Chapter 1: The Island Figg, and its Orchard
I woke up early. It was probably because of the sudden cold; this was the lowest temperature we’d had since the cold front began. It was so weird; I would have expected a cold front to come in winter, not summer, but no one seemed to mind, except for me. The abrupt change in weather was followed by strong, freezing winds that I couldn’t stand. I lived on an island-town, in the middle of the ocean. We occasionally got some cool sea breezes, but the actual village was toward the center of the island, so it wasn’t unbearable. The only reason that anyone lived on Figg, the island, was because it was so directly placed on the equator, just to the west of South America. This made the climate constantly subtle. Figg was a scientific marvel- its placement somehow made any severe weather virtually impossible. Only forty people lived on the island, selected randomly from different parts of the United States. I was, obviously, one of them. Figg was the most serene little town you could imagine. Everyone knew everyone, the neighbors were all friendly. The prices at the little market in the center of the town were fair. The weather was just an added bonus and, honestly, no one really had a choice whether or not they wanted to get along with the others. We were all planted on this tiny island, why not play it safe? And it was because of this ensured safety that, when I got up, I merely left a note on the table to my parents, saying I was going out. I cooked a couple of pancakes real fast, and put them on a covered plate in the fridge for my dad. Pulling on a sweatshirt over my nightgown and stepping into my slippers, I headed out the kitchen door. I was in the middle of the lawn when I realized that I hadn’t eaten any breakfast myself. I quickly cut through two lawns, finally reaching the small apple orchard near town. I could see it out my window, but I only went there when I had to. No matter how beautiful it was, it was still eerie and always seemed empty when Lauren and Veronica, the teenage sisters who lived next to it, weren’t picking apples. Resisting the urge to turn my back on the crooked, swaying trees, I raced over to one and climbed easily up to one of the branches. I grabbed two apples and, without pulling them off, jumped down. The apples fell with me, briefly bending the gray branch they were on before ripping off altogether. Then, possessed by the pale, swirling mist surrounding me, I ran. I ran without thinking where I was going, without caring. I felt eyes on my back as I raced from the orchard, sure that someone- something- had been watching me. True, Figg was tranquil and nonviolent… but that didn’t mean that it couldn’t be scary.
Chapter 2: Mrs. Malvin, and her Dropped Plate
 What I called town was a circle of buildings- a soda shop, a supermarket, a post office, and so on- accessible by an arched entryway. Just before the town’s entrance was a road with six houses on it, and I stopped at the one closest to the arch. That was a boy named Martin’s house. He was eleven, like me, and had borrowed my skateboard two days ago. I went around to the back of the house, chewing on my apple. The patio that was at the back of the house contained the door to Martin’s room, and I knocked on his door, hoping he was awake. He answered the door, and, without saying anything, I tossed him the second apple. “Hey, can I have my skateboard back?” I asked, while he stared at me drowsily. “Sure, Mitts,” he mumbled, turning away. ‘Mitts’ was another version of my nickname, Mittens. My real name is Melody, but everyone calls me Mittens or, in this case, Mitts.  Soon enough, he returned with my skateboard and handed it to me, beginning to eat his apple. I thanked him and, as I turned, he asked, “Where you going?” “To help Jerry,” I replied, stepping onto my skateboard. Jerry was Figg’s only mailman, but he was a good one, a friendly one. I often went to the warm, bright post office in the morning to help him sort the mail. It was fun, and I usually helped him get a lot done. I rode my skateboard into the quiet horseshoe of buildings and made my way over to the light blue post office. Jerry was already standing behind the counter, taping a FedEx box shut. “Oh, hey, Mittens!” He said. “Hi Jerry,” He slid the box into a cabinet behind the counter. I sat my skateboard up against the wall and pulled myself up onto the counter, dropping down behind it. “Anything I can help with?” I asked, eyeing the untidy mound of letters behind him. “Nope, not today,” he sighed, shaking his blonde bangs out of his eyes. “The boat’s coming today for the off-island transports. The office won’t even be open till four.” I frowned, jumping back to the other side of the counter. “Ah, well. See you later,” I called, getting my skateboard and opening the door. “Bye!” I did have a plan B, which was Mrs. Malvin’s diner. I also sometimes helped her make soup and knead dough