The Red Fruit

Fire-colored leaves scatter on the uneven wet road, drifting through the air as a light blue 1980 Chevy Silverado weaves in and out of turns. An Aussie shepherd sticks his head out the passenger window and enjoys the breeze. 

“Koda, get your head out of the window,” the driver says, blowing cigarette smoke. “It’s going to rain.” He reaches towards the dog to pull him into the truck, but the uneven terrain causes the vehicle to lurch back and forth, causing Koda to fall off his seat. “You gotta use your seatbelt,” the man says, smiling as he reaches across the seat to buckle him in. “You’re an old man now, you know that.” 

The man looks into the rearview mirror, and the smile fades. Looking at his own reflection, he sees that his hair has lost its color over the years, and his tan skin is cracking. His eyes have become a sad shade of green. His closely trimmed beard, once dark and bold, has become gray and withered. The man sighs. 

“How about we listen to some music, old man?” He says to Koda. He opens the glove compartment, revealing a stack of old rock and roll tapes. As he reaches, he can’t help but let out a string of loud and painful coughs, causing something to fall out. The object lands next to a cigarette butt in the truck’s ashtray. The man pushes his shirt to the side to see two stitched “x’s” marked on his chest just above his heart. He looks at them in concern for a moment, but pushes the thoughts away. He’s just old. He has a few other tattoos he can’t remember getting. No big deal. 

The man reaches into the ashtray to pick up what fell, and brushes it off to see a picture of a young girl no more than six years old. He smiles and sets the picture aside. He slides the tape into its compartment on the dashboard. “Sweet Child O’ Mine” by Guns and Roses plays. Koda howls along. 

As time passes, the clouds get thicker, and a heavy rain begins to fall. The truck reaches a gate, and the man rolls down his window to greet the Acadia National Park Ranger. 

“Good evening, Jacob,” the ranger says. 

“Hey, Rosie.”

“Heading out?”

“Yepp. Three hour drive home to Moosehead. You know that.” 

“I never understood why you’d come here rather than stay at Moosehead Lake.”

“Oh, it’s not me. Koda loves it here.” Jacob gives Koda an affectionate pet on the head. “And I’ve got all the time in the world.”

“Drive home safely. You know how Maine roads get on rainy days.”

Jacob nods as he presses on the gas pedal and slowly pulls away, leaving a deep mud track on the road. After a while, his mind drifts back to the photo of the young girl. It shows her smiling as she poses on a swing set. Behind her, a much younger Jacob pushes her on the swing, cigarette in mouth. November 17, 1989, Jacob remembers. It’s been ten years.

Emma always loved the swings. To her, higher was never too high. Shortly after the picture was taken, she jumped off at the peak of the swing’s height, and when she hit the ground she twisted her ankle. She cried for half an hour, Jacob remembers. He remembers how after a minute, she hopped back on and demanded that he push her even higher. Jacob’s brow furrows. What happened after that?

As he drives on, Jacob looks at the time on the dashboard of the truck. 12:47am. The trees add a layer of darkness the moonlight can’t penetrate, and the rain dances as it hits the windshield. He looks over at Koda, who has fallen asleep with his face squished against the window. Jacob is beginning to fall asleep himself as well. Long distance drives were never easy for him. He feels his eyelids grow heavier, nodding at every stretch. He allows his eyes to shut long enough for the hood of the truck to clip the road barrier. 

“Oh shit!” Jacob screams. The truck barrels through the barrier and skids off the wet road. He careens down a hill and into the trees. Mud splatters over the windshield, and the head of the vehicle grazes a tree, slowing its descent just long enough for Jacob to regain control. He slams his foot on the brake. As the truck comes to a stop, he takes a sigh of relief and turns to Koda.

“Aw, you pissed yourself,” he says.

Koda’s big eyes look around wildly with his tail tucked between his legs. 

“Fair enough.” 

Jacob grabs a flashlight and steps out of the truck. At this time of night, no one will be driving by. He shines the light onto the hood to see black smoke seeping through the openings.

“Great.” 

He throws the driver door open and tries to start the truck, but it groans and sputters out. 

“Come on, big girl, you can do it,” he says. He turns his keys in the ignition again, but doesn’t get a response. He punches the steering wheel multiple times. “Shit, shit!”

Koda starts growling. 

“Sorry,” Jacob responds. But the dog turns to barking. “Hey, what’s wrong, old man?”

The dog dashes out the door into the forest, brushing past Jacob and knocking the flashlight out of his hand.

“Koda!” Jacob runs after him into the darkness. He blindly rushes through the trees and branches, stumbling over roots. The jagged edges of branches dig into him as he passes, tearing his clothes and shredding his skin. “Koda! Come back!” 

