The Hanging Orchard

Another short story that I wrote for my Senior English class. It's a horror/coming of age story.

The Hanging Orchard

 

         

It was raining... again.

          Not unusual for Washington State. After all, it had the most precipitation per year than almost any other state in the U.S. So, when the weather man said that it would be raining for the next three to four days, he wasn't joking. In fact, it was the fifth day of non-stop rain, which meant that the already soggy ground would be even worse when Eric went out to pick apples in his grandmother's orchard.

          It was a tradition in the Hayfield family. Every fall the youngest male of the Hayfield clan would be forced to go out in the dead of night and pick a basketful of apples from what the locals of Orentown called 'The Hanging Tree', which in fact stood in 'The Hanging Orchard', which just happened to be his Grandmother Ireen's orchard.

          Eric, who just turned the ripe age of 13 -- the first year of adulthood in the Hayfield Clan, was the youngest male. That meant that he would have to go out and pick apples at the twelfth bong of his grandmother's ancient grandfather clock.

          Eric heard somebody clear their throat just over his left shoulder. "Are you ready for tonight little cuz?" His oldest cousin Steve asked.

          "Yeah, I suppose. As ready as I'm going to be." Eric replied, turning to face his giant of a cousin.

          Steve was a defense linemen for his school football team, which meant that he had the girth of a bear, and the shoulder width of a mighty warrior. His bulk didn't look like fat on his tall, broad frame. In fact he was just as skinny as Eric was; only he stood about another 1 1/2 feet taller than he was.

          "Your not afraid of going out there by yourself are you?" Another voice asked. This time, it was his other cousin, Steve's brother that had asked the question.

          "Hell no. There's nothing to be afraid of. It's just a stupid story that great-great-great-grandpa Orvil came up with to scare the crap out of the townspeople, to keep them from getting to his apples." Eric explained. "You should know that."

          "Whatever dude. I think you’re afraid of telling us you’re afraid. I know I was, when I was your age." Brian replied coolly.

          "Yeah, we know that's a lie. You clung to mom's leg the whole entire night, begging and crying your eyes out to her because you didn't want to go." Steve said. "Remember, I was there."

          "Shut up. This isn't a retard related conversation. If we wanted to have you answer a question, we would have asked the retard for an answer. I don't remember asking you, do you Eric?" Brian replied, taking his older brothers punch to the shoulder with a grimace.

          "Well actually, he did start this conversation." Eric replied, stepping back from a punch that didn't come.

          "Yeah, so go pick your nose." Steve replied, offering a high-five to his younger cousin.

          Eric started laughing, until his face was a beat red. He was crouched over, hands on his knees and tears streaming from his engorged eyes.

          "Hey man, are you okay? It wasn't that funny man." Brian replied, putting his hand on Eric's exposed back.

          "Yeah... I'm fine. I don't know what's so funny about you picking your nose... well, except for the fact your 16. Nose picker!" Eric exclaimed.

          "Alright 'Mr. I'm-Not-Afraid-of-Anything', I got a surprise for you. Go get your coat and hat from the house and grab one of Grandma's flashlights. Meet us outside of the barn in five minutes." Brian explained, Eric and Steve followed him out into the cold autumn rain.

          "Alright, I'll be right back." Eric said, running through the rain and mud until he finally reached his Grandmother's house.

 

          Eric returned a little less than five minutes later, the beam from his flashlight dancing against the mud. He wore his hoodie with a poncho over it, and a black hat that had something written on it. Brian and Steve weren't sure what it said, but knowing their younger cousin, it was probably a smart a*s comment.

          "Alright, let's go. I got some rope from the barn in case we need it, two extra flashlights and one of Grandma's old Orchard baskets." Brian explained taking the spool of rope from his brother’s large shoulders and showing Eric. He flashed the beam from his light into his younger cousin's eyes.

          Steve watched the pupils of Eric's eyes dilate, before he yanked the flashlight from his brothers grasp.

          "I'll take that, you hold onto the rope." Steve replied, following his younger brother yet again; Eric was close behind.

