The town of Yamabatake had been thriving on the back of the lumber industry. Their woods were renowned for their unique red tint, found only in the forest adjacent to the town. High prices were paid for this timber, despite strange tales shared among young workers about how the trees sometimes screamed when cut down.

   “IT HURTS! NO!”

   “Not my wife, PLEASE!”

   “MY CHILD! MY CHILD!”

   Of course, these strange rumors were often snuffed out by senior staff. Young people were talking nonsense, they said.

   Then, a company arrived with an offer to pay double for a large quantity of wood. Despite the law prohibiting the cutting of more than three percent of the forest per year, the temptation proved too great, and the townspeople began excessive logging. Within a year, the forest that had existed for two centuries was gone.

   And that was when the strangest thing occurred. People began to walk toward the old forest area, as if some force had taken control of their minds.

   First, the elderly went with their families, then parents with their children. Friends accompanied friends, and lovers went with lovers. Once they found suitable spots, they stood still until roots emerged and held them firmly to the earth.

   A month passed. A government inspector arrived for a routine check on the lumber operation. To his astonishment, the town had already been emptied.

   He discovered that the forest, however, still retained some greenery. Some trees appeared ready for cutting, while most were still poles needing decades to mature. Saplings were sprouting here and there, and if left alone, in a hundred or two hundred years, this area would become a forest once more.