The Apple Snitch

The Apple Snitch

The apple core hit Marcus Delgado in the forehead.

It bounced off his eyebrow and landed in the basket of Honeycrisps.

Paige Weaver stared at him from the other side of the festival stand.

“Did an apple just attack you?” she asked.

Marcus rubbed his forehead. “Very funny.”

“I didn’t throw it.”

“Then who did?”

They looked toward the trees behind the stand.

Something small and dark scrambled up an oak trunk. Leaves shook forty feet above the ground.

Then everything went still.

Marcus picked the core out of the basket. It had been eaten clean except for one perfect bite of red skin.

A tiny handprint marked the white flesh.

It had five fingers.

“That is not a squirrel,” Paige said.

Another apple sailed from the branches.

Marcus ducked.

The apple smacked the price sign and split in half.

From the tree came a chirping laugh.

* * *

The Chickies Rock Harvest Festival filled the park with food tents, craft tables, music, and enough apple products to make Marcus tired of apples before lunch.

His mother ran Delgado Orchards. She had trusted him to manage the sales stand for one afternoon.

Marcus wanted that trust to last.

He had spent most of the summer trying to prove that fourteen was old enough for real responsibility. His mother had finally agreed to let him operate the register, track inventory, and supervise his nine-year-old brother, Nico.

So far, forty-three apples had vanished.

Nico had vanished twice.

The apples worried Marcus more.

“Maybe customers are stealing them,” Marcus said.

Paige pointed at the bitten core. “Customers with hands smaller than cookies?”

She helped at the historical society booth next door. Paige loved mysteries, old newspapers, and being right in that exact order.

Mrs. Koenig, the historical society president, leaned over the divider between the stands.

“You’ve met the Albatwitch,” she said.

Marcus sighed. “Please don’t start.”

“You asked who stole the apples.”

“I asked Paige.”

Mrs. Koenig ignored that. “The Albatwitch is a little wild man from Chickies Rock. Hairy, quick, and just clever enough to be annoying.

People say its name comes from apple snitch.”

Paige brightened. “There were Albatwitch hunts in old local newspapers.”

“Nearly a century ago,” Mrs. Koenig said. “People gathered near the rock and went looking. Whether they expected a monster or a prank depended on how sensible they were.”

Marcus held up the core. “Did the stories mention being pelted with garbage?”

“It steals apples and throws the cores back,” Mrs. Koenig said.

Nico appeared beside Marcus with caramel on both cheeks.

“What’s an Albatwitch?” Nico asked.

“Nothing,” Marcus said.

“An apple thief,” Paige replied.

“A legendary apple thief,” Mrs. Koenig added.

Nico looked toward the trees with sudden interest.

Marcus took him by the shoulders and turned him toward the festival.

“Go help Mom stack cider bottles,” Marcus said. “Do not hunt anything.”

Nico dragged his feet away.

Mrs. Koenig watched him go. “One more thing.”

“There is always one more thing,” Marcus said.

She tapped the bitten core in his hand.

“Never eat an apple the Albatwitch gives back.”

Marcus looked at Paige.

Paige shrugged. “Every good legend needs a rule.”

“That isn’t a rule,” Marcus said. “That’s basic hygiene.”

Something chirped in the oak.

This time, it sounded offended.

* * *

Paige owned a trail camera because Paige owned equipment for problems nobody else expected to have.

At sunset, they strapped it to the oak behind the apple stand. Marcus placed six apples beneath it and sprinkled flour around the base of the tree.

“For footprints,” he explained.

“I know how flour works,” Paige said.

“You laughed when I brought it.”

“I laughed because you stole it from the funnel-cake booth.”

“Borrowed.”

They hid inside the darkened festival office. Through the window, Marcus could see the apple stand, the white tents, and the black shape of Chickies Rock above the Susquehanna River.

Most vendors had gone home. The festival would reopen in the morning.

Nico was supposed to be in the car with their mother.

Marcus checked his phone.

MOM: Five minutes. Do not make me come find you.

“We have four minutes,” Marcus said.

“Plenty of time for a legendary creature to honor our schedule,” Paige replied.

The trail camera flashed.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

An apple rolled out of the pile.

A small hand reached from behind the oak and snatched it.

Marcus and Paige ran outside.

The flour held a line of footprints. Each print looked human, but no longer than Marcus’s thumb.

They circled the apples, crossed the exposed roots, and ended at the tree.

Paige removed the camera and opened the viewer.

The first picture showed a hairy creature crouched beside the apples.

