CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "Something is Growing in the Tree Where We Buried Our Daughter. It Has Her Face." Creepypasta

Episode Date: June 9, 2025

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by goose.jpg:   / goosejpg  Creepypastas are the campfire tales of the internet. Horror stories spread through Reddit r/nosleep, forums and blogs, rather than word of mouth. Whether you believe these scary stories to be true or not is left to your own discretion and imagination. LISTEN TO CREEPYPASTAS ON THE GO-SPOTIFY► https://open.spotify.com/show/7l0iRPd...iTUNES► https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast...SUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"-    • "I wasn't careful enough on the deep web" ...  ►"Personal Favourites"-    • "I sold my soul for a used dishwasher, and...  ►"Written by me"-    • "I've been Blind my Whole Life" Creepypasta  ►"Long Stories"-    • Long Stories  FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter:   / creeps_mcpasta  ►Instagram:   / creepsmcpasta  ►Twitch:   / creepsmcpasta  ►Facebook:   / creepsmcpasta  CREEPYPASTA MUSIC/ SFX- ►http://bit.ly/Audionic ♪►http://bit.ly/Myuusic ♪►http://bit.ly/incompt ♪►http://bit.ly/EpidemicM ♪This creepypasta is for entertainment purposes only

We buried our little girl Elsie in the orchard, within the rows of pear trees she used to run between. To mark the spot, we planted a young sapling that still had a few years left to bear fruit. She loved pears more than any child I'd ever met. She'd eat them warm and mushy from the branch, like it was the best thing she'd ever tasted. During harvest, she'd march around with a basket half a size, pointing at which ones were the good ones. like a tiny dictator. Ah, little helper. The morning it happened,

she'd been headed outside to play, the same as always. I remember the screen door creaked open, then shut, and I heard her humming to herself. And then the quiet stretched too long. By lunchtime, we couldn't find her. Not in the yard, not in the house.

Marissa checked the barn, I checked the orchards and yelled a name until my throat hurt. And then I saw the shoe by the pond, sideways in the mud. Everything after that is a blur. But that moment, the shoe, that's the part I still see when I close my eyes. Marissa didn't talk for a while. At night she'd curl up on her side of the bed with Elsie's pyjama shirt clutched to her chest. I lay beside her every night, helpless.

I'd hold her hand or rubber back while my own chest felt like it was caving in. Her sobs would start quietly, like she was trying to hold them in for my sake. And then they'd break loose, spilling out of her like a flood. And I'd just lay there while my throat burned with the things I couldn't say. When it was over, and she'd gone still again. I'd press my lips to her forehead and whisper something dumb and small like, It's okay, I've got you. She never answered, but she always reached for me.

One night, I brought her a mug of chamomile and sat beside her. I silently watched as she took the mug and held it between her palms. She loved how you peeled them for her, Marissa said. Even when I taught her how to do it as soon. she still brought them to you. She liked the way you sang while you cooked, I said, even when you were off key, especially then. She looked at me then, and something in her face softened.

I reached over and took the piece of her hair behind her ear. She leaned into my hand. I miss her, she whispered. Me too, I said, everywhere. She nodded. We sat like that for a long time. Her fingers intertwined with mine, the tea forgotten and going cold on the nightstand. That was the night we started talking again.

Although things were getting better, the bills were still there. Even though we were starting to come back to ourselves, the money was going faster than ever. We saved what we could by burying Elsie ourselves, but the tractor needed a belt. The west vents sagged, and our pump drugs sat dry because fuel cost more than what we had. But then, Graftco knocked on our door. The man they sent out was named Dr. Levin. He said they found us through a regional yield audit and flagged our land as having low potential with high legacy viability. That's the kind of language you only hear from people who've never sweat through the harvest.

