Donna Jo and Franny, both clad in tan pantyhose, their long blonde hair flowing behind them, ran out the front door and down the front steps onto the grounds in front of the swamp witch's house.

"I sure am glad to be out of that place," Donna Jo said, looking back at the wood frame house of horrors.

"We're out of there, but not out of trouble," Franny reminded her fellow model. "To coin a phrase, 'we have got to find some wheels.'" Franny took a long look around the grounds. There was the path leading to the parking area, where their van had sunk in quicksand. The path was surrounded by thick woods and swampland. There was no garage, but there was a large rundown shed about 50 yards from the front of the house. That appeared to be their only hope.

"Look, Franny," Donna Jo's stockinged feet lightly stepped further into the lawn. The very fit blonde knelt down, her firm breasts touching her nylon sheathed knees, and pushed some grass aside. "It's some kind of tracks."

Franny joined her, and sure enough, there were two rows of tread marks. As they looked closer, they saw that the tracks led in one direction to the old shed. But the tracks also led to the back of the house and what appeared to be some kind of garden in the back of the house. "It looks like it was made by some kind of small tractor, or one of those all-terrain vehicles. Not really big enough for all of us."

"But a couple of us could ride it out of here and get help," Donna Jo offered, secretly hoping the 'couple of us' would include her.

Franny looked both ways once more. "It's probably in the shed, but it might be left in the garden. We don't have enough time to choose the wrong one together."

"Well, I don't like the looks of that shed. It looks like something out of 'Texas Chainsaw Massacre,'" Donna Jo said worriedly.

"Since you put it that way, I guess I'll take the shed, and you take the garden."

"Thanks, Franny." Donna Jo started off, then turned back. "Be careful, it really does look creepy. Yell if you need help. Or run."

"I think I'll reverse those. Good luck." And the two models headed in opposite directions.

Donna Jo's long lovely legs took her around the side of the house, past a group of tall and unusual looking plants, bunched near a wall at the base of an ivy-covered trellis. As Donna Jo passed, the ivy at the bottom started to snake in her direction, but reversed itself when it heard the window above it open, and felt a nylon foot step onto the trellis trap.

The blonde model felt a little guilty about taking the safer course, and hoped that her friend was not heading into some horrific trap. She decided to walk faster, quickly find where the tracks ended, and either retrieve some vehicle, or hurry back to Franny at the shed. She would not linger in any safe garden while her friends were in danger.

The tracks led the beautiful young woman behind, and then beyond, the swamp witch's house. Donna Jo's gaze was so focused on the muddy grooves the vehicle had imprinted on the ground, that she missed the sights found behind the witch's abode: the slime covered pond, into which creatures with clawed feet, scaly skin, but female breasts and human faces silently slid to hide their transformed appearance; the exquisite statues that dotted the back yard, with uncannily accurate details like stone robes and sandals, and bronze bras and heels; and there was the unusual fauna - shrubbery in human form, bushes whose berries resembled fingers and toes, and pussy willows whose shapes were an accurate, if not traditional, rendering of the flower's name.

Her focus was so intent, she nearly ran into a wooden gate far from the back of the house. The tracks continued inside the enclosure, and Donna Jo lifted the latch and entered. She briefly noted that she was in some kind of small orchard, surrounded by fruit trees, but what was of greater interest was what lie ahead, at the back of the enclosure. There, in an empty space between two of the fruit trees, was where the tracks ended. And at the end of the tracks, was an all terrain vehicle, with a small wagon attached to the back.

The young woman ran to the vehicle, and was delighted to see that there was a key in the ignition. She planted her hose covered bum in the wide seat, turned the key, and the engine came to life. She couldn't contain the "Yahoo!" that sprung from her lips, as she put the vehicle in gear and pressed on the gas. The vehicle lurched forward for a few feet, and then hung back. Donna Jo tried another gear, but it only rocked forward and back for a foot or so. She looked behind her, and discovered the problem. The small trailer was stuck in some mud.

The blonde quickly set the brake, and jumped out to free the trailer. She hated the squishy feel of the mud that seeped over her stockinged feet, but figured she could always buy a new pair of pantyhose, once she was away from this horrible place. Despite its small size, the trailer was very heavy to push, especially since Donna Jo could gain no traction. The trailer was filled with fruit - some kind of melon - so the voluptuous model figured if she emptied it, she could simply lift the empty trailer out of the mud.

But as the attractive model began setting the melons out of the cart, she couldn't help but feel that there was some sort of unusual resemblance. Each melon was well-rounded, and each was a slightly different shade of brown, some dark and some very light. Donna Jo prided herself on her healthy diet, and she ate all kinds of fruit. But she had never seen any fruit quite like this. And yet, she had seen something exactly like this.

Still puzzled, Donna Jo picked up another of the melons to set aside, and happened to turn this one over. There on the bottom end of the light brown melon was a small and round dark shaded area, with a . . . well, what . . . in the middle of that area. A seed? A bud? Part of the vine? What it really reminded Donna Jo of was a . . . .

The model gasped, and dropped the melon. Unlike the ones she had set aside on the soft ground, this one hit the hard side of the trailer. And when it did, Donna Jo saw a thin white liquid begin to squirt out of the melon. Out of that small appendage that Donna Jo realized looked exactly like a nipple.

