Stoneville, a town so small it was barely a dot on the map, was just like any other town. Except that it was surrounded by a twelve-foot-high fence, with only one gate for entry or exit – no one in, no one out. It had been this way for as long as anyone could remember, and all for one reason: The Tree.
The town was founded 200 years ago by one Ericson Malarkey, who discovered an old tree while wandering his land. On this tree were a dozen dark green fruits that he had never seen before. Being the inquisitive chap he was, Malarkey decided to cut one open to see what was inside. He was so enamoured with what he found that he wrote it all down in a book and ordered the fence to be built to protect his treasure. He decided to name the fruit "alligator pear" due to its skin texture and shape.
This book can still be found in the town hall - guarded at all times and so badly faded that the last few lines cannot be read.
There is another book next to it, written by Malarkey's great-great-grandson, Erik, who was lucky enough to witness the next blooming of The Tree. These books were written a century apart.
The Tree, it seemed, only bore fruit every 100 years, which made it something of a legend in the town. Even old Mr Mason, at 84 years old, had never seen the mysterious fruit. He had, of course, heard the tales of produce with anti-ageing properties, so ripe and firm that people would kill for a taste.
Erik Malarkey had written a tale of Mr Weston and Mr Smith drawing guns on each other to get to the fruit. They were both shot and killed by Mrs Winchester who claimed she needed youth more than they did. She died just last week, at 129 years old. Mr Mason was now at the front of the crowd gathered around The Tree.
It had been 99 years, 6 days, 23 hours, and 45 minutes since Erik Malarkey wrote down his account of this magnificent tree and the fruit it bestowed upon him (his words, not mine). Everyone was gathered around The Tree, keeping a respectful distance, and waiting.
All except one.
Erika Malarkey, the great-great-granddaughter of Erik was studying the book written by Ericson. She was determined to figure out what information the last lines in the book contained - they seemed to be written in capital letters, rather than the neat cursive which scrawled across the rest of the pages.
It had now been 99 years, 6 days, 23 hours, and 55 minutes since The Tree last gifted the town with fruit. The townspeople had moved closer, watching for... well, anything. Every one of them had heard the tale of a shiny green, bigger-than-a-lemon fruit.
They'd all drawn pictures as children, depicting a glorious crop of green blobs on the old tree, and passed the legend down to their children who were now standing silently by their parents’ sides waiting for the once in a lifetime experience.
"What...?" Erika Malarkey pushed her hair out of her eyes and sat up, face pale as she read the last four lines of Ericson’s book. She looked at the ornate clock on the wall and jumped up. She needed to get to the tree and warn everyone before it was too late.
It had now been 99 years, 6 days, 23 hours, and 59 minutes since alligator pears were seen in the town. The townspeople were silent. There wasn’t a sound to be heard until a popping noise came from The Tree, startling all of them and making a baby cry.
There, on the branches, appearing as if by magic, were the much-anticipated green fruits. Seconds passed before the townspeople scrambled over each other to grab one. Mr Mason swung his walking stick around, beating back his friends and neighbours, then used the stick to dislodge a pear-shaped dull green fruit from The Tree.
Peeling himself away from the crowd, he sat on a bench and inspected his prize. It did indeed feel firm, but the skin wasn’t as green as he’d expected, nor did it have the sweet smell described in the stories from his youth. Fishing his pocketknife from his coat, Mr Mason observed the townspeople – children were crying, Mr Tremaine and Mr Cuthbert were indulged in a full-blown fistfight, allowing Master Skipton to nip past and steal the last remaining fruit from The Tree.
Silence descended onto the square as people inspected their gains. Mr Mason cut a slice from his treasure – it was a pale green inside, quite a contrast to the dark green outer shell.
He took a bite as Erika Malarkey raced into the square shouting:
“The last words of the book – I’ve figured them out! Put the fruit down! It says –
MALARKEY BY NAME, MALARKEY BY NATURE,
THE FRUIT IS NOT MAGIC,
IT’S DISGUSTING AND SLIMY.
PEOPLE WILL BELIEVE ANYTHING THEY READ.”
Mr Mason spat out a slimy green blob and wiped his tongue on his sleeve. Around him, his friends and neighbours did the same.
(864)
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