Wells Penn

Liora Decaine glanced down at the letter in her hand, received unexpectedly from her Great Aunt Delilah’s lawyer. Delilah had been committed to Saint Margaret’s Home for Liora’s entire life, and with no other family left, her passing had placed Delilah’s property squarely on Liora’s shoulders.

The house had been left to be consumed slowly by time and the elements. It sagged into the earth in front of her. The stairs leading up to the porch were cracked and splintered, nails jutting out from the sides. Shingles were missing, moss crept up the crumbling chimney. She couldn’t see through the first-floor windows beneath the layers of grime, and the second-story windows had shattered long ago.

Liora lived not thirty minutes away, in the village center, and had passed the house hundreds of times—never quite noticing it was there. It blended into the trees and was set back from the road. She had been unaware, all those times, that this house would one day belong to her.

Liora folded the letter and placed it back in her purse. She walked up the steps onto the porch, the wood bowing and creaking, and pushed through the front door.

The smell hit her first—mildew, mouse droppings, dust, and decay. Old furniture lay beneath yellowing sheets. Looking beyond, the kitchen had no fridge or oven, stripped of all value long ago. Dust, disturbed by her intrusion, floated lazily, highlighted by the slivers of light that crept through the cracks in the windows. She took a photo for reference, intending to sell the property as quickly as possible. Her eyes lifted toward the stairs, where old boxes were stacked tall, some with mouse holes and most sagging from the damp, musty air.

Liora wove through the room and headed toward the back door. She was turning around to take a picture from a new angle when something outside caught her eye. A flash of red in the distance broke up the brown and gray of the decaying house.

She stepped outside onto the brittle grass. Through the brush, she could now see a small orchard.

Liora considered the value an orchard might add to the property and hiked toward the clearing. As she approached, she counted a dozen or so trees, each heavy with large, shiny red apples. Odd, she thought, because the trees themselves looked ancient. Their bark peeled and blackened, branches bent like broken bones that had snapped and healed wrong. Knots and holes littered the trunks, roots jutting up in strange, twisted patterns.

Her stomach growled. As she stood in the fading light, the dark trees looming just beyond the clearing, she thought an apple would make a fine snack. She reached up, twisted one free, and polished it against her sweater. As it neared her lips, she caught her reflection in its glossy red skin.

With a crunch, she bit in.

The sweetest juice coated her tongue. But as she swallowed, the darkness around the trees expanded, clouding her vision. Soon she could see nothing. She blinked furiously, terrified by the sudden loss of sight. The apple slipped from her hand as she dropped to her knees, her mind swimming.

And suddenly—clarity. Clear as day. But she was not seeing through her own eyes.

She saw herself sleeping peacefully in her bed, as a hand—moving slowly so as not to wake her—pulled open her desk drawer back in her old dorm room. The hand darted in and out, clasping her precious necklace, the only heirloom she had after her mother’s death. The hand plunged back into a pocket. Then she was walking down a short hallway into what she knew to be her college friend Ella’s room. She looked into the mirror and saw Ella looking back at her.

The vision shattered. Liora lay gasping in the orchard, staring at the sky. Rage burned in her chest. She stormed back to her car, forgetting her original purpose, and drove straight to Ella’s house.

BANG. BANG. BANG.
“Ella, you better open this door!” she shouted, pounding with all her strength.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
“Now!”

“I’m coming, calm down!” Ella’s voice rang out.

Ella opened the door, but before she could speak, Liora shoved past and stormed upstairs.
“Liora, calm down! What’s going on?”

Liora ignored her, charging straight into Ella’s bedroom. She yanked open the floral-carved wooden jewelry box by the bed—its brass hinges screeching—and there it was. Her necklace. She grabbed it and held it high in accusation.

Ella’s face went scarlet. “I can explain, I just didn’t have an—”

But Liora brushed past her, no desire to hear any excuses. Ella chased after her, desperate to make amends, but Liora wouldn’t have it. She stomped out the front door, climbed into her car, and drove away.

Ella had always been the type to draw people in. Throughout college, she was the one to make friends. She was the one to get the boys. She was smart and pretty and had everything going for her. After college, they had drifted, but always stayed in touch, living in the same town. This betrayal hurt.

That night, Liora woke with a gasp, bolting upright. Panting, she scanned the familiar walls of her apartment, safe and sound. Slowly, she remembered. The orchard. The apple. The vision. Not a dream—but a memory. A deep shame. And not her own.

