Hello and Welcome to Realms, a sci-fi and fantasy newsletter. I’m Zach, the writer and narrator for today’s story. Subscribe today to escape to new worlds every month.

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Today’s story is special. It’s part I of III and my first serialized story. It’s also the first collaboration with another Substack. This story exists in the realm of The Blackwater Files, started by . Please enter this dark, brooding, and creepy universe and enjoy its many branching paths.

Welcome to the Blackwater project. The year is 2050, a near future, and a private pharmaceutical company is conducting an experiment to achieve immortality. They believe the key lies in the subconscious, the black waters of your mind.

Follow various characters as they navigate the darkest corners of their minds (the Undertow) through a pill administered by Elysium™. Each storyline is written by a different author—some with multiple episodes! Spend a little time with us, you will not be disappointed.

The Blackwater Files

HISTORICAL TRANSCRIPT FBI-Z01, OCT, 2031

ONLY LAB PERSONNEL WITH ZETA CLEARANCE CAN ACCESS THIS TRANSCRIPT.

IF YOU DO NOT HAVE ZETA CLEARANCE, RETURN THIS FILE TO PUBLIC RELATIONS STAFF IMMEDIATELY. 

IF THIS FILE IS FOUND OUTSIDE ELYSIUM PREMISES, PLEASE CALL 1-800-359-7486. IF YOU ARE NOT AN ELYSIUM EMPLOYEE AND ARE FOUND IN POSSESSION OF THIS DOCUMENT, IT IS WITHIN OUR RIGHTS TO DETAIN YOU, FREEZE ALL ONLINE PRESENCE, APPROPRIATE FUNDS, AND MORE, ALL WITHOUT LEGAL REPRESENTATION OR NOTIFICATION OF ANY GOVERNMENT BODY. 

IF YOU ARE AN ELYSIUM EMPLOYEE, YOU KNOW WHAT RIGHTS YOU ARE AND ARE NOT AFFORDED WHEN IN POSSESSION OF COMPANY PROPERTY.

PERSONAL NOTE FROM DR. KARASEVDAS: THIS REPORT IS ON FILE FOR MORE THAN SENTIMENTAL REASONS. IT EXISTS BECAUSE WE ALLOW IT. IT EXISTS BECAUSE IT INFORMS US OF THE LENGTHS THE GIANTS WE STAND UPON WENT TO IN PURSUIT OF EVERLASTING LIFE. THIS TRANSCRIPT OF AGENT ADHIKARY’S AUDIO RECORDINGS IS THE ONLY COPY OF THIS REPORT ON HAND. ALL OTHER RECORDS, AS FAR AS WE WERE ABLE, WERE DESTROYED. IF YOU KNOW OF OR HEAR ANYTHING ABOUT ANOTHER RECORD, INFORM YOUR LOCAL SUPERVISOR IMMEDIATELY. 

———————————————————————————————————————————————

FBI REPORT - JORDAN ADHIKARY - 2031 - [REDACTED], INDIANA

This first-hand report details the origins of the delivery agents used to transmit [REDACTED] directly into cell DNA via RNA manipulation. For details on the chemistry, please see INTERIOR LAB PUBLICATION 12.A. 

To be clear, this report exists only in Elysium’s archives. Officially, all FBI records during the Ohio Rebellion were destroyed. 

———————————————————————————————————————————————

Dates: [REDACTED]

Geotag: [REDACTED]

Agent: Jordan Adhikary

Agent Supervisor: Lev [REDACTED]

Hey Lev, just checking in. I arrived at [REDACTED] around 6 p.m. My hotel is going to give me bedbugs, but that’s to be expected. I can’t imagine there’re more than two people running this place. Cleanliness isn’t a priority anymore. Just happy to be off the roads. St. Louis is a hellhole now, the roads shot to bits. No one got ahold of me, thank God. I’m happy to report that the WarHorse XC is a capable machine. (I’m writing this so you can tell your pals at the DOD. The military should buy a million of these things.) 

Nothing good to eat within a ten-mile radius here. Happy I brought hubby’s cooking. Don’t know the next time I’ll get food this good. I know I’m not supposed to include semantic details like this, but they’ll get cut out by the AI anyway. I guess I’m nervous. First solo mission. First mass murder case. Potentially a murder-suicide, based on the details.