He explained they'd fit our orchard with experimental grafting tech, some kind of bioengineered rootstock that would result in triple yield and bring the trees back stronger than ever. Marissa asked him if it was safe. He said, safer than what you're doing now. Then he told us they'd sponsor the whole thing and cover installation of materials

and even throw a stipend for our time. The only condition was access. They'd need to monitor everything, growth rate, soil conditions, fruit development. It sounded too good to be real. So we took a few days to think about what we were signing up for. If it failed, or if the tick damaged the trees, stunted the orchard, or left us worse than before, we couldn't afford to recover from that. But then the stipend hit the account, just the advance portion.

It was enough to buy fuel and fix the tractor. So, we accepted. The installation took a weekend. A crew came with crates of tubing, sleek little graph nodes like plugs for a machine, and boxes labelled with long codes and the Graphco logo. They moved quickly and were polite, and a little too quiet. Marissa offered coffee. They declined.

By Monday, the orchard was different. The soil had this strange, clean smell like antiseptic. There were metal caps at the base of each tree, and thin wires ran under the dirt. Elsie's tree got the same treatment as the rest. I didn't like it, but within days the changes started. Birds opened early, leaves spread wide and fast. It was a miracle. The orchard looked fuller than it had any right to,

and then somehow the fruit came, way ahead of schedule. Elsie's tree bloomed with the rest. That morning, I stared at a single bulb hanging off one thin branch, plump, green and tiny. Marissa crouched beside it, eyebrows pinched. That's not right. she said. It's too early, I said, way too early. What could they have done to speed it up this much?

We kept her eye on the tiny bulb, expecting it to fall off or rot like immature fruit does. But it didn't. It just kept growing. In week one, the single fruit swelled faster than anything else in the orchard. It looked smooth and full, like it had never streaked. struggled for sunlight a day in its life. Marissa kept returning to it, lingering longer each time.

Her brow furrowed like she was searching for something familiar in its skin. It's round, she said finally, frowning a little, like baby cheeks. In week two, she called me over before I'd even set down my coffee. The fruit had grown bigger, and what started as I was a little. the bulb was stretching. There was a soft indent where a mouth might form. At the very top, the skin curled into a little twist of green that looked oddly like a cowlick. Marissa ran a finger gently across the curve of the fruit down to what appeared to be a neck

that had begun to form. And beneath it, a roundness that hinted at shoulders. There was a slope to the body now. the faintest rise of arms pressed close to a chest. She always had that little swirl on a temple, Marissa said quietly. I used to smooth it down every morning, remember? I did. I remembered how every morning, without fail, I'd hold Elsie still, and Marissa would smooth that stubborn swirl back in place with a wet thumb. I nodded, eyes still on the fruit.

Yeah, I said softly. You'd smooth it, and she'd mess it up five minutes later. But it's just a coincidence. By week three, the fruit had a distinct face, and there was no denying it. The rest of the shape had filled out too. Her legs were there now, curled up beneath her in a fetal position. The toes so delicately formed, they looked like they'd twitch any second.

And the whole thing hung there, still and eerily peaceful, like she was just asleep. Everything inside me turned heavy. I looked at Marissa, hoping for some shared confusion. But her eyes were fixed, unblinking, and she studied the fruit like it might wake up if she waited long enough. That's her, she said. I don't care if it's green. That's our girl. She stepped closer, fingers brushing against the chubby cheeks.

I remember when she was this little, feels like it was just yesterday. And for a second, standing there beside her, I almost believed it too. That night she didn't come in for dinner. I found her in the dark, sitting under the tree, cradling the fruit in both arms like a newborn. Her body curved around it protectively, swaying just slightly, murmuring lullabies. She rocked it with the same rhythm she used to rock Elsie when she was colloquy,

thumb brushing over the curve of the cheek like she was soothing a real child back to sleep. From then on, Marissa barely left the orchard. I'd find her under the tree with a blanket draped over a lap and a book open in her hands. She looked alive again But something about the fruit didn't feel right I wanted to tell her to slow down and that it wasn't normal But the words caught in my throat every time So I kept quiet

I watched as she treated the fruit like Elsie had returned to her She became content and sleep without crying herself to sleep Sometimes she'd rest ahead in my shoulders her like she used to curl into me. She'd squeeze my hand under the covers and murmur good night before drifting off. There are even mornings where she'd lean over and kiss my cheek before getting up to check the fruit.

