A young woman take a familiar drive into the desert. The sudden appearance of an apple orchard lures her into discovering more than she could imagine. (6 minute read)
She placed a hand on the faux soup can in her cup holder. A small bundle of hundred-dollar bills sat nestled behind a deceitful label of minestrone. Her paranoia about the banking system had escalated since they finally caught her uncle in that Ponzi scheme. But Gretta wasn’t the same breed of stooge as the rest of her family. She knew how to keep her assets safe from coercion and electronic piracy.
Rocks crunched under the tires as she climbed the dirt road branch past a 20-foot-wide marshy pond. Dense clusters of tall grasses choked out most of the water’s view. It was one of a half dozen pools scattered throughout Simpson Springs. This place had once been a relay point for the Pony Express over 150 years ago. Now it was nothing more than a murky waterhole for the herds of wild mustangs roaming the deserts around Dugway, Utah.
The dusty hill flattened and Gretta veered a little more to the left. She slowed her jeep as the trail dipped toward the nearby gully. With a final lurch, she brought the vehicle to a stop. She shot a glance into her rearview mirror to assure the road behind her was out of sight. Fishing into the backseat, she pulled out a small hand trowel.
With closed eyes, she mentally retraced her steps from last year. She had only repeated this annual pilgrimage a handful of times, but it still taxed her soul. Each visit came with the worry that someone had discovered her hiding place.
“One day,” she reminded herself. “One day I’ll have enough saved up and I can start a whole new existence.”
A hint of red caught her eye when she finally looked forward. The sight before her so greatly defied logic that she had to close her eyes and shake the vision from her head. Somehow, a second glance afforded the same view: the green, leafy top of a tree boasting dozens of red apples stood in the gully.
Gretta glanced right and left. Surely, she had crossed into a portal and transported to another land. It was the only thing that made more sense than an apple tree surviving out here in the desert of western Utah. In all her years of coming to Simpson Springs, she had seen nothing larger than the occasional scrub oak.
She eased the door open and peered beyond the hood of the jeep. The apple tree’s canopy waved lazily in the occasional dry breeze.
Heat flushed into her cheeks. Had someone else been making trips out to this isolated spot? She tucked the faux soup can under the passenger seat. After a few nervous taps on the handle of the trowel, she slipped out of the driver’s seat.
Parched dirt crunched beneath her hiking boots. She left the jeep door open as she took a few hesitant steps closer to the rim of the gully. Glancing back and forth revealed dozens more apple trees. She blanched. What kind of person hauled apple trees into the middle of a desert? There wasn’t nearly enough water in the nearby spring to support this many trees.
The steep wall of the gully held the typical patches of grass and anthills from her previous visits. She dug her boots in sideways as she picked her way down. The nearest tree stood barely taller than her. She reached out and plucked one apple, daring herself to believe this oddity existed.
A distant whinny pricked at her ears. Gretta looked around, yet no mustang had wandered down into the area. Only arid dirt and apple trees for as far as the limited view of the valley floor allowed. Another whinny. She pivoted again and again. The horse sounded as though it were just to her right, no matter which way she turned.
A lump formed in Gretta’s throat. She fixed her eyes on the fruit in her hand. Was the sound coming from the apple itself?
The instant her mind registered the question, her stomach clenched with need. Unnatural hunger swelled within. Had she even consumed a single bite in the past four days? She must have, but her soul could not remember. Her insides demanded the apple as if it were breath itself.
Before she even realized what she was doing, she clamped the apple between her teeth. The motions blurred into a single action as she devoured the entire thing in seconds. Not even the stem remained.
“Wh-what… What just happened?” Gretta placed a shaky hand on her belly.
A dull ache throbbed along her throat and jaw from the burst of ravenous chewing.
A gravelly, sinister voice called out to her. “Enjoy.”
Tension sprang along her shoulders. She turned to find what appeared to be a man standing several yards away. His oversized jacket hung like a robe about him, with a floppy hat obscuring most of his face. His faded image caused her to see right through him. But how?
“This isn’t happening.” Gretta took a step back.
The ghostly form drifted forward.
“This cannot be happening. I fell asleep in the jeep… I’m… I’m dreaming.”
“Do you feel it?” The ghost’s voice hammered into her ears with tangible heat and pressure. “The apple seeds grow quickly.”
Hot trickles began to writhe through Gretta’s stomach. Their piercing trails pushed outward like a dam about to burst. She doubled over.
“Apples don’t like being eaten.” The ghost drifted closer still. “Now it is their turn to consume you.”
Words strangled in her closing throat. She dropped the hand trowel as she clawed at her neck to regain breath.
Red bursts of light flashed behind Gretta’s eyes. The inner piercing threads worked their way down her legs, drilling her toes into the soles of her boots. More fire swirled and raged along her arms. Joints popped out of socket as her body stretched upward, beyond its intended dimensions. Pain flared into every facet of her mind, body, and soul.
Then she heard it. Ethereal shrieks of the trees crying out around her. People and horses who, like her, were lured into eating an apple down past its core.
“They used to call me Johnny.” The ghost’s voice slammed through the agony. “I planted thousands of apple seeds to feed the many. And now, it’s the apple’s turn to feed.”
Pain sprouted anew as her skin thickened and morphed into bark. Branches ripped outward and extended beyond her ability to feel any more pain. A spattering of fruit swelled among newly sprouted leaves. Clods of dirt bubbled upward from the burrowing roots anchoring into the arid soil.
Through a clouded haze, Gretta sensed the ghost drifting up to the crest of the gully. She felt the vibration in her roots as the ground opened to swallow her jeep. Then silence. Horrible, abandoning silence as he gave her a tip of his hat and drifted back among the orchard of paralyzed trees.
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