Going to get some rest. I’ll be going into town tomorrow to meet the local sheriff, then see the murder site. 

Damn, these dumplings are good. I love you, honey.

Shit, not supposed to record that. 

I’m at a local diner that’s serving burgers and shakes and pies like it’s eighty years prior. Place looks brand new. Chrome everywhere. Real leather chairs. The black and white checkered tiles polished to an almost offensive shine. God, I hate these tiles. Here comes the sheriff. He’s in a khaki getup, leather belt, hard black revolver. No energy weapons or smart guns. This town hasn’t advanced to the twenty-first century… 

Hey, Sheriff! Over here.

Hi there. You can call me Kevin. You didn’t wait long, did ya?

No, no, of course not. I’m always too early for my appointments. Old habit. Anyway, I’m Special Agent Adhikary. And before we begin discussing the case, I have to inform you that our conversation is being recorded. FBI policy. Helps us keep track of everything. I don’t have to inform you, but I want to. 

I understand. I ain’t got nothing to hide…but some folk won’t like that at all. And, to tell you the truth, we really didn’t think anyone would take notice of what happened here, specially with the war on…

This sort of case is high on our priority list. Can’t have strange mass deaths like this going on within the United States. At least those states still with us. But enough about that…tell me about yourself.

Well…uh, I been sheriff here for bout twenty years. My daddy was sheriff, too. And, might I say, it’s mighty dangerous for a woman to be out cross-country solo. You come through St. Louis?

You’re sweet for asking. I did go through St. Louis. I did have some trouble. Actually, they had some trouble with me.

I’m sure they did. Your machine there sure looks like hell on two wheels. Well, I don’t want to waste time. This thing we got here is grisly. Worst thing I ever come across in my career. Here, watch the drone footage.

Wow, these are high-res. Police drone?

Yep. We don’t got fancy androids like you do, but we got a top-of-the-line drone.

I believe it. Okay, so what do we have here? An enormous apple grove. Lots of fruit on those trees, still, despite the season. Okay, here’s the crime scene. There you are, Kevin, with your deputies. And now the bodies. A ring of them lying with their feet around a deep excavation, where a tree once stood. They’re naked. Why? I see signs of being dead for some time. Bloating. Tissue decay. The smell must have been atrocious. They’re men and women, all adults, among the deceased. Their throats are cut. Can you zoom in there? Yes, every one of their throats had been hacked open as if with giant scissors, making a diamond shape from their chin to the nape of their neck. Almost like another mouth. Is that the cause of death, Kevin?

Overdose on sleeping pills, all of ‘em.

So the wounds…

Post-mortem.

I see. So these people have been poisoned or poisoned themselves, and had their throats opened up later. They died there, in a circle. This looks planned. Ritualistic. I’m sorry to say, but I gotta see it, Sheriff.

Sure thing, miss. I’ll have my partner take you out there.

Why not yourself?

I…can’t. My neighbor, Sherry, was—

I understand.

I really can’t believe they sent one of you out here. It’s…surprising. It’s really not necessary, I don’t think.

Kevin, can I be honest here? You look a little pale. Will there be a jurisdiction issue?

Not from me. Though…I’d just be careful round here. Small town, you know? Outsiders, Feds or no, ain’t usually welcome.

If it goes well, we’ll have this solved in no time and I’ll be back East. 

I’m recording live from the incident site. Sat uploads aren’t working now, so the timestamp will be incorrect. Sheriff’s deputy, Jameson, led me about ten miles out of town. The apple orchard is huge and tucked away, closer to [REDACTED] than [REDACTED]. This part of Indiana has [REDACTED], making it easy to hide anything from orchards to stills. I think they made moonshine around these parts. Probably do, to this day.

It’s quiet here. Something’s spooked the birds and critters. I’m noting this because I’m slightly freaked out. I don’t know why I was sent here without a partner agent. I get that a rebellion and budget discrepancies are more important than my life, that’s government jobs for you. It’s just…I’m a few shades darker than most folk around here, and that’s more than enough for people in these parts to get up to no good. 

I digress. We’re approaching the site the Sheriff showed me in the drone footage. The bodies are gone, which is something he left out. The deputy doesn’t seem surprised. He seems aloof. There’s the hole where the tree was dug out. Inspecting it, the tree was removed professionally. Recently. The earth is still wet. I’m seeing something shocking: bones, a skull, human remains. They look like they’ve been here awhile. 