Her softness in her eyes I thought I'd never see again. For a while, it felt like maybe the fruit wasn't so bad. Then Grafco called to schedule a check-in. Marissa's hand shook when she hung up the phone. I knew something was wrong when she silently walked out to the orchard and sat under the tree like she was standing guard. I found her pacing in the kitchen at 3 a.m., whispering to herself and swinging shears. They'll see her, she said.

They'll take her, they'll say it an anomaly and cut her down. I stepped toward her, gently shook the shears from her hand and said, Hey, look at me. She didn't. Marissa, I said again, softer this time. It's just the check-in. They won't take anything. We're not doing anything wrong.

When she finally looked at me, I saw the fear on her face. You don't know that. They'll see her. They'll cut her down, Paul. I held her face in both hands. I could feel her trembling. We'll protect her, we'll protect each other. You don't have to do this alone.

I didn't want to lose this happy version of her, so I let go of her slowly and handed her back this year's. If it'll make you feel better, I said, then I'll do it. She blinked hard, wiped her eyes, and walked out the door without another word. I followed and watched as she clipped the fruit from the branch. Her hands caught it gently Like she was carrying something precious

She cradled it close to her chest And pulled out a faded yellow cloth With tiny embroidered ducks It was one of Elsie's old muslins And she swaddled the fruit with it As she wrapped it tight She murmured You're okay now

We've got you No one's going to take you away this time I promise I followed her inside and watched her set it gently on the counter, still wrapped in the muslin. Her hands hovered. Something's wrong, she said, voice tight. There was a dark spot blooming through the fabric. Marissa gasped and fumbled to unwrap it.

The cloth clung to the skin like it didn't want to let go and released with a sickening tearing noise. Marissa let out a sharp breath and staggered back. It was rotting, fast. The green skin had darkened and peeled back in places to reveal something underneath that looked like flesh. Pulp and muscle twisted together, tiny teeth budding where the mouth had been. One eye collapsed in on itself like it had deflated.

Marissa let out a part sob, part gag, and backed into the corner. I didn't know, she whispered. I didn't mean to hurt her. Marissa started full body sobbing. She dropped to the floor beside the counter, her back pressed to the cabinet, fists against her temples. I killed her, she choked out. I killed her again.

I dropped beside her and wrapped my arms around her while she fought me, crying and pushing and begging. No, no, please. She was getting better. She was almost done. You were just trying to protect her, I said, my voice shaking. You did what any mother would do. You loved her so much it hurts. That's not wrong, Marissa. She clawed at her sleeves, at her throat,

like the grief was something she could tear out of her skin. Her whole body shook. I just wanted to keep her safe, she gasped. I held her tighter. I know, I whispered, I know. I stayed with her there until a sobs turned to silence. Then I helped her to her feet and walked to her bed. Once she was settled, I lifted the muslin gently from the counter and took it outside.

It felt wrong to throw the fruit away because of how much it looked like Elsie. It was strange. It felt like she was bad. She almost looked alive in Marissa's arms. My hand shook as I grabbed the spade from the shed. I walked out to Elsie's tree, knelt at the base, and started digging. The muslin reeked enough to make me gag. I turned my head and swallowed it down.

When the hole was deep enough, I unwrapped the cloth one last time, just enough to see the curve of what used to be her face and lowered it in slowly. I pressed the dirt back over gently, smoothing it flat with my palm and sat there a long time, not ready to leave. When I stood and brushed the soil from my knees,

I looked up. Another fruit was growing, just beginning to swell. Marissa was still asleep when I came back in. Her breathing was shallow, and her face was swollen from crue. She didn't stir when I sat beside her and laid my hand on her back. I let her rest.