Its arms were long, its knees pointed outward, and two round eyes reflected the flash.

In the second picture, the creature faced the camera.

In the third, its wrinkled face filled the frame.

Marcus leaned closer. “What is that behind it?”

Paige enlarged the picture.

Several smaller shapes watched from the branches.

The camera chimed.

A fourth photograph appeared.

It showed Marcus asleep in his bedroom.

The angle was from the top of his bookcase.

On the floor beside his bed, dozens of apple cores formed a circle.

“That picture hasn’t happened,” Marcus whispered.

Behind them, Nico bit into an apple.

* * *

Marcus spun around.

Nico stood beneath the oak with a small red apple in his hand.

One bite was missing.

“Where did you get that?” Marcus asked.

Nico chewed. “It rolled out of the tree.”

“Spit it out.”

Nico made a face. “Why?”

“Because I said so.”

“That’s not a reason.”

Marcus knocked the apple from his hand.

It landed in the flour. The fruit was warm. A circle had been carved around its stem, with three short lines pointing inward.

Paige crouched beside it. “That wasn’t on the other apples.”

Nico swallowed.

The oak erupted with chirps.

Every branch shook.

Small dark shapes raced through the leaves, moving toward the trunk.

Marcus grabbed Nico’s wrist. Paige snatched the trail camera, and all three ran for the parking lot.

Apple cores rained behind them.

One struck the back of Marcus’s jacket.

Another bounced off Paige’s backpack.

The chirping followed them to the edge of the festival lights.

Then it stopped.

Their mother waited beside the orchard van with her arms crossed.

“Why are you covered in flour?” she asked.

Marcus looked at Nico.

Nico looked at the ground.

“Inventory problem,” Marcus said.

His mother closed her eyes for a long moment. “Get in the van.”

On the drive home, Nico pressed one hand to his stomach.

“You okay?” Marcus asked.

“I feel funny.”

“Sick funny?”

Nico shook his head. “Crowded.”

Marcus looked at Paige in the seat behind them.

The trail camera chimed inside her backpack.

Another photograph had arrived.

It showed the orchard van from above.

Small dark figures clung to the roof.

* * *

That night, Marcus locked every window in the house.

He told his mother that Nico had eaten an unwashed apple and might have a stomachache. She gave Nico water, checked his temperature, and ordered both boys to bed.

Marcus did not tell her about the creatures on the roof.

He was supposed to be proving he could handle responsibility. Explaining that his brother had swallowed a cursed apple seemed unlikely to help.

At eleven thirty, something tapped on his bedroom window.

Marcus opened his eyes.

A hairy face pressed against the glass.

It was the creature from the photograph. Its skin was dark around its eyes. Its mouth opened and closed, revealing tiny square teeth.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Marcus pulled the blanket over his head.

The tapping moved to the wall.

Then the ceiling.

Small feet pattered through the attic.

Marcus forced himself out of bed and crossed the hall to Nico’s room.

His brother stood asleep beside the open window.

Three Albatwitches crouched on the branch outside. The largest held out both hands.

Nico leaned toward them.

Marcus yanked him back and slammed the window.

Nico woke with a gasp.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

“Saving you from becoming tree food.”

Nico touched his throat. “They’re not hungry.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I can hear them.”

Chirps sounded inside the wall.

Nico tilted his head as if listening to words.

“They want their little one back,” he said.

Marcus stared at him. “Their little what?”

Nico opened his mouth.

A faint green light glowed at the back of his throat.

Something chirped inside him.

* * *

Paige arrived before sunrise carrying Mrs. Koenig’s folder of Albatwitch clippings.

Marcus met her in the kitchen. Nico sat at the table wrapped in a blanket, slowly eating dry cereal.

Every few minutes, his stomach chirped.

“I called Mom and said we were working the early shift,” Marcus whispered.

Paige set down the folder. “You lied to your mother about a creature living inside your brother?”

“I am managing the situation.”

Nico’s stomach trilled.

“The situation disagrees,” Paige said.

She spread copies of old newspaper clippings across the table. Most described local searches and jokes. One mentioned apples vanishing from picnics near Chickies Rock. None explained what happened if someone ate a returned apple.

Nico pushed away his bowl.

“It’s scared,” he said.

“The thing inside you?” Paige asked.

He nodded. “It was hiding.”

“From what?” Marcus asked.

A heavy thump landed on the roof.

The Albatwitches in the attic went silent.

Something scratched across the shingles.

It moved slowly, dragging claws longer than the little creatures had.

Nico whispered, “That.”

The kitchen window darkened.