Deputy! Can you explain this?

Sure. This orchard’s planted over a mass grave from ye olden times. Settlers and the like. Don’t know which one, but these are the bodies of a once-local tribe. 

How lovely. So, we’ve got a mass suicide. A mass grave. A missing tree. A sacred tree, of sorts. All signs point to organized and possibly religious behavior. I’ll have to dig up more history later. Thanks, Deputy. 

I think we got ourselves a C-word. Wish you were here for it, Lev. You always had the stomach for the grisly shit. My hubby’s not going to like this one when I can tell him about it.

Okay. Finally got sat reception. Wish I hadn’t checked the news. Rebels took Detroit today. They’re getting support from Canadians, of all people. 

A couple new people are staying at the motel. A couple of old gas Harley’s sitting in the parking lot. Do people still ride to Sturgis? Don’t know. Makes me curious. Possibly paranoid. Gotta trust that feeling, like you always say, Lev. 

Digging into this area, I’m finding out a lot of interesting things. One, there was a huge [REDACTED] plant, making [REDACTED], and it went under in the late Eighties. Our beloved federal government saved it and transferred production to make [REDACTED]. That plant was shut down when the groundwater was coming up highly radioactive. It was all hushed up, though. That orchard’s not one mile from the old plant. Maybe everyone here’s a bit loose in the head from it. Even from our records, no cancer cases were reported. Means it was way worse than anyone could have predicted. 

No records of extremist activity around here, religious or otherwise. Not even the KKK has a presence, which O-K-K-K with me. Ha! Sorry.

I’m not seeing reports of any other suicides or murders. A clean county, by all accounts. Some reports of drunkenness, and yes, moonshine. But nothing else. It’s going to be tough to crack this town open. I’m a fed to them. I need some sort of connection. Something that…huh. I got it. 

But first, I gotta find the spices hubby sent with me. They’ll make this totally real cheese hot pocket taste like something. I’m feeling a little homesick.

At least there’s Shrimp Crisps™ EXTRA SHRIMPY in the vending machine.

I went to church. 

Yes, actual white Jesus church. 

I got a lot out of it. For one, I got to hear how Adam and Eve represent the perfect relationship. Still not sure how the pastor got there, but whatever. Second, I got a huge bag of apples. A sort of welcome packet from the pastor himself. Third, I got a lot of strange looks and gringo pleasantries. Surprisingly, no one asked where I’m really from. Maybe this place is better than its reputation?

I learned several important things that concern me. Most concerning is that the bikers at the motel are definitely there to watch me. Not sure who they’re affiliated with. We did not exchange “biker formalities” in the parking lot, as expected. They were cold to me. Then, the pair of them, whom I’m calling Big and Hefty, proceeded to stare at me the entire service. It wasn’t until I slipped away to the bathroom and found a way to get a good look at them that I saw what was on their jackets.

A huge patch of a tree with skulls hanging from it instead of, I’m guessing, apples. Its roots are in the shape of a human body lying face up, its back arched. Strange, right? I asked Sheriff Kevin about them. He said they’re out-of-towners. I pointed out the apple patch. He paled, Lev, literally paled and suggested that maybe they’re fans of apples. It’s not the first time he’s paled in my presence.

The next important and concerning thing is that many next of kin of the deceased were at the church service. The pastor listed all ten names and those close to them stood to receive a prayer. I’d say about half of the congregation stood. Plenty of people to interview, yes? 

No. No one would speak to me except the Sheriff. I followed up with him about his dead neighbor and he started crying. Maybe I came on too strong about it, as you tell me I tend to do. There I was, with a bag of apples, the town sheriff—a pillar of the community—bawling his eyes out, everyone staring at me including Big and Hefty. I don’t know when I’d felt so unwelcome before like I was some foreign host injected into a body. In this case, the body of Christ. 

Sorry, couldn’t help it. 

I changed tactics. I lingered until most people mosey’d on to Sunday brunch or whatever. I spoke with the pastor. He was cordial and warm, but not forthcoming. I got the feeling he was protecting his people, but from what threat? My hubby warned me something like this could happen in a place like this.

