lingering in my mind, her magic still a faint whisper in the quiet morning.