          They had been walking for a few minutes, before Steve spoke up. "You know were we are going?"

          "Not really, but I have an idea you guys are taking me to The Hanging Orchard." Eric replied, as he looked over to his cousin.

          "That's right. We're gunna show you a secret. You have to promise not to tell anyone we did this for you though, deal?" Brian replied, offering his hand out to his cousin. Eric shook his older cousin's hand and kept walking.

          A few minutes later, after navigating their way through the labyrinth of trees, they finally stopped in front of what had been named 'The Hanging Tree', over a hundred and fifty years ago. It was old -- older than any tree Eric had seen before -- its branches fanned out almost twenty feet from the trunk.     

Steve jumped up and grabbed one of the lower hanging branches. Lifting his heavy bulk up with his arms, he swung forward and pulled his feet all the way up. He swung his left leg over the branch, trying to balance his bulk on the branch.

          The Hanging Tree had to be sturdy if it could hold his large cousin's full weight.

          "Alright Steve, start throwing them down. Eric and I will catch 'em." Brian instructed, pushing Eric over a few feet so that they were spread far enough apart, so they could catch any stray apples that Steve might toss down to them.

          He began to pick, chucking them down at intervals. Brian caught the majority of them, while Eric only caught enough to make a handful. They threw them in the basket, and by the time they had it filled full enough, it was already dark.

          Just a little over four more hours and he'd be back out there again, only this time to carry the basket back... by himself.

          Steve jumped from the branch, landed in a neat crouch and rolled back onto his feet. He might have been a big person, but he was as liquid as any glass of water.

          The three cousins; closer friends than blood relatives, left the basket full of apples in front of the ancient gnarled tree trunk, and walked back to their Grandma's house.

 

          Just less than four hours after Brian, Steve and Eric had left the orchard, Eric headed back out by him. This time, he took what Brian had decided to take before: a loop of rope and a rusty old flashlight that belonged to his Grandmother.

          He walked through the mud and the cold autumn rain, whistling to himself. If

anything, it was to keep himself preoccupied with the thoughts that loomed within his brain. He hated the orchard -- something he wasn't willing to admit hours before, but now that he was by himself, he felt safe in knowing that he was only admitting it to himself. But what was worse than walking through the orchard by himself, was walking in the orchard by himself… in the dark. Goosebumps erupted all over his skin, making him shake off a cold chill. Or three.

          After roaming through the labyrinth of trees -- which he did his best with to remember -- he found the old gnarled Hanging Tree. It was then, that he noticed something he hadn't before... the tree stood in the middle of the orchard, by itself. Just sitting there growing old and lonely, while all the other trees sat at least ten feet apart from each other, the Hanging Tree stood apart from all the other trees a good eighty feet.

At that exact moment, he felt the trees pain, if that was possible. Emotions ran through him, stuff that he had never felt before -- things that only a grown up should feel.

          Eric, somehow felt connected to the tree. As he looked over it, he thought he saw what could only be described as a face. A knob of bark for the nose, two large rotten holes in the trunk for eyes, and a large gash that seemed to be new, just under the nose. It looked to be oozing something green, thick and smelly that reminded him of his Grandmother's cabbage and bacon.

          He pinched his nose, and walked over to were the basket of apples sat. What was supposed to be a cornucopia of apples was nothing but a measly pile of cores and chunks of apple covered in something thick, slimy and green.

          Eric picked up a core covered in slime from the basket and looked up at the trees mouth. The slime was the same on both things...

          What the hell would a tree eat its own fruit for? Eric thought to himself.

          Any normal person, one who didn't believe in paranormal beings, would automatically think that someone had pulled a prank on them. That is, if they were in Eric's shoes, but Eric, who did believe in the things that went bump in the night didn't think it at all strange... well, except for the idea of a tree eating it's own fruit.

          Shaking the whacky thoughts from his mind, he dumped the basket of apple cores into the grass, and swung the rope up onto a low branch, tying a knot so that he could climb it without getting hurt. He then positioned the basket just under the branch. Taking his hoodie off, he threw it in the bottom of the basket -- so the apples would not bruise when they fell -- and took ahold of the rope and climbed it, starting with one hand in front of the other.