The next morning, Grafco arrived. Two reps this time. Dr. Levin and someone new in a navy jacket, clipboard in hand, both of them all business. I told them Marissa wasn't feeling well. They didn't ask questions. They weren't expecting anything from Elsie's tree anyway. According to their notes, it wasn't supposed to yield for another season. They stopped to take growth measurements, height, trunk width, the soil balance.

But the other trees, they were thrilled, called the results, accelerated but stable, used words like promising and replicable. When they left, I brought Marissa a plate of toasting, an egg and set it on the nightstand beside her. She hadn't moved much, eyes half open, but vacant, her face still blotchy and tired. You should eat, I said, sitting on the edge of the bed. She turned her face into the pillow. I buried it under the tree, I whispered. Marissa led out this half sob, and something about that broke me wide open. I reached for her, but she curled tighter, her shoulders shaking.

And there's... There's another one. It's starting again. Just a bud, but it's there. The words just came out. I shouldn't have said anything. I knew what that tree was doing to her. But when she pulled her face from the pillow and looked at me,

face blotchy and puffy, eyes bright and that hopeful. desperate way. It was too late to take it back. Another one? She said, barely more than a breath. I nodded. Her hand reached out and held mine. She sat up, slow and stiff, eyes still locked on mine. It wasn't ready, she said. The last one, it hadn't fully become her yet. I didn't understand at first. She squeezed my hand. It was too young, like picking a pair before it's ripe.

Her voice cracked. It wasn't completely Elsie. She leaned in close, forehead against mine. Promise me we wait. Next time we don't touch it, not until it's her. Just before it happened, that's when we'll know it's done. I hesitated. Everything in me wanted to.

to tell her no, to remind her that it wasn't really Elsie. But she looked so certain, so sure. So I said yes. Marissa watched the new bud every morning like a kid waiting for Christmas. She raked mulch into the soft cradle shape directly under the branch with a fruit hung and tucked an old pillow into its curve. When I stepped into view, Marissa looked up and smiled like this was all perfectly, normal. She's growing fast, she said, faster than last time. Her voice had that same

softness she used when Elsie was sick. I watched her, took the corners of the muslin under the pillow like it was a bassinet. She'll be walking before we know it, she added, with this tiny wistful laugh that didn't reach her eyes. It gutted me. Weeks past, the fruit grew. The fruit grew fuller like it was aging through Elsie's life stages, one feature at a time. But the eyes stayed shut. It looked like she was fast asleep, like she could wake at any moment. Soon its skin flushed warm to the touch, and when I pressed my fingers to the stem, I could feel a pulse. She looked at me, then gently lifted the fruit and extended it toward me.

Hold her, she said. She wants to know who you are. She misses you. I hesitated. Everything in me recoiled. But Marissa's eyes were steady, soft. So, I reached out. The moment my hands touched the fruit.

Something in me melted. It was warm, heavy in that way, sleeping, children always are, and beneath the skin, I could swear I felt the faintest flutter of a heartbeat. My arms curled around it instinctively. It felt like her, the way she sagged into me after a long day outside. It couldn't really be her. I knew that. But in that moment, it felt like holding her again. Like she'd never left, then growled. Go came back. We hadn't expected another visit so soon, but a single assistant came to check the progress.

Just a kid, barely older than a college intern, with a silver case and a polite smile. He didn't even knock. I didn't even know he was here until I heard a crash, and then Marissa's voice high in breaking. They're going to take her. Paul, they're going to see her. She was at the window, wide-eyed. You have to stop them, she said. They'll take her.

They'll cut her down like she's nothing. You promised, Paul, you promised. I tried to calm her, voice low and steady. I'll handle it. I won't let them near her. Just stay here. Please, Risa. She shook her head like she couldn't hear me, tears tracking down her cheeks.