for bread. She had told me where she hid the key to the back door- in a compartment in the ‘welcome’ sign, hanging on the doorknob. I unlocked the back door to the diner, which led into the kitchen, and left my skateboard outside. She was already there, pouring ground coffee beans into the coffee machine. Mrs. Malvin was a bit chubby and her cheeks were always pink, though she didn’t wear makeup. “Oh, good morning!” She said, turning to me. “Dear, do you think you could hand me that dishtowel over there?” She gestured toward a rag on the counter. Smiling, I fetched it for her, glad to be useful. After a few minutes of helping her dry dishes, my mind reluctantly returned to the orchard. “Uh… Mrs. Malvin?” “Hmm?” “Does the apple orchard ever… like… freak you out?” Shockingly, she dropped the plate she was holding into the sink, leaving the clattering ringing in my ears. For a moment, she stared out the window at nothing in particular. Then, flustered, she quickly picked the plate up, inspected it for scratches, and began washing dishes again. “No, Mittens, I cannot say it does. Why? Does it scare you?” I shrugged. “I went to get an apple this morning, and I could’ve sworn I- it felt like someone… was watching me…” I noticed her struggle to keep her grip on the mug she was scrubbing. “Well, dear, the orchard can be a bit eerie in the fog, but I’m sure it was just your imagination.” She spoke kindly, but her eyes were stern. I backed away from the sink, placing the last dish in the cabinet. She stayed in place, her hands gripping the edges of the sink, staring out the window again. This time, her gaze wasn’t so blank. “Is there anything else I can do for you?” I asked, trying not to sound as confused as I was. “No,” she said, tearing her eyes from the window. I smiled politely and made my way over to the front door, but she stopped me. “Take the back door,” she said, quickly. I nodded, more confused yet, and followed her directions. As I stepped onto my skateboard and made my way around to the front of the building, I realized that if I had taken the front door, I would have been able to see the apple orchard perfectly. I could have also seen it out the kitchen window.
Chapter 3: A Fear Faced, and an Awful Way to Die
     I was already halfway home when Martin caught up to me. Still shaken by Mrs. Malvin’s unsettling outburst, I almost fell off my skateboard when I heard him approaching. “Martin!” I sighed, relieved (although I don’t know who I had expected to see). He was wide awake now, and I stopped pushing my skateboard to talk to him. “Hey, Mitts,” he said. “Oh, hi, Martin. Umm…” We stopped walking. “What is it?” To ignore his eyes, I tried to focus on his spiked, black hair as I spoke. “Do you ever… no. Never mind.” “What? Spit it out, Mittens!” I picked up my skateboard and scrutinized the wheels, anything I could do to avoid his concerned stare. “You know the orchard?” I asked, slowly. He nodded. “Well… does it seem… creepy, to you?” He laughed. “Yeah,” he said, “especially since last winter.” I stared at him. “What? I didn’t tell you?” He asked. I shook my head. “Last year, in December,” he began, “I went to the orchard. I was taking a shortcut through it when- this is gonna sound really stupid- I heard somebody say my name. But I looked around, and there was nobody there. Weird, right?” He chuckled. I didn’t. “Mitts, c’mon, it was probably just my imagination.” That was what Mrs. Malvin had said. Just my imagination. I stared at the ground. Not wanting him to leave me alone, this close to the orchard, I tried to appear calm. “Yeah. I’m not actually afraid of the orchard,” I lied. “It just seemed weird this morning, with the fog and all.” Martin nodded, and then shrugged. “Hey, get on your skateboard,” he said. “I’ll push you.” I smiled and hopped on as he steered  me down the road, his hand on my back. He liked to do this so he could swerve me around and make me shriek like a five year old. The cold air grew colder as he broke into a run, and we zoomed by eleven houses within six seconds. I laughed, until I realized that he had turned me around, and we were whizzing straight toward the apple orchard. My eyes grew wide with unexplained fear, and I- in a spasm of terror- leapt off my skateboard and ran in the opposite direction. “Mitts!” Martin called after me. I skidded to a stop. He caught up to me, holding my skateboard, and I turned around cautiously. “What was that about?” He asked me. I looked down. “You said you weren’t scared of the orchard,” he laughed. I shrugged. “Well,” he began, “why don’t I help you face your fears? I’ll take you into the orchard, we’ll look around, see that there’s nothing strange or scary, and then leave.” I shook my head furiously. Then, I considered the options: face my fears with the help of one of my closest friends, or break into a panicked run every time I passed the apple orchard. “Hmm… okay,” I said, slowly. He grinned