This is my entry for Whiteout-'s Halloween Treats Skin Contest. https://www.planetminecraft.com/forums/communities/skinning/halloween-treats-skin-contest-615479/

This is my inspiration photo.


Whiteout- requested a short story to go with your entry, so here is a short spooky (it's a Halloween contest after all) story about candy apples.




It really wasn't farmer Johnson's fault. He was, by all accounts a kind man and an upstanding member of the community. There really was no way he could've known what lay beneath the soil just beyond the orchard. The land had laid fallow longer than he'd been alive, but there were no local legends about it. The bank had been surprised to find they owned it when the paperwork was discovered sealed in one of the walls during the recent renovation. When it came up for auction it just made sense to buy it and expand the orchard.





There was nothing strange where he dug to plant, no reason to suspect he'd missed something. Of course he noticed that the trees grew a little strangely, their trunks were more twisted than the other trees and the trees grew faster than expected, but it was a new variety of apple he'd planted and so he naturally attributed the differences to natural differences in trees.





When they began to bear fruit, the apples were shockingly red and a bit misshapen, but nothing that should've caused any alarm. After all, they were a new breed. He'd have been disappointed if they weren't a little different.



The first time he wondered if something was wrong was when he and his wife tasted them. They were unexpectedly tart for a red apple. He was sure that he'd ordered a sweet apple. He never guessed the truth, why should he, when it was so much more logical to assume he'd been sent the wrong plants. His wife reassured him that they would make good candy apples. The hard sugar coating worked best with tart apples after all.




Mrs. Johnson worked long, hard hours in the kitchen, turning their tart, misshapen crop into beautiful shining candy apples. She worked such long hours that Farmer Johnson became concerned and tried to talk her into taking a rest. She stopped answering him, stopped sleeping, stopped eating. He pleaded with her, but she continued to work until she passed out. He rushed her to the hospital. The doctor told him it was exhaustion and she'd have to stay at the hospital for a few days.





Farmer Johnson didn't want to leave his wife's side, but if he didn't sell the apples soon they would lose the whole harvest and without the income from their sale and with the hospital bills they would soon be facing he knew they'd risk losing the farm. Besides, once Halloween had passed, no one would be looking to buy candy apples anymore and tomorrow's autumn festival was his best chance at breaking even. His wife had worked herself near to death to get them ready in time and
he couldn't face her if he let it go to waste.




Early the next morning he loaded up the truck and drove to the festival. Word had gotten around about Mrs. Johnson being hospitalized and everyone sent their best wishes for a speedy recovery. He suspected everyone knew how badly he needed the apples to sell because it seemed like everyone in the town bought at least one. By the end of the day he had almost sold out. He brought the few leftover apples he had home with them and set them on the counter. He was exhausted, so after a quick call to the hospital to check on how his wife was doing, he went straight to bed.



It was midnight when he first heard the sound. It was sharp and sudden and it rang through the house. It was the sound of bones cracking, the sound of footsteps breaking through ice, the sound of something shattering its way through a bedroom window. He quickly sat up in bed, his body controlled by reflexes and ancient hind-brain panic. He didn't know what he'd heard, but all of his instincts told him it was something bad.


He slipped out of bed, as quietly as possible and carefully crossed the bedroom floor. He peeked out into the hallway. The sound rang out through the house again. This time he was almost certain it was coming from downstairs. He crept towards the stairwell and began a cautious descent. As he neared the last step he felt something sharp beneath his feet. A yelp escaped his throat and he grimaced, and froze in silence, waiting to hear approaching footsteps. None came and he quietly lowered himself to sit on the stairs. He pulled his foot up to find shards of what looked like red glass stuck in the sole of his foot. He pulled them free, holding his breath and not really knowing why. Then he heard it again, that sharp sudden sound, but this time he was sure it was coming from behind him. He turned to look and the air filled with his screams.





No one knew who to blame for what the few remaining citizens found in Farmer Johnson's Orchard, and those with suspicions kept them to themselves. Mrs. Johnson never returned to the farm and no one stepped up to claim the land. Years past and no one spoke of that night, but though the farm was abandoned and the orchards full of fruit, no one ever again ate the apples that grew on Johnson's Farm.