She's not ready. You said we'd wait. You said we'd protect her. I mean it, I said, already turning toward the door. I'm going. I'll take care of it. I swear. My heart thudded harder with each step.

The assistant was already scanning through the trees and taking notes. I forced the smile onto my face as I approached him, hoping he couldn't see the panic behind it. Morning, I said, keeping my tone casual. you folks sure know how to pick your weather he glanced up and gave a short nod distracted yeah sorry to drop in unannounced just a routine check shouldn't take long

you'll want to see the roots well in the north row it tripled last month he blinked at me distracted eyes already drifting toward the younger block that one's still sterile I added quickly pointing at his tree, not due to fruit for another year, maybe two. He nodded slowly and followed me away. But halfway down the row, he paused, glanced over his shoulder. Mind if I take a quick reading over there?

He asked, already starting back toward that tree. I caught up in two strides. It's really not necessary, nothing viable there yet. He shook his head. Dr. Levin wants to monitor the growth. And then he stopped, dead in his tracks, staring at the fruit hanging from Elsie's tree. It was rounded, flushed, too lifelike to be dismissed. What the hell?

He dropped to his knees to get a closer look, pulling out a handheld scanner from his belt. This wasn't in the notes. I watched as he raised the device toward the fruit. The scanner peeped. He turned to me. I'm going to have to report this. Panic crawled up my throat. Wait, it's probably just the deformity.

The hormones can cause mutations, right? His eyes narrowed. This isn't a mutation. This is something else. He looked again and reached out like he might touch it. He had no idea. what she meant to us. I thought about Marissa,

how she'd curl around that muslin like she was holding our girl again, how she'd cried herself to sleep when it rotted, how a voice broke when she whispered. They'll take her. Suddenly, I couldn't see the assistant anymore. I saw a man walking out of there with Elsie's face in a folder.

I saw Marissa break all over again, something I couldn't handle anymore. I thought about grabbing him, just wrapping my arm around his throat and squeezing until the life left his eyes. The thought alone made my fingers twitch. But before I could move, a pruning tool stuck the back of his head with a sickening crunch. The blade slid in just above the neck through the soft spot where the spine and skull met. A shudder ripped through him. He stiffened on his knees

Then sagged forward, gurgling His arms flailed once And then he slumped Cheek hitting the dirt His scanner landed in the mulch of the muffled crunch Blood seeped into the soil Dark and fast A low gurgling breath hissed from his throat

And one leg jerked He wasn't dead Damn I breathe Marissa stepped into view behind me, her face pale and wet with sweat, the pruning tool hung limp in her hand. He's not, I started. I had to, she said quickly, her voice shaking. Paul, I had to.

He saw her. You saw him. He was going to take her. I couldn't let him take her. He's still alive, I said, dropping to one knee. We need to. No, Marissa snapped. We can't.

He'll tell them. We'll lose her all over again. Her eyes darted to the fruit, then back to me. I saved her, Paul. Don't you see? I saved her. He's dying, Marissa. We can't just, just leave him.

We have to, she snapped. You said you'd protect her. I look back down at the assistant. His chest barely rising. Blood bubbled at the corner of his mouth. His fingers twitched like he was trying to reach for something. I clenched my fists and squeezed my eyes shut. Every part of me screamed to act to fix it.

But I was frozen. Marissa cut to my face with trembling hands. We're doing this for her, for our daughter. I nodded, barely. Then we need to finish it, fast. I reached down with shaking hands and pulled the pruning tool from where it had fallen. The blade tore out with a wet pop. I hovered over him, the weight of the metal suddenly immense in my hand.

His eyes fluttered, a breath weased out of him, his fingers twitched. I could have ended it right then. I knew I should. I gripped the handle and brought the tip to the base of his skull and froze. My hand shook. He was someone's kid. He didn't deserve any of this. And here I was, on my knees, about to end it because I was too much of a cow to fix any of it.