Then she remembered the look on Ella’s face as she realized she had been caught. The shock that crossed her face, and the regret seeping from her hazel eyes. Liora almost regretted how she had reacted. But something about holding that secret, about exposing the lie, felt powerful. Addictive.

With the memory of whatever friendship they had shared, Liora picked up her phone and dialed Ella’s number.

“Oh my god. Hello? I’ve been up all night,” Ella’s familiar, musical voice—now laced with guilt—came through the phone.

“Why?”

“I… I don’t know why. I was young and jealous. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever done. I swear,” Ella replied.

“That’s it?” Liora probed.

“That’s it. I was annoyed because Chris was interested in you, and I wanted to take something from you like I thought you were taking from me,” Ella’s voice pleaded quietly.

“Chris never liked me. He was in love with you,” Liora snapped back.

“Well, there was that one time he gave you a hug…” Ella said timidly, trailing off.

“The anniversary of my mother’s death? God, how selfish can you be?” Liora said, filling with rage once again.

“Lolo, trust me, I didn’t ever want you to find out; I just wanted…” Ella was cut off as Liora hung up and threw her phone across the room.

She couldn’t trust Ella. She had done something unforgivable, no matter what words she used to try to make up for it. Liora had seen Ella that morning.

And she had to see more.

The following morning, Liora found herself back behind the old, dilapidated house, walking by each tree, the grass brown and dead beneath her feet, trying to make sense of what had happened. Soon the temptation was too great. She reached up, plucked the largest apple she could reach, and bit.

Once again, her vision darkened. She collapsed, nausea and dizziness sweeping through her as though she were adrift in a storm. Slowly, the sickness passed, and her vision cleared.

She looked down and recognized Ella’s hands. She was tangled in the sheets with a man who wasn’t her husband, Chris. As they disentangled, Liora caught the calendar pinned to the wall: the memory was from just a week ago. Ella dressed quickly, then fished a second phone from her purse. She typed a message to Chris: My meeting’s almost done. I’ll be home soon.

The orchard snapped back around her, and fury consumed her. She wanted Ella to pay. Without hesitation, she pulled out her own phone and sent Chris a message:
Check your wife’s work phone. You’ll be interested to know the kind of person she works under.

Satisfied, Liora drove home. That night, she slept soundly, without regret. Serves her right, she thought.

From then on, she spent her days in the orchard, consuming as much as she could bear. One apple after another, one secret after the next. Cheating, stealing, lying, hurting. Shame after shame, secret after secret. Each new apple revealed layers to Ella that she had never seen.

And she began to crave the power they gave her.

One night, she woke up in a sweat. Just past two a.m., but something was wrong. Her stomach roiled, her mouth filled with the bitter taste of ash and apples. She grabbed a pocket knife, bolted from her apartment, and sped to the orchard.

As she approached, she could see clearly what had happened. Flames devoured it. The trees writhed in fire, their branches collapsing in showers of sparks. Liora leapt from her car, heart pounding. She raced to the last tree that still bore fruit, plucked its final apple, and spun toward the house.

And froze.

Ella stood there, gasoline can in hand, eyes wild.
“You ruined my life,” she screamed. “You ruined everything, you bitch! I saw you coming here—I saw you happy. And I took it from you, just like you took Chris from me. He left me. He’s gone. I hope you’re happy.”

She dropped to her knees, sobbing, as the flames consumed the orchard.

Liora couldn’t bear the sight. She did the only thing she could think to do. She bit into the last apple.

Her vision shifted. The orchard again—but long ago. It was dark out. She could see the stars in the sky, a full moon glowing down. An old woman’s hands stroked the bark of a young tree. A man lay motionless nearby in the grass, brown hair slick with sweat clinging to his forehead, his skin pale and slightly green. The woman drew a knife, knelt beside him, and slit his throat in one swift motion. Blood pooled, and she dropped a gnawed apple core into it.

The earth drank it. Roots erupted from the red-soaked ground, plunging into the man’s mouth and ears. Branches split from his arms and legs. A tree rose from his body, stretching tall until a single red apple gleamed on its branch. The woman plucked it, took a bite, and smiled.

Liora’s vision snapped back.

The orchard was burning, a cemetery of wooden skeletons. Ella was weeping. The last tree withered before her eyes.

Liora looked down at the apple core in her hand. Her fingers brushed the knife in her pocket.

And she knew what she had to do.