and stepped onto my skateboard. Making sure I could keep up, he rode all the way down to the gray orchard, where the air erupted in shadows, just beyond the first tree. My heart dropped into my stomach, forcing my shoulders to slump. He left my skateboard resting on a tree, and guided me into the orchard. “I’ll be right here,” he said, giving me a little shove. I stood, my hands shaking, and my pulse pounding in my ears. I was in the very middle of the orchard, and it suddenly became darker to me, even though Martin didn’t appear to notice. I became aware of every bare branch, reaching out to me like skinned hands, with exposed, overlapping muscles and tendons. I bit my lip to stop from screaming so hard that it hurt. And what was that foul, metallic taste in my mouth? Blood? A bird shook a branch above me, trickling drops of cold dew onto my face and down my throat. Yes, that was definitely warm blood on my tongue. The apple trees seemed to close in on me, and everything became a blur as my stomach tightened and my body became too heavy to support. I fell to the ground in a crumpled heap, breathing heavily, my eyes rolling back into my head. Martin rushed toward me, and his voice was muffled and slurred as he tried to wake me. My eyelids fluttered, and he picked me up, leaning me against him so I was standing. We began to walk, my arm around his shoulder, Martin carrying my skateboard. “Gosh, Mitts,” he said, “from the look on your face, I thought you were going to die in there!” “Yeah,” I murmured, “and what and awful way to die.”
Chapter 4: A Nightmare, and a Sleepwalk
When Martin finally got me home and we sat down on the couch, I was still lightheaded and jumpy. My parents were both at work. My dad was with Jerry, loading the off-island transports, and my mom was in Figg’s greenhouse with Adelaide, taking care of the vegetables for the market. Martin got me a glass of water, and I took it gratefully, washing the taste of blood out of my mouth. My forehead was soaked in sweat. After about an hour of watching TV and talking to calm ourselves down, I told Martin that I was okay, and I would go lay down upstairs. He agreed to leave me home alone, and I was glad that I hadn’t changed out of my nightgown all day. I took my sweater off and curled up under the covers. I tried to close my eyes, but they kept on opening again. I wished that Martin hadn’t left. The house felt so… empty. My loneliness made every sound echo off the walls. I tried to focus on the fact that it was the middle of the day. It didn’t work. The apple orchard had found its way into the crevices of my imagination. Eventually, I pulled the comforter over my head and drifted off into a restless sleep. I had nightmare after nightmare, all about scenarios in the orchard. In one, I was being chased by someone, and I could hear a plate crash loudly to the ground behind me. In another, I got lost in the orchard and I turned to look for a house, but the orchard went on forever. But the very worst was the one where I got out of bed, in the middle of the night. I walked all the way to the apple orchard, all the while hearing someone call my name. But not my nickname; they were calling my real name, Melody. I followed the voice into the orchard, and the trees closed in on me. They made a tight circle around me, and I felt suffocated. Then, the ground opened up beneath me, and I fell into a gaping hole. I fell down into the darkness, too tired to scream. I was drowning in the shadows when a light went on below me. I dropped, as if from the sky, back into the orchard. It looked exactly the same, except the trees were spread out. The hole closed up above me, and everything was normal. I ran out of the orchard, glad to see houses and people again. But this warped world didn’t look right… it was Figg, but everything was darker- grayer, somehow. The houses seemed crooked and demonic, and the few people that were on the streets were grimacing and some were even sitting on the curb, crying. I didn’t recognize any of them. I ran to the post office, looking for Jerry. Instead, the inside of the post office looked like a jail. It was one long hallway, and the doors on each side had barred windows. Everything was a faded white, and a light flickered and buzzed above me. As I made my way down the corridor, hands reached out to pull my hair and eyes watched me from the barred windows. At the end of the hallway, there was a silver door with no window. It rattled and shook violently, and someone was screaming behind it. I ran as fast as I could out of what I had thought was the post office. Glancing behind me as I ran, I caught a glimpse of the sign that usually read ‘Figg Post Office’. Instead, it said, ‘Figg Insane Asylum’. I began to cry, and then I woke up. I was so happy to be out of my nightmare that I didn’t immediately notice the fact that I had woken up on the ground… and that I had sleepwalked into the apple orchard.