Then I looked to the side. I saw Marissa holding the fruit. And for a second, I saw Elsie in her arms. My throat burned. I blinked hard, tried to steady my grip. I'm sorry, I whispered. And then I drove the blade down through the soft spot in his skull. I looked down at the body, blood thick in the dirt, and I felt sick.

Was this worth it? I tried to swallow the question, but it stuck there. Marissa brought the top from the shirt. shed and helped roll his body into it. Neither of us spoke. We dragged him past the rose to the far edge near the compost pit, where the ground was softer. I took the shovel and started digging. The smell of dirt and blood mixed in the air.

When the hole was deep enough, we lowered him in. I didn't look at his face. We covered it fast. packed the dirt back over, kicked mulch across the top. By the time we finished, my arms were shaking. Marissa stood beside me, her eyes glassy and far away. We have to clean the scanner, she said, and burn the tarp. I nodded and make sure they never send anyone again.

A week passed. Every night I lay beside my arm. Marissa, with the weight of what I'd done disturbing my thoughts. I kept telling myself it was for them, but I couldn't shake the sound of the gurgle in his throat. I tried to picture Marissa's face when she held her fruit and tried to hold on to that, tried to believe it was worth it.

The fruit had grown bigger. It was heavier now, thick around the middle, and long enough to touch the ground. It curled into the mulch, like it was sleeping, and it looked older now, almost the same age as Elsie had been before she died, who both started spending more time under the tree. I'd catch Marissa, brushing mulch away from the fruit side, or humming softly like she used to at bedtime. One morning, while I tied down a saggy branch, she looked up from where she sat, one hand resting gently on the

curve of the fruit. I think she's going to open her eyes soon, she said. I nodded slowly, unsure of how to answer. She looks ready. Marissa smiled. Our baby's coming back, I sat beside her. For that moment, with the smell of bark and mulch around us and that fruit between us, it felt like it might actually be true.

and then the phone rang from the house. It was Grafco, the same polite voice that had scheduled the check-ins before. Just following up, he said, one of our assistants had scheduled a site visit in your area. Did they make contact? I met Marissa's eyes across the kitchen, her grip on the coffee mug tightened. No, I said, no one showed. Understood, thank you. We'll be in touch. The line clicked dead.

If that wasn't enough stress, when Marissa turned the radio on, it crackled to life with the tail end of an emergency broadcast. Heavy winds expected across the valley floor, lightning activity reported near the ridge. Residents should secure loose property and avoid open areas. Advisories are in effect until midnight. Repeat, high wind and lightning warnings issued through tonight. The sky had that bruised tone to it, too dark for the morning. She's not ready, Marissa said quietly. If that wind knocks it down, it won't, I said.

We won't let it. We grabbed what we had, twine, stakes, and spare netting from the tool shed. I carried out an old canopy from the market days, metal legs rusty, but still usable. Marissa followed me, arms full of blankets and old towels. The wind had already picked up by the time we reached the tree.

The leaves shivered overhead, that warning Russell that comes before the break. So we worked fast. Marissa crouched beneath the branch, cupping the fruit with both hands like it might already be slipping away. We should anchor it,

She said, something soft just in case. I nodded and wedged an old pillow beneath the branch, tying it up loosely so it cradled the stem without tugging. She wrapped the towels around it like insulation, tucking every edge. Then I pulled the canopy over and hammered stakes around the base. We stretched the mesh netting taut around the frame, leaving room for the wind to pass, but not enough to tear. It looks like a damn tent, I muttered, stepping back. A flash of lightning licked the sky in the distance, followed by a slow roll of thunder a few seconds later.

I counted out of habit, maybe three or four miles off. We need to go inside, I said, my voice firm. Marissa refused to move. She was still crouched, one hand on the branch, the other gently cupping the base of the fruit through the canopy. She's going to be scared alone, she said. We can't just leave her. Marissa, she's just a kid, Paul.

