There was an old stump in my home town, not far from the house I did most of my growing up in, that they called The Witch's Tree. The stump was the stuff of local legend, and the legends were pretty colorful... the stump was supposed to be what remained of a tree that had been used for various Satanic rituals back in the day, and everything short of the H-bomb had failed to remove the damn thing from the field it sat in.
The reference librarian in my home town is a good friend of mine, and he's been looking for The Witch's Tree to take a photo for posterity's sake, since we figured it wasn't likely to last forever. He dragged a friend of ours who'd been out to see it before into the caper today. Alas, The Witch's Tree is no more. They burned it out a few years ago, it would seem.
Stories about the stump were a staple of my teen years. I feel somehow simultaneously relieved and saddened.
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