"No, no . . . it can't be," the young woman groaned in horror, and then began to look around her at the trees in the orchard. As a whole, it looked like several small fruit trees, but as she looked at each one individually, they took on another familiar shape. That of a human female. She eventually turned to the nearest tree, hoping this was just an optical illusion. There was a dark brown trunk going into the ground, but there were two knots in the lower part, just about where the knees would be on a pair of legs. And just above that there was a long indentation, as if two separate things had merged into one. The middle of the tree also had a familiar look, along with some greenish moss strategically located in a very familiar place. Donna Jo kept looking up the bark of the tree, until she saw the area just up from the middle, where the melons had come from. This tree had recently had its melons picked, but small melons were already starting to grow to replace them.

Donna Jo moved her glance to either side of the tree, where one thick branch came from the trunk, with several smaller branches radiating out. That was normal for a tree, Donna Jo thought, but there was still something finger-like about the tips of each of the thick branches. But then Donna Jo looked at the top of the tree. The exact same shade of moss as in the tree's middle crowned the top of the trunk. And just beneath the moss, if one used a lot of imagination and fear, the markings of the trunk seemed to resemble a human face: two rounded curves for eyes; a small knot for a nose; and horizontal lines that appeared to be a mouth.

"No." Donna Jo announced out loud. "It's just my imagination. It's not possible for a woman to become a tree." She tried to convince herself, and get back to work freeing up the trailer. And it almost worked.

Until the two eye-like curves opened. And the horizontal mouth line opened. And the tree said, "You shouldn't have said, 'it's not possible . . . .'"

First Donna Jo screamed. Then she tried to lift her feet out of the mud, but instead of coming out, they seemed to seep deeper in. In fact, it felt like each of her toes burst through its nylon webbing and shot into the ground.

The luscious blonde put both hands behind her right knee, and pulled as hard as she could without losing her balance. She was able to extricate her right foot at least partially from the mud, but it still wouldn't come loose. But the model screamed again when she saw that each lovely toe had elongated, split its nylon sheath, and reached deeper into the mud, just like . . .

. . . roots! Donna Jo screamed once more, this time yelling Franny's name. The shed seemed so far away, her blonde friend could probably not hear her. Or, worse yet, maybe Franny had found something even worse in the dilapidated barn. But, what could be worse than taking root in this garden of evil. Becoming yet another of these female trees whose breasts turned to melons.

As her tears began to fall, the blonde model realized that pity would do her no good. She had to get out of this mud before it was too late. She reached down to lift her lower leg, but this time she noticed something different. The tan fabric of the pantyhose covering her shin had changed. It was a little darker, and its texture was rougher, and harder. Her pantyhosed legs were turning to bark!

"Oh, no! Please, no!" she cried, but the transforming nylon was slowly moving up her leg. She also noticed that when she bent down to touch her leg another time, the movement in her arms was stiffer. "Help me!" she cried out, but she felt her breath getting shallower. As her struggles lessenend, and the bark moved beyond her knees, Donna Jo felt her nyloned thighs move together, and stick. Actually, they weren't just sticking together. They were fusing together, into one, as her lower legs had already done. As she slowly bent her head to look down, she saw that instead of two pantyhosed legs stuck in the mud, there was now just a single wooden trunk buried in rich loamy soil. And as her glance lifted, Donna Jo saw the change coming over her ample breasts. They were becoming smoother, changing shade from a tanned pale brown to a light green. Her nipples were still erect and dark brown, but the model could tell they were now more plant that human.

As the bark moved over her shoulders and out her arms, her human limbs were lifted and extended as they began the transition into melon tree limbs. A slight turn of her head enabled Donna Jo to see them change, and to see an old woman cresting the slight hill and walking toward her. It was the swamp witch.

"So that's where I left my little tractor," she said as she walked up to the transforming Donna Jo. The witch bent over to rub her hands slowly up Donna Jo's trunk, lingering a few seconds at the yellowish moss that had once been the model's pubic hair, and had now pushed through the pantyhose and the bark. Even with her change, the witch's caress sent shock waves of pleasure to Donna Jo's still human brain and pleasure centers.

"Oh, yes, you're a wonderful addition to my little orchard," the witch said in a pleased tone. The pleasure continued as the witch rubbed and fondled the melons that were once Donna Jo's lovely breasts. "My, my, these are almost ready to be picked. But you were a very well endowed young woman, weren't you?"

Donna Jo was afraid the witch was going to pull the melons off, but instead she reached down and picked up two of the melons still in the cart. "Don't fret just yet, my lovely. They'll be ready for my table in a day or two, but I never like to pick melons so close to transformation. Still too much of a human taste, if you know what I mean."

By now, Donna Jo's arms and hands were completely transformed into tree limbs. And the model felt her face beginning to harden and reshape, and then her blonde hair becoming wet and clumpy. "If doesn't rain tonight, I'll set the sprinkler on you in the morning. You should be plenty thirsty by then. And I imagine those melons of yours are going to be feeling pretty heavy and uncomfortable soon. You'll be glad when I pick 'em."

Donna Jo started to speak, either a last plea for help or a last curse of damnation, but she had not yet adjusted to her mouth becoming a wide wooden slit across her tree face, so all that came out was a low groan.

"Welcome to your new home, my beauty," the witch cackled. "Now, I've got to get these melons down to the house. Gonna back me some milk melon pie - and probably another goody or two." This time she laughed out loud, and then headed out of the orchard, leaving her newest milk melon tree to sway gently in the breeze.