She doesn't understand storms. What if she thinks we abandoned her again? I know beside her. The air buzzed faintly, starting in pressure and dread curling in the space between each gust. You've done everything you can, I said. She knows that.

What if lightning strikes? Another flash cut across the sky. This one closer. Thunder crackled overhead, and Marissa winced. I grabbed her hand. Come on, we'll watch from the house. We'll be right there. Just like when she spent the night camping in the garden.

He didn't leave her then either. She hesitated. Then she nodded slowly. We ran for the house through the rising wind. Once inside, Marissa pressed herself to the window, breath fogging the glass. The next bolt of lightning struck somewhere beyond the east grove, close enough that the flash painted the entire sky white. A half second later, the thunder crackled so hard, the glass trembled in its frame. Then, a sharp smell hit.

electrical and burnt I looked past Marissa's shoulder and saw sparks flaring from one of the graph cone nodes at the base of the tree three rows down Paul Marissa said voice sharp Do you see that

Yeah I breathed The sparks caught the dry mulch fast Flames licked up the base of the trunk Then another node popped another burst. The fire jumped from one row to the next like it had been waiting. Marissa slammed the hand against the window. No, no, no.

I grabbed the fire extinguisher from under the sink. Call 911, I barked, now. She didn't move. Marissa! She tore her eyes away from the window, fumbling for the phone. I bolted for the door, heart pounding. The air outside already thick with smoke and heat.

The fire raced faster than I expected. The wind whipped through the rose, feeding the flames. The extinguisher hissed uselessly against the growing wall of orange and black. I turned and saw Marissa turning toward the tree, phone clutched in one hand, the shears glinting in the other. Her face was streaked with sweat and panic. We have to get her, she shouted. Marissa, no, I'm not leaving her.

She dove under the canopy as flames crept closer through the underbrush. The air was thick and angry. I heard the pop of another node and the shattering snap of a branch. I ran to her. She emerged, cradling the fruit to a chest, wrapped in a blanket. I grabbed her arm and pulled her back with everything I had. We ran ducking under limbs, smoke-cloring at her lungs. We returned to the porch just after another lightning bolt split the sky.

The boom of thunder hit her second later like the world was splitting. Inside, she held onto the fruit, like when she carried Elsie to bed after falling asleep on the couch. Its skin glistened as if weeping, a thick, clear trail rolling down the cheek. Is that sap, I asked? She shook her head slowly. She's crying. She was scared. The fruit didn't pulse anymore, but it was warm.

The resemblance was more complete than before. It looked, done. Maybe she was ready, Marissa whispered. Another crack of lightning ripped across the sky and thunder followed so fast it felt like it landed on our roof. I looked at Marissa. You called for help, right?

She nodded barely. They're coming. Her attention was on the fruit. She began to rock it gently. Shh, baby, it's all right. right, it's just a storm. You're safe. We've got you. She kept whispering to it, word soft and soothing, like she was lulling it back to sleep. You're scared now, I know, I know, but we're here, we're not going anywhere. I turned to the window. The fire trucks hadn't

arrived yet. Outside, the orchard glowed with shifting orange light, the trees going one by one. Our whole life unraveled, row after row of work, memory, sweat, just gone. Years of early mornings, of pruning in frost and picking in heat, of coaxing life out of cracked earth, all of it vanishing into smoke. The trees we planted our first spring. Then, the fire had reached Elsie's tree. The canopy we'd built, minted, to shield and protect, caught instantly.

The netting ignited like dry paper, flames racing up the edges. The towels and blankets Marissa had so carefully wrapped became fuel. Lightning struck again, closer this time. It split a branch two rows over and sent a shockwave through the orchard. I watched the bark blacken and peal, with branches thrashing in the heat. Another flash lit the sky, and thunder cracked like a gunshot. The mulch around the base popped, and the wires underneath sparked again, throwing arcs into the inferno and feeding the fire until it roared like a living thing.