 Chapter 5: A Twisted Figg, and Not a Nightmare
 I scrambled to my feet, alert only when I realized how dark it was. It was probably midnight. I groggily rubbed my eyes, wanting to go home and pretend it was all a dream. But then the logic set in- shouldn’t my parents be looking for me? I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, trying to pretend I was somewhere else. I walked out of the orchard, only calm because I was still half asleep. When I opened my eyes again, I was right outside the orchard, near the entrance to town. I sighed, relieved that my nightmare wasn’t true. The streets were empty, and everything looked peacefully normal in the warm glow of moonlight. Everything was ordinary. I was walking back to my house when something dashed across the road in front of me. It looked like a cat with orange fur. I looked over to where it had stopped, and saw that it was a cat, sitting with its back to me. I walked over and reached out to pet it, but it suddenly turned around. I recoiled and backed away… its entire upper face was a gruesome, jumbled mass of different colored eyes, like a spider’s. Its mouth was a gaping hole, with countless rows of teeth. I ran until I was positive that it couldn’t see me. Later, still trying to get home, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a window. I looked horrible, like I hadn’t gotten any sleep for weeks, and hadn’t eaten anything for months. And I was so dark… I looked like what night would, if it was a person. That was unsettling on so many levels. When I got home, I quietly made my way up to my bedroom and checked my clock. It was 1:27 in the morning. I sighed and got into bed. But, I couldn’t go back to sleep. The looming shadows outside my window felt so threatening, and I decided to wait until the sun rose, and any trace of night was washed away. I sat in the dark, watching slow minutes tick by on my clock. Eventually, I dozed off. When I woke up, my clock read 9:00 a.m., and I excitedly ran to my window to open the curtains and unleash the light into my room. When I did, my stomach lurched. It was still dark outside, and the moon was still out. I decided that my clock must have malfunctioned, and got back into bed. But I wasn’t tired. If anything, it felt like I had overslept. Not wanting to wake my parents up, I tiptoed downstairs and into the kitchen. I pulled two waffles out of the freezer and toasted them, then smearing a thick mixture of butter and syrup all over them. I was carrying my plate back up to my room when I heard something brush- or rather scrape- against the kitchen door. I turned quickly and sat my plate down on the counter. When I opened the door and stepped out into the blackness, I saw something glint in the shadows. It was like a tiny glimmer against the night, and I stepped toward where I had seen it. My hand brushed against someone else’s, and I gasped. “Hello?” I asked, my voice shattering the silence. Suddenly, a woman approached me. She was wearing a flowing silver dress that put my PJ’s to shame, and had shimmering blonde hair, so I guessed that this combination was what had caused the glimmer of light I had seen. But soon enough, I realized that the woman- who was glaring at me rather resentfully now- had nails and pins crudely jabbed into her body randomly from her shoulders up. I turned away, horrified, but was forced to look at her when she grabbed my wrist and twisted my arm. Unable to think of anything dynamic, I hissed, “what is wrong with you?!” She held my wrist up in the air and for a moment I thought she was going to lift me up, but instead, she threw my hand down disgustedly and silently walked away. She walked with such dignity and flamboyance that, for a brief moment, I forgot about her hideous injuries. And so I followed her. She swayed a little with every step, and I could not help but wonder where she was going, where she was unknowingly taking me. As we walked, I could see people under the dim streetlights. They were all unfortunate in some way or another; one girl I saw, who was about my age, just leaned against a lamppost as a dark red liquid trickled from the corner of her mouth. Also, there was one man whose face looked like it was assembled from different pieces of other faces. He was so horrifyingly gruesome, but I just couldn’t look away. This was Figg… but a twisted Figg. Was it a nightmare? I pondered this as I walked. We went past the greenhouse, where my mom would be working during the day. From a crack in the wall of the greenhouse, a black vine slithered slowly over to my foot and twisted around my ankle. I gasped, and a teenage girl came walking out of the greenhouse. Her hair was a startling shade of green, and it looked like leaves and moss were growing on her head. Her skin was a pale shade of yellow-green, too. She grabbed the vine and yanked it off of me, making me yelp as I scrambled to retain my balance. Suddenly, the woman in silver- without turning around- said, “child!” and stopped walking. She could have only been talking to me. This surprised me so much that I tripped over my own feet and stumbled forward, landing on the cement, my palms scraping the pavement. “Yes?” I groaned, and she slowly turned. I stood and looked at my hands. They stung, and blood oozed down my arms. The pain was way too real for my liking- no, this was definitely not a nightmare.