Though bleeding and exhausted, Jacob pushes on. Ahead, the trees are more visible. He moves towards them, leading to a clearing where the moon is bright enough to be seen clearly through the clouds. His eyes follow the leaves falling around him, leading his gaze to a small wooden house in the middle of the field. The moonlight reflects against a pond in the distance, emitting a pattern against the wood. The water ripples as the rain falls, distorting the moon’s image. A single swing set stands alone near the rear of the house. The grass in the area seems untouched, and pink and purple colored flowers are scattered throughout the clearing. An odd mix of dread déjà vu consumes Jacob as he searches frantically for Koda, knowing that he heard his growl from here. 

It is pouring rain, and Jacob is completely drenched. The blood oozing out of his wounds speckles his clothing. He wipes the bloody mix of water away from his eyes, and sees Koda in the middle of the clearing, snarling at a dark silhouette in front of the house. 

“Koda!” Jacob calls. He takes a step forward, ready to run. He watches as the silhouette moves behind the house. Koda lunges towards it, moving out of Jacob’s view. 

Crack!

A dog’s yelp penetrates the night. Then all becomes quiet but the patter of rain.

“Koda?” Jacob yells. He hesitates before he moves behind the house, but sees nothing.

Jacob feels his chest cry out in pain and confusion, and he grabs at it, letting out another string of heavy coughs. Two “x” marks bleed through his shirt. He moves to the front of the house and bashes his fist against the door. 

“Hey!” he calls. “Where’s my dog?” 

He waits a few seconds and gets no response. He peers through the windows, but there is nothing to see. He looks at the door and back at his hand. White dust from the door mixes with his blood, forming a thin layer of red around his knuckles. As the rain falls, it creates little craters in the layer, as if the drops were trying to create more holes in his body. 

The wind picks up, and the clouds cover the moon. Once again, Jacob stands in total darkness. The air becomes heavier and more powerful, picking up leaves and sticks and sending them to rip apart his already broken skin. The wind blasts his face with frigid air and icy rain. He falls to the ground and tries to take cover into his coat, but he can still feel his skin being sliced. With nowhere to go, he furiously bangs his fist against the wooden door. 

“Please!” he begs. 

It all stops. The wind, the rain, the darkness. The clouds move away, and the moonlight shines upon the clearing, revealing Jacob to be a bloody mess. A dim light flickers in the house, and he hears the sound of a voice so rough and sharp that he can feel it scrape against his brain. 

You’re back. 

It doesn’t sound human, but something about it feels familiar. 

“Hello?” Jacob moves closer to the windows but sees nothing. He curls his hand into a trembling fist once more to knock. This time the door flies open. 

Jacob scrambles inside and neglects to shut the door. He places his hands on the floor to push himself to his knees and winces. Once up, he takes his first look around. 

A light sparks, then ebbs and flows from a single candle in the center of the room, causing the length of Jacob’s shadow to fluctuate against the walls. Empty picture frames hang from a saturated yellow wallpaper, patterned with the same purple flowers as outside. The air, dense and warm, invades Jacob’s nostrils with the smell of ash. He knows this place, but from where? Within his own mind, he hears the inhuman voice call towards him again, this time in the direction of a dark hallway in the corner of the room. 

You’ll never stay away. 

“Who are you?” Jacob calls out. “What do you—” 

He has another coughing fit, throwing him to the floor on all fours as he clutches his chest. It feels as if something is digging deep into him, as if it were wrapping itself around his heart. A shadow moves against the walls until it engulfs Jacob in darkness. He squints his eyes and raises his arms to protect his face against an attack. 

Instead, he feels something wet touch his elbow. Confused, he opens his eyes wider and sees Koda licking his arm.

 “Koda?” Jacob says. He wheezes and reaches towards the dog, which barks once and moves into his open arms, rubbing his head against Jacob’s chest. “You’re okay!” He smiles and rubs it’s head, running his fingers through its thick coat as if it were the first time he’s done so. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but we need to go. Come on.” His palms and knees scrape against the rough texture of the floor as he attempts to stand. He motions to Koda to come, but the dog doesn’t obey. 

“Come on, old man. Let’s get out of here.” He looks around, paranoid that something else will come out of the darkness. “Let’s go. I’m serious.” Still, the dog stays put. It growls at Jacob.

“Now!” Jacob stomps his foot and suddenly the whole house shakes. The picture frames fall off the walls and the wallpaper begins to rip upwards. Koda’s eyes turn red, and his fur sheds from his body until his spotty, pink skin shows. His ears and fangs lengthen and his entire body triples in size. The monster lunges at Jacob with his teeth bared and his claws outstretched. 

Jacob screams and covers his face with his arms, anticipating to meet his end by his own dog. Nothing happens. The monster is gone. He slowly opens his eyes behind his braced arms, and he sees that the house is still intact. The picture frames returned to their places along the wallpaper. Maybe they never changed in the first place.

“The hell is going on here?” he says. Jacob turns to the open door to leave, but it slams shut on its own. Fearing for his life, he uses all his strength on the doorknob but can’t even turn it. He throws all his weight against the door, but his physical strength succumbs to his mental weakness. He slides to his knees again, defeated. 

No use.