          Once he was able to push himself up on the branch, he swung his legs over it, just like Steve had done earlier that night, and started picking apples.

          Eric who kept a close eye on the basket of apples looked down every few minutes to make sure that nothing had happened to them. When the basket was just about halfway filled, and he couldn't reach any more apples without standing on the tree branch, he carefully stood up, balancing his rather large feet on the small branch. He slipped a few times, but quickly grabbed a hold of a branch, and pulled himself back up, balancing himself once more.

          Then, when his basket was almost filled to the brim with apples, he lost his balance and tumbled down onto the grass below him. Anger and sadness overwhelmed him; tears and short breathes issuing from his small sweat covered body. He never got up, instead he sat were he had fallen, crying into the night.

 

          Gerald Hayfield woke with a start. Sweat soaked his shirt. The bed sheets clung to him. Peeling them back, he quietly got out of bed and made his way down the hall and into the kitchen. He stubbed his toe on a corner of his mother’s old china cabinet, cursing everything between heaven and hell, in a whisper under his breath.

          He took an old stained glass from the cupboard, and filled it to the brim with water. The great thing about living in the country: well water. It tasted nothing like the crap that they had in the city. That was not what water should taste like, this is, he thought to himself, taking another gulp of water.

          After sitting it in the sink, he made his way back to his old bedroom, were his wife lay quietly asleep.

Out of impulse, if nothing more, Gerald stepped around his mother’s china cabinet, eyeing it disdainfully, as he made his way into the living room. He poked his head around the corner of the hallway and peered into the stuffy room. Steve and Brian were already asleep on the floor, stuffed tight in their sleeping bags. He figured that they probably decided to be nice to their little cousin for once and let him have the couch, which sat right up against the wall.

Moving further into the room just enough to look at the couch, he noticed that Eric was not were he should be. His sleeping bag wasn’t even on the couch. Carefully, he crept over to his two nephews, and carefully shook Brian.

The boy grumbled something unintelligible under his breath. Gerald shook him again. He still didn’t wake. Cursing once more, he poked him hard in the ribs.

“What?” He grumbled, tossing the hood of the sleeping bag off of his head. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, “Oh, sorry Uncle Jerry. I thought it was Eric…” Brian looked over to the couch. He spun his head back around to face his uncle.

“Were, is he?” Brian asked, a shadow of worry creeping across his face.

“I don’t know I was hoping you could tell me.” Jerry replied. “Has he come back from the Orchard at all?”

Brian shook his head, swallowing what little saliva he could muster.

“Wake Steve up and we’ll go look. I have to go change.” Brian’s uncle instructed. Brian nodded in understanding, as he turned and began poking his brother.

 

Ten minutes later, with the help of his two nephews and older brother, Gerald Hayfield made his way into the Hanging Orchard.

Flashlight in one hand, and a cigarette in the other, he trudged through the mud. It stuck to his shoes, making awkward noises. It was still raining, but not as hard as it had been hours before. It was more of a drizzle than anything else.

“What tree was Eric going to pick the apples from?” Gerald asked his nephews.

“At the big tree. You know… the big one at the center of the Orchard?” Steve asked, trudging along.

“Yeah, I know the one. That’s the same one I picked from my first time.” He explained.

He sighed as he trudged on. Thousands of scenarios ran through his head. What if Eric had fallen and broken his leg? What if he got lost and wound up in Old McGregor’s property? What if… What if… All kinds of things played through his mind.

Finally, they made their way to the giant tree. Gerald looked up at the thing, just as a bolt of lightning ripped across the sky, illuminating the Orchard.

What Gerald found there froze him were he stood.  It was a slime covered, crooked face that sat marred into the gnarled wood of the Hanging Tree's trunk.

Eric Hayfield, his one and only child… his baby, hung from the lowest branch of the Hanging Tree. Underneath his dangling feet sat a basketful of apples, covered in thick green slime.

The End