Chapter 6: Ms. Veena and her Unusual Pets
She gazed at me with what could only be described as amazement in her expression. “Do I not frighten you, girl?” she asked coldly. I was too disturbed by the needle placed dangerously close to her left eye to answer. She raised her eyebrows at me. Standing, I was level with the top of her shoulder. The fact that I could kick her in the shins very easily was enough to keep me from fainting. However, it was not enough to keep me from stuttering out the most pathetic thing I could have said at the time: “I- I like your dress…” To my surprise, she threw back her head and laughed. “Impressive,” she chuckled, making her way over to me, “neither frightened nor insulting.” I took a step back. “I’m Ms. Veena,” she said, reaching out to let her finger graze my cheek. I stepped away, just in time. “Don’t you dare touch me…” I said, with more courage than I felt. She tilted her head a bit, and I could see her black eyes glinting against the pale green moonlight. Silently, and more quickly than I would have thought was possible, she glided closer and put her thin hands on my shoulders. She was so much stronger then she looked. I was pushed through alleyways, between houses, and down roads that looked like normal Figg roads, but were somehow off, a bit. Then, we came to the Figg library. It looked normal, except the ‘Figg Library’ sign had been torn off and the building was, like everything else in this twisted Figg, curiously gray and gloomy. She opened the door and shoved me inside. We were in what should have been the lobby, but it had been transformed into a bedroom, every piece of furniture in colors that reminded me of an old sepia picture. I wanted to stop and look, but she continued to guide me into the huge library room. She let me go in that room, shutting the door behind her. The gigantic shelves were still there, and the armchairs, but there were no books. Instead, there were wide cages sitting on the shelves. The cages held boys and girls, most of them younger than me, but some looked to be about my age. At first, I wanted to turn and run, because I thought they were dead. But then, I realized that they were breathing, and some were quietly sobbing. I jumped when Ms. Veena called, “pets!” Yet, it was even more disturbing to watch as every caged child opened their eyes and turned to look at me. I wanted to hide behind Ms. Veena, but I also wanted to look dignified, so I held my breath and waited. Then, a large cage at the corner of the room caught my eye. It was a gold cage, and much bigger than the rest. There was a girl in it, and she was the only one who looked like she was my age, maybe even older. Her hair was totally black, and her skin was totally white. She was wearing a T-shirt that was way too big for her, and pants with holes at the knees. She was running her fingers through her hair, while she stared at me. Ms. Veena gestured toward the miserable-looking caged children and grinned proudly. “These are my pets,” she said. I didn’t respond. She followed my gaze and noticed that I was staring right back at the girl in the corner. “Oh,” she said, sounding bored, “that’s just Charlotte.” “Why is her cage gold?” I asked. Ms. Veena shrugged. “She’s the oldest, the newest… and the bravest, if you ask me. She actually tried to kick me! I might just throw you in with her.” My eyes widened. “What?” I growled, my fear turning to anger, “you think you can just cage me like an animal? Like I’m one of your… your pets? No! That is not going to happen! You can’t own a person! That’s insane! You’re insane!” At that moment, behind Ms. Veena’s back, Charlotte fished a hairpin out of her hair, and quietly began to fiddle with the lock of her cage. Ms. Veena stood motionless, gawking at me. I could hear the faint clicking of Charlotte’s lock, and I knew right away what she was doing, and how I could help. While Charlotte desperately tried to pick her lock, I distracted Ms. Veena more, by saying, “What would you do if they were all unleashed? They would kill you! You’re no match for this many children! You’re evil, but you’re stupid!” I glanced worriedly over Ms. Veena’s shoulder, trying to figure out how much longer I would need to stall, but Ms. Veena noticed what I was looking at and turned halfway, but I stomped on her foot with all my strength. It didn’t do anything but send her into a loud fit of anger, but