-4-

Maggie

I hate apples. Ever since the incident I can't bear the taste. Unluckily for me we have a tonne of them in our orchard.

There are seven apple trees in total – three lined on either side and one stood at the end. Their branches twisting and turning high up into the grey sky - the twigs of the two nearest the house scratch against my bedroom window at night like bony fingers. I've never seen apple trees so big nor so full of fruit in late autumn.

As I walk through the black metal gate I stop. The ground beneath one of the trees has been disturbed, like someone has been digging. I frown and make my way towards it when I spot my father resting against the bough. His face is white, his skin covered with a thin sheen of sweat.

He looks up as I approach - a wildness behind his eyes. Then he grins widely.

"How's my little princess?" he says. "I found a dead cat in the yard. Buried it under the tree, good fertiliser."

I look down at it.

Seems a little big for a cat grave.

"Anyway – I best go get cleaned up, bosses orders."

He nods towards the window. I jump slightly as I turn. Mother is staring blankly out at us.

Father turns on his heel and heads back to the house.

I watch him go for a moment, nonplussed, then trample over the grave and begin to pluck apples from the nearest branches, dropping them into the plastic carrier bag over my arm.

It's tiring work but as I reach the tree at the end of the row my bag is full. I slouch down against the bough, feeling the fallen twigs snap beneath my bum. The air is heavier here and the leaves of the trees rub together creating whispers in the wind.

I find I'm hungry again.

I don't even like apples.

But...maybe these ones...

I grab one of the green spheres from the bag and move it towards my mouth. There's a crunching sound behind me and the apple flies from my hand.

"Never eat from the apple tree."

An old, hunched man stands in front of me. His thin face has been creased by time but his blue eyes are alert. He's wearing brown overalls and in one of his hands he carries a garden rake. I presume he must be the groundskeeper.

I scramble to my feet.

"Who the hell are you?!"

"You must never eat from the apple tree," he says again.

"What? What do you mean?"

They can't be bad. Mother and father have been eating them all week.

"Didn't you wonder what happened to the last family that lived here? Never eat from the apple tree."

Then he turns and walks out of the back gate of the orchard.

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