Marissa shrieked. I turned and saw her doubled over the counter, arms wrapped protectively around the fruit, rocking it. No, no, please, no! She whimpered. Not again. Not again! The fruit's skin had the jaw split open, wet and sudden. A thick line tore sideways through the cheek.

The way overright fruit bursts under its own weight. Inside were muscles and tendons. Pink curled around the edges of the wound like fresh gum, twitching. It glistened with something slick. Marissa's hands scrambled to press the pieces back together. her. No, baby, stay, stay with me, please, she whispered, pressing her palms against the softening flesh like she could hold it in place by force. Her fingers smeared black and red residue across the muslin. Don't go, she begged. You're almost there, you're almost done. Please don't leave me.

Then it started to cave. The jaw turned dark and blackened fully. The flesh sagged and collapsed into itself, caving inward like it was folding back into the pit it came from. Marissa tried to catch the pieces as they fell, coupling her hands beneath them, but they slid through her fingers in wet, shapeless

slumps. Each chunk landed on the counter with a thick, soft splat. She shrieked again and grabbed at what was left, trying to reassemble it. I can fix it, I can fix it, just give

back. A vein unspooled from the centre and shriveled before I could finish. What was left was scraps of soft black tissue, slick with residue. In the centre lay a single seed. Marissa reached through it with shaking fingers, hands coated in the pulp of what used to be Elsie. She cut the seed, her mouth moved, but no sound came. out at first, just a quiver. Then, her lips parted. No, no, no, this isn't what was supposed to happen. I waited, we waited. She was supposed to be ready. She was almost here. She backed into the wall and slid down, curling around the seed, muttering fragments, apologies, lullabies. Her eyes were wild, darting toward the window.

The storm, the fire. It scared her, she whispered. She got scared, and she left. Blue and red light flashed against the walls, strobing across the kitchen as sirens filled the air. The fire trucks pulled into the drive, wheels kicking up gravel and smoke. Boots hit the ground running,

shouts rang out, water lines hissed as they unspooled. I stepped away from the window. chest heavy, the sound of the orchard crackling like coal in a furnace. I looked at the seed, still cradled in Marissa's hands, and felt something sickening in my stomach. Marissa rocked on her heels, clutching the seed tight against the chest. Her eyes were glassy, unfocused, fixed on nothing. Then she looked up at me, sudden and sharp. We need to replant it, she said.

We can't let it in like this. We need to give her another chance. My throat tightened. I glanced at the seed, then at the glow of the fire. Marissa, I said carefully. We have to wait. The storm isn't done.

Not yet. She shook ahead like she hadn't heard me. We can't wait too long. She's still out there. I can feel it. We can't leave her alone for too long. She gets scared. It took hours to fight the fire.

The orchard was a patchwork of scorched trunks and blackened earth by the time the smoke cleared. What hadn't burned down was drowned. We lost nearly everything. The pears, the apples, the entire eastern block. Years of pruning, grafting, and coaxing life from bark. and soil all gone. When the trucks finally rolled out and the sky had cleared, I walked back inside. Marissa had fallen asleep on the kitchen floor, the seed still clutched to her chest.

I stood over her for a long time. Then I reached down and gently pry the seed from her fingers. She stirred but didn't wake. I carried it to the bathroom, closed the door. sat on the edge of the tub and stared at it resting in my palm it looked harmless just a simple seed but I couldn't do it again Marissa would heal eventually so I flushed it I watched as the water swirled and it disappeared then I sat there in the quiet not sure if I just killed what was left my wife or

Finally let my daughter rest. Then it all hit me. My shoulders caved forward. I bent elbows to knees, face in my hands. And I cried. Big, ugly sobs that shook the floor and scraped out something I hadn't touched since the day she died.

My chest seized with each breath and I wept until my stomach cramped until snot and spit smeared down my chin. months of keeping it together cracked open in a single brutal moment