it bought Charlotte enough time. She quietly opened the door of her cage and made her way over to Ms. Veena, who was screaming so much profanity at me that all of her grace and flamboyance was totally lost. Charlotte was halfway to us when the floor creaked under her, and Ms. Veena spun around on her heel. She was quick, but not quick enough for Charlotte. Charlotte reached up to Ms. Veena’s throat, pulled out one of her protruding nails, and then threw it to me. “Keep it,” she said quickly, “as protection.” Ms. Veena recoiled and, with a bloodcurdling scream, deflated like a balloon and fell to the floor. “Just like the Wicked Witch,” I muttered. Then, I realized that- with Ms. Veena’s death- all of the cages had disintegrated, and the children were now running free. Charlotte waved to me as I dashed out into the lobby and out of the library completely. It was still dark outside, but I was just glad to be out of Ms. Veena’s house. As I raced through the streets, I tried not to look at the people nearby… a living freak show of gore.
 Chapter 7: Into the Orchard, and Somewhat of an Escape
 All the buildings that used to be familiar to me were now looming and hideously dark. In this Figg, night never stopped. Hands grabbed at me from open windows, and the creature around every turn was always more grotesque than the previous. Yet, I ran, not stopping until I reached the only thing that hadn’t changed in the transition to this other Figg: the orchard. I walked into the middle of it and sat down. “Please,” I whispered through gritted teeth, “just take me home. Please.” I thought of home, where daybreak shattered the veil of darkness every morning. Where I could watch TV with Martin, and ride my skateboard into the normal town. Then, I felt my back begin to burn with a strange sensation. I looked up, and saw the source of the warmth: the sun. Finally! The normal, glowing Figg sun! I laughed and danced and smiled until my jaw ached. Then, I danced my way out of the orchard and ran all the way back to my house. The time hadn’t changed… it was the same time it had been when Martin had left. My dad was sitting in the kitchen, eating an apple. “Hi, Mittens!” he said. I ran over and hugged him, but the cold skin of the apple he was holding accidentally grazed my arm, and I shivered reluctantly. I smiled to hide the grim recollection of what had caused my unfortunate adventure. I ran into the living room to greet my mom, but skidded to a stop when I realized what she was doing: sewing. My stomach lurched. “M- mom?” I asked, backing away. The point of her needle seemed to be jabbing my throat. She looked up. “Oh, hi, sweetie! You’re back from Martin’s!” I nodded, again grinning to hide my discomfort. She stood up from her chair, still holding the needle, and approached me to hug me. I backed further away, my eyes growing wide with terror. A quick, unexpected slideshow of my previous few hours made its way through my mind, and I fell into a chair, hiding my face. My mom panicked and asked me repeatedly what was wrong. Eventually, I gave in and told her everything. She stood there calmly, like it was no big deal. When I was finished, she gave me a hug and told me not to eat any more candy right before bedtime. I became aggravated and showed her my scraped hands, and the nail that Charlotte had pulled out of Ms. Veena. She knew I wasn’t creative enough to invent a story like that, and then make sure every detail was correct and could be proved. So that’s why her and Dad told everyone they knew that I was insane- cutting myself, having hallucinations. That’s how the news got outside of the island, and no one wanted to come to the once-peaceful Figg, anymore. That’s how the off-island transports stopped, and they were able to clear out the post office to make an asylum. Later, the story became a superstition and younger children wanted to try to get to the anti-Figg. Most failed, but those who succeeded joined me in the asylum. I’m at the room in the very back, with the iron door. So, in a way, I kind of have my own little anti-Figg right in here. I’m writing this on the paper a nurse gave to me so that I could ‘express myself’. Do you know what the worst part is? I can see the apple orchard from my window. I hate this place. Anyway, the doctors are coming to give me more pills. I hope the cold front stops soon. The sun would probably do me some good.