A shape crouched outside, tall enough to reach the roof gutter. It had the bent outline of an enormous man, but hair covered its shoulders and arms. Its face pressed close to the glass.

The eyes were yellow.

It sniffed.

Then it smiled at Nico.

The little Albatwitches screamed inside the walls.

The large creature struck the window.

Glass cracked from corner to corner.

Marcus dragged Nico away from the table. Paige grabbed the newspaper folder and the trail camera.

“Back door,” she said.

They ran into the orchard.

* * *

Morning fog lay between the rows of apple trees.

Marcus led them toward the equipment shed. Behind them, branches snapped near the house.

“That isn’t an Albatwitch,” Paige said.

“Helpful,” Marcus replied.

“The little ones steal apples. The big one hunts them.”

Nico stumbled.

Marcus caught him.

Green light pulsed beneath the skin of Nico’s throat.

“The apple wasn’t food,” Paige said. “It was a hiding place.”

“For a baby?” Marcus asked.

Nico’s stomach chirped weakly.

“Or a seed that becomes one,” Paige said.

The large creature crashed into the row behind them.

It ran on two legs, then dropped to four. Its arms struck the ground like clubs.

Apple trees shook as it passed.

Marcus pulled open the equipment shed. Wooden bins lined one wall.

Pruning tools hung above a workbench. A cider press stood in the center.

The little Albatwitch from Marcus’s window crouched on the rafters.

It pointed at Nico.

Then it pointed at the cider press.

“Absolutely not,” Marcus said.

The creature mimed turning the press handle. It pointed at an empty cup beneath the spout.

Paige understood first. “It wants him to drink cider.”

“Cider comes from apples,” Marcus said. “The problem already came from an apple.”

The creature dropped to the workbench and grabbed a bottle of lemon juice. It poured some into the cup, added cider from a jug, and shoved the mixture toward Nico.

“Sour cider,” Paige said. “Maybe it makes the seed come out.”

The shed door shook.

Long claws punched through the wood.

Marcus handed Nico the cup. “Drink.”

Nico swallowed once and gagged.

“All of it,” Marcus said.

“It tastes like feet.”

“You have never tasted feet.”

“I know enough.”

The door split down the middle.

Nico drank.

His stomach gave a loud chirp.

He coughed.

A glowing green seed shot from his mouth and landed in the cup.

The Albatwitch snatched it.

The seed cracked open in its hands.

A creature no larger than Marcus’s thumb unfolded from the shell. It had wet fur, long arms, and bright black eyes.

The adult tucked the baby against its chest.

The shed door burst inward.

The large predator filled the opening.

It sniffed the air and fixed its yellow eyes on the baby.

The Albatwitch leaped to the rafters.

It could not escape while carrying its young.

Marcus looked at the wooden bins.

“Paige, open the loading door,” he said.

“That leads deeper into the orchard.”

“Exactly.”

Marcus and Nico tipped the nearest bin. Hundreds of apples thundered across the floor.

The large creature roared and lost its footing. It crashed onto the rolling fruit.

Paige threw open the loading door.

The Albatwitch sprang from the rafters and vanished into the fog with its baby.

The predator scrambled upright.

Marcus pulled the emergency release on the stacked empty bins.

They toppled between the creature and the open door.

By the time it smashed through them, the orchard was silent.

The predator sniffed once.

Then it charged after the Albatwitches.

“It’ll catch them,” Nico said.

Paige lifted the trail camera. “Maybe not.”

She pressed the flash button again and again.

Bright bursts filled the fog along the opposite row.

The predator turned toward the light and raced the wrong way.

Marcus heard chirping high in the trees, moving safely toward Chickies Rock.

* * *

Marcus told his mother almost everything.

He left out the glowing seed because he enjoyed being allowed outdoors.

She blamed the broken kitchen window and shed door on a black bear. She did not believe Marcus had handled the situation well, but she admitted he had protected Nico.

For the rest of the festival, Nico stayed beside their mother.

Marcus and Paige returned to the apple stand.

No fruit disappeared.

Near sunset, Marcus found a tiny apple carved from wood beside the cash box. It fit on the tip of his finger.

“A thank-you gift,” Paige said.

Marcus examined it. “Or a warning.”

He put it in his pocket anyway.

* * *

On Monday morning, Marcus opened his locker at school.

His books were where he had left them. His jacket hung from the hook.

Nothing seemed disturbed.

Then an apple core dropped onto his shoe.

It had been eaten clean.

Around the seeds, tiny teeth had carved three words.

WE OWE YOU