I changed tactics again, though I knew it was liable to get me in trouble. I walked around town until I found the local park. I did the routine, pretending to look for my lost ten-dollar bill. Got a couple kids to speak with me. They told me two things:

1. Don’t eat the apples.

2. Get out.

How’s that for progress?

Thank you for reading (and listening to) Adam’s Apple Pt. I. Part II coming next month! Subscribe to get it in your inbox as soon as it’s available.

Subscribe now

• 🍎 What do the apples mean?

• 🍎 What kind of cult is Jordan dealing with?

• 🍎 Is she really in danger or is she paranoid?

Leave a comment

Until next time, Realm Walkers, you’re reading Realms.

Hello and Welcome to Realms, a sci-fi and fantasy newsletter. I’m Zach, the writer and narrator for today’s story. Subscribe today to escape to new worlds every month.

Subscribe now

Today’s story is special. It’s part I of III and my first serialized story. It’s also the first collaboration with another Substack. This story exists in the realm of The Blackwater Files, started by . Please enter this dark, brooding, and creepy universe and enjoy its many branching paths.

Welcome to the Blackwater project. The year is 2050, a near future, and a private pharmaceutical company is conducting an experiment to achieve immortality. They believe the key lies in the subconscious, the black waters of your mind.

Follow various characters as they navigate the darkest corners of their minds (the Undertow) through a pill administered by Elysium™. Each storyline is written by a different author—some with multiple episodes! Spend a little time with us, you will not be disappointed.

The Blackwater Files

HISTORICAL TRANSCRIPT FBI-Z01, OCT, 2031

ONLY LAB PERSONNEL WITH ZETA CLEARANCE CAN ACCESS THIS TRANSCRIPT.

IF YOU DO NOT HAVE ZETA CLEARANCE, RETURN THIS FILE TO PUBLIC RELATIONS STAFF IMMEDIATELY. 

IF THIS FILE IS FOUND OUTSIDE ELYSIUM PREMISES, PLEASE CALL 1-800-359-7486. IF YOU ARE NOT AN ELYSIUM EMPLOYEE AND ARE FOUND IN POSSESSION OF THIS DOCUMENT, IT IS WITHIN OUR RIGHTS TO DETAIN YOU, FREEZE ALL ONLINE PRESENCE, APPROPRIATE FUNDS, AND MORE, ALL WITHOUT LEGAL REPRESENTATION OR NOTIFICATION OF ANY GOVERNMENT BODY. 

IF YOU ARE AN ELYSIUM EMPLOYEE, YOU KNOW WHAT RIGHTS YOU ARE AND ARE NOT AFFORDED WHEN IN POSSESSION OF COMPANY PROPERTY.

PERSONAL NOTE FROM DR. KARASEVDAS: THIS REPORT IS ON FILE FOR MORE THAN SENTIMENTAL REASONS. IT EXISTS BECAUSE WE ALLOW IT. IT EXISTS BECAUSE IT INFORMS US OF THE LENGTHS THE GIANTS WE STAND UPON WENT TO IN PURSUIT OF EVERLASTING LIFE. THIS TRANSCRIPT OF AGENT ADHIKARY’S AUDIO RECORDINGS IS THE ONLY COPY OF THIS REPORT ON HAND. ALL OTHER RECORDS, AS FAR AS WE WERE ABLE, WERE DESTROYED. IF YOU KNOW OF OR HEAR ANYTHING ABOUT ANOTHER RECORD, INFORM YOUR LOCAL SUPERVISOR IMMEDIATELY. 

———————————————————————————————————————————————

FBI REPORT - JORDAN ADHIKARY - 2031 - [REDACTED], INDIANA

This first-hand report details the origins of the delivery agents used to transmit [REDACTED] directly into cell DNA via RNA manipulation. For details on the chemistry, please see INTERIOR LAB PUBLICATION 12.A. 

To be clear, this report exists only in Elysium’s archives. Officially, all FBI records during the Ohio Rebellion were destroyed. 

———————————————————————————————————————————————

Dates: [REDACTED]

Geotag: [REDACTED]

Agent: Jordan Adhikary

Agent Supervisor: Lev [REDACTED]

Hey Lev, just checking in. I arrived at [REDACTED] around 6 p.m. My hotel is going to give me bedbugs, but that’s to be expected. I can’t imagine there’re more than two people running this place. Cleanliness isn’t a priority anymore. Just happy to be off the roads. St. Louis is a hellhole now, the roads shot to bits. No one got ahold of me, thank God. I’m happy to report that the WarHorse XC is a capable machine. (I’m writing this so you can tell your pals at the DOD. The military should buy a million of these things.) 

