He walked through the dying yellow field. Everything was hazy, looking back he would hardly remember anything. Except the tree. It was an old hickory tree that twisted up, as if climbing up from some dark pit. Its leaves were blood red, even though it was summer. But it was the feeling it gave him, that is why he remembered it. There’s something wrong with that tree, he thought, it’s unholy, it shouldn’t exist. He felt something creeping behind him, but saw nothing. Then a ghastly snarl pulled him from his sleep.

Benjamin did not care for funerals; he never liked to think about death, or even worse, what comes after. Unfortunately, since President Jackson was there, so was he. That was the life of a Presidential Guard. Even though he would have taken a bullet for him, Jackson had always given Benjamin the creeps. He could never shake the feeling that Jackson was staring into his soul. And he had a voice that cut through the mind, warning you of some danger you could not see.

After the funeral, Jackson’s guards marched behind the clunk of his cane. Never would anyone suggest that the guards should have led, it would have felt wrong somehow. Jackson led the way through the winding streets of Washington before halting, as if waiting for something to happen. Then Benjamin bolted as a man appeared from around the corner and aimed a gun at his boss.

Everyone in the Presidential Guard took off, rushing to get between the assassin and the President, but they knew the assassin would be able to fire at least once before they got there. And the president was running too. He ran like he was leading a Cavalry charge by foot, going towards his enemy instead of away as one might expect. Benjamin’s memory was hazy about what happened next; he would not remember either gun misfiring. He would remember finally catching up to the president only to discover he was not the one who needed to be saved. It was a savage scene, with Jackson, holding the fire of hell in his eyes, hammering at the would-be assassin with his heavy cane.

Maybe Benjamin felt pity for the assassin. Or maybe for a second he saw the true Andrew Jackson, and felt he needed to stop it. Either way he grabbed at his bosses arm in an attempt to pull him away. The next thing he felt was a blinding pain in his left arm. The president had dropped the club and, in a violent frenzy, lashed out at his guard, scratching through his uniform and cutting four, deep gashes.

The wound hurt. It did not heal and instead festered, blackening the skin around it and searing with pain when touched. It took hours for Benjamin to reach a restless sleep that night; and when he did, he dreamt again of the old tree. Only this time there were faceless bodies swinging from the branches.

The next day he interrogated the would be assassin. But he came out with more questions than answers. The man seemed insane, he had been insistent that the President had the devil inside of him. Logically, Benjamin knew that was insane, but the words stuck with him. He obsessed over them for no apparent reason. No matter how much he tried to put the thought behind him, he failed. It was like he had opened some forgotten doorway in his head. His mind was numb and he felt like he was piloting a corpse rather than walking. He made it to the Oval Office, but he did not know why. Looking over at the desk he saw Andrew Jackson, except he had changed. He was thinner than before, as if almost starved to death. His hands were long and his fingernails looked more like claws. But it was his eyes that made the difference. They were red, catlike eyes that pierced the soul.

“I heard you visited my assassin earlier today,” his voice was raspier and otherworldly.

“Yes Mr. President, I wanted to get something out of him before he’s sent to the gallows”

“Did you learn anything of importance?”

“Nothing of any real interest sir.”

“Of course not, if they were willing to do this than they would’ve paid for someone who knows to shut up.”

“Who?”

“The Whigs of course, who else would want me dead?”

“Of course,” He felt too sick to give any real answers.

“You’re the one I got on the arm aren’t you?”

“Yes sir, but it’s fine now sir.”

“Nonsense, I can see your bandages. Come now let me see.” Benjamin felt his body move without command. He extended his arm to the President, who grabbed it in a vice grip.

“I apologize, my boy, I was caught in the moment” He suddenly pulled Benjamin close, staring him in the eyes before letting him go. “You’d better go home, let the wound heal. Let your mind forget what it saw”

Benjamin fell asleep as soon as he got home, even though it was still early in the afternoon. But he didn’t dream of the old tree.

He was walking through the halls of a building. He was following the clunk of the President’s cane. He wondered where he was, it wasn’t the White House, but it certainly held the same style. Eventually he realized that it was the Capitol Building. The cane pierced the emptiness of the halls. He was led to a small circular room, a black, silent room. Hot breath burned the back of his neck as he heard that ghastly snarl again, and then experienced nothing except the taste of blood and ash as the room exploded.

Now he sat, his body aching, underneath the old hickory. Fire had consumed the field leaving only ashes. Around him hung the bodies of the victims, of everyone who fell prey to the old hickory.