That voice again. That terrible, devilish, familiar voice. Jacob covers his ears, tears flowing down his face through the crevices of his cracked skin and semi-dried blood. Not that voice. Please, oh God, not that voice. 

November 17, 1989.

A new light flickers from inside the dark hallway, shining upon a small and circular table. It is tall enough to reach Jacob’s waist and holds a lone picture frame. 

GET UP.

Jacob winces at the sheer volume of the command. He wobbles as he lifts himself and limps down the hallway. He stands over the table and hesitates before taking the frame. His bloody hands leave red stains along the silver edge. His tired, withering eyes move in saccadic motion as he tries to process the information of the photo. A young girl on the swings, the same as from his truck. Only in this version, he looks as he does now: skin shredded and blood stained with dead eyes. 

He looks closer and sees that the girl is also transformed in the photo. Something in the reflection of the frame catches his eye. He tries to breathe, but doesn’t feel a take in oxygen. Every part of him stiffens when he sees her.. 

A young, pale-skinned girl stands in front of him. Her eyes bleed and her skin is flaking. Just like Jacob’s. He recognizes her instantly. Though it has been ten years, she has not aged since. He can only let out a whisper.

“Emma?”

She moves towards him with inhuman speed and pushes her fingers into Jacob’s chest cavity. He doesn’t even react. She pulls with a great force, ripping what feels like his soul from his own body. He collapses immediately, vision fading as her footsteps move closer. A gentle calm sweeps over his body, and all goes dark.

November 17, 1989. The air kisses the skin with a soft, cool touch. Sweet Child O’ Mine plays faintly from a radio as a young Koda tries to catch the leaves falling around him. A swingset creaks as it rocks back and forth in front of a house surrounded by purple and pink out-of-season flowers. 

   “Push me higher, Daddy! I want to go higher!” Emma says. She swings in quickly, almost catching Jacob off guard as he tries to light a cigarette in-between pushes. 

“All right,” he says. “But promise me you won’t jump.”

   “I promise!” Emma replies. She looks towards him and her smile fades. “Wait. You promised me you wouldn’t smoke anymore!”

   “I did?” Jacob teases. He grins as a woman walks up to him, holding a polaroid camera. She kisses him on the cheek.

   “You did promise though,” the woman says, playfully winking at Jacob. She clicks the camera to print the picture. She fans it and hands it off to Jacob, who takes a quick look and slides it into the back pocket of his jeans. 

   “Thanks, babe.”

   “Thanks, babe,” Emma mocks. 

   “Hey! Six-year-olds shouldn’t mock their parents,” Jacob scolds. He pushes her swing a bit harder now.

   “Higher! I want to go to Heaven!.”

   Jacob and Emma’s mother look at each other with incredulous smiles. 

“Yeah, okay, Emma,” Jacob says. He gives her another solid push. Emma smiles again and squeals with glee as she reaches forward, trying to touch the clouds. She leans forward, and the seat of the swing gives out. Without the support, she slips and falls.

Wake up.

“You’re not Emma,” Jacob sputters.

She turns, giving him his first full glimpse of her under decent light. Her neck, tilted at an angle, is broken. The bone protrudes from her peeling skin while black blood falls from her empty eyes. She moves with the same demeanor as in her past life, but with sporadic twitches. She slowly moves towards Jacob, cradling something in her hands. Her mouth moves but makes no physical sound.

Even in death, you cannot escape your sin. 

She opens her hands, revealing a beating heart. Jacob’s beating heart. The blood oozes between her fingers and onto the floor, welling at his knees.

Eat the Red Fruit.

“The Red Fruit?” Jacob wheezes.

Penance. Eat the Red Fruit.

Jacob turns his face away, but it is no use.

Emma wraps her peeling hands around his mouth with inhuman speed and shoves the Red Fruit into his protesting mouth. 

He is resistant to chew at first, but his teeth have already made contact. The texture is tough and chewy, but still soft enough to break down. The juices are warm and taste like iron. He never realized iron could taste so delicious. So perfect. He begins to chew faster, harder. The taste becomes irresistible. Juices flow down his chin, the color matching that of the openings of his ripped skin and bending at every corner. He wants it. He wants to eat the Red Fruit. Before Jacob knows it, he finishes it. He weakly looks into Emma’s eyes for the last time. His entire body goes limp and he stops breathing.

Daddy will die forever by the Red Fruit.  

Fire-colored leaves scatter on the uneven wet road, flying and drifting through the air as a light blue 1980 Chevy Silverado weaves in and out of turns. An Aussie shepherd falls off the passenger seat. 

“How about we listen to some music, old man?” Jacob says. He opens the glove compartment, revealing a stack of old rock and roll tapes. He reaches with one hand to pick one. As he opens the case, he lets out a string of loud and painful coughs. He feels pain on his chest, and he pushes his shirt to the side to see three stitched “x’s” marked on his chest. But he’s just old. He’s got other tattoos he can’t remember getting. No big deal.