Nothing good to eat within a ten-mile radius here. Happy I brought hubby’s cooking. Don’t know the next time I’ll get food this good. I know I’m not supposed to include semantic details like this, but they’ll get cut out by the AI anyway. I guess I’m nervous. First solo mission. First mass murder case. Potentially a murder-suicide, based on the details.

Going to get some rest. I’ll be going into town tomorrow to meet the local sheriff, then see the murder site. 

Damn, these dumplings are good. I love you, honey.

Shit, not supposed to record that. 

I’m at a local diner that’s serving burgers and shakes and pies like it’s eighty years prior. Place looks brand new. Chrome everywhere. Real leather chairs. The black and white checkered tiles polished to an almost offensive shine. God, I hate these tiles. Here comes the sheriff. He’s in a khaki getup, leather belt, hard black revolver. No energy weapons or smart guns. This town hasn’t advanced to the twenty-first century… 

Hey, Sheriff! Over here.

Hi there. You can call me Kevin. You didn’t wait long, did ya?

No, no, of course not. I’m always too early for my appointments. Old habit. Anyway, I’m Special Agent Adhikary. And before we begin discussing the case, I have to inform you that our conversation is being recorded. FBI policy. Helps us keep track of everything. I don’t have to inform you, but I want to. 

I understand. I ain’t got nothing to hide…but some folk won’t like that at all. And, to tell you the truth, we really didn’t think anyone would take notice of what happened here, specially with the war on…

This sort of case is high on our priority list. Can’t have strange mass deaths like this going on within the United States. At least those states still with us. But enough about that…tell me about yourself.

Well…uh, I been sheriff here for bout twenty years. My daddy was sheriff, too. And, might I say, it’s mighty dangerous for a woman to be out cross-country solo. You come through St. Louis?

You’re sweet for asking. I did go through St. Louis. I did have some trouble. Actually, they had some trouble with me.

I’m sure they did. Your machine there sure looks like hell on two wheels. Well, I don’t want to waste time. This thing we got here is grisly. Worst thing I ever come across in my career. Here, watch the drone footage.

Wow, these are high-res. Police drone?

Yep. We don’t got fancy androids like you do, but we got a top-of-the-line drone.

I believe it. Okay, so what do we have here? An enormous apple grove. Lots of fruit on those trees, still, despite the season. Okay, here’s the crime scene. There you are, Kevin, with your deputies. And now the bodies. A ring of them lying with their feet around a deep excavation, where a tree once stood. They’re naked. Why? I see signs of being dead for some time. Bloating. Tissue decay. The smell must have been atrocious. They’re men and women, all adults, among the deceased. Their throats are cut. Can you zoom in there? Yes, every one of their throats had been hacked open as if with giant scissors, making a diamond shape from their chin to the nape of their neck. Almost like another mouth. Is that the cause of death, Kevin?

Overdose on sleeping pills, all of ‘em.

So the wounds…

Post-mortem.

I see. So these people have been poisoned or poisoned themselves, and had their throats opened up later. They died there, in a circle. This looks planned. Ritualistic. I’m sorry to say, but I gotta see it, Sheriff.

Sure thing, miss. I’ll have my partner take you out there.

Why not yourself?

I…can’t. My neighbor, Sherry, was—

I understand.

I really can’t believe they sent one of you out here. It’s…surprising. It’s really not necessary, I don’t think.

Kevin, can I be honest here? You look a little pale. Will there be a jurisdiction issue?

Not from me. Though…I’d just be careful round here. Small town, you know? Outsiders, Feds or no, ain’t usually welcome.

If it goes well, we’ll have this solved in no time and I’ll be back East. 

I’m recording live from the incident site. Sat uploads aren’t working now, so the timestamp will be incorrect. Sheriff’s deputy, Jameson, led me about ten miles out of town. The apple orchard is huge and tucked away, closer to [REDACTED] than [REDACTED]. This part of Indiana has [REDACTED], making it easy to hide anything from orchards to stills. I think they made moonshine around these parts. Probably do, to this day.

It’s quiet here. Something’s spooked the birds and critters. I’m noting this because I’m slightly freaked out. I don’t know why I was sent here without a partner agent. I get that a rebellion and budget discrepancies are more important than my life, that’s government jobs for you. It’s just…I’m a few shades darker than most folk around here, and that’s more than enough for people in these parts to get up to no good. 

I digress. We’re approaching the site the Sheriff showed me in the drone footage. The bodies are gone, which is something he left out. The deputy doesn’t seem surprised. He seems aloof. There’s the hole where the tree was dug out. Inspecting it, the tree was removed professionally. Recently. The earth is still wet. I’m seeing something shocking: bones, a skull, human remains. They look like they’ve been here awhile. 

Deputy! Can you explain this?

Sure. This orchard’s planted over a mass grave from ye olden times. Settlers and the like. Don’t know which one, but these are the bodies of a once-local tribe. 

How lovely. So, we’ve got a mass suicide. A mass grave. A missing tree. A sacred tree, of sorts. All signs point to organized and possibly religious behavior. I’ll have to dig up more history later. Thanks, Deputy. 

I think we got ourselves a C-word. Wish you were here for it, Lev. You always had the stomach for the grisly shit. My hubby’s not going to like this one when I can tell him about it.

Okay. Finally got sat reception. Wish I hadn’t checked the news. Rebels took Detroit today. They’re getting support from Canadians, of all people. 

A couple new people are staying at the motel. A couple of old gas Harley’s sitting in the parking lot. Do people still ride to Sturgis? Don’t know. Makes me curious. Possibly paranoid. Gotta trust that feeling, like you always say, Lev. 

Digging into this area, I’m finding out a lot of interesting things. One, there was a huge [REDACTED] plant, making [REDACTED], and it went under in the late Eighties. Our beloved federal government saved it and transferred production to make [REDACTED]. That plant was shut down when the groundwater was coming up highly radioactive. It was all hushed up, though. That orchard’s not one mile from the old plant. Maybe everyone here’s a bit loose in the head from it. Even from our records, no cancer cases were reported. Means it was way worse than anyone could have predicted. 

No records of extremist activity around here, religious or otherwise. Not even the KKK has a presence, which O-K-K-K with me. Ha! Sorry.

I’m not seeing reports of any other suicides or murders. A clean county, by all accounts. Some reports of drunkenness, and yes, moonshine. But nothing else. It’s going to be tough to crack this town open. I’m a fed to them. I need some sort of connection. Something that…huh. I got it. 

But first, I gotta find the spices hubby sent with me. They’ll make this totally real cheese hot pocket taste like something. I’m feeling a little homesick.

At least there’s Shrimp Crisps™ EXTRA SHRIMPY in the vending machine.

I went to church. 

Yes, actual white Jesus church. 

I got a lot out of it. For one, I got to hear how Adam and Eve represent the perfect relationship. Still not sure how the pastor got there, but whatever. Second, I got a huge bag of apples. A sort of welcome packet from the pastor himself. Third, I got a lot of strange looks and gringo pleasantries. Surprisingly, no one asked where I’m really from. Maybe this place is better than its reputation?

I learned several important things that concern me. Most concerning is that the bikers at the motel are definitely there to watch me. Not sure who they’re affiliated with. We did not exchange “biker formalities” in the parking lot, as expected. They were cold to me. Then, the pair of them, whom I’m calling Big and Hefty, proceeded to stare at me the entire service. It wasn’t until I slipped away to the bathroom and found a way to get a good look at them that I saw what was on their jackets.

A huge patch of a tree with skulls hanging from it instead of, I’m guessing, apples. Its roots are in the shape of a human body lying face up, its back arched. Strange, right? I asked Sheriff Kevin about them. He said they’re out-of-towners. I pointed out the apple patch. He paled, Lev, literally paled and suggested that maybe they’re fans of apples. It’s not the first time he’s paled in my presence.

The next important and concerning thing is that many next of kin of the deceased were at the church service. The pastor listed all ten names and those close to them stood to receive a prayer. I’d say about half of the congregation stood. Plenty of people to interview, yes? 

No. No one would speak to me except the Sheriff. I followed up with him about his dead neighbor and he started crying. Maybe I came on too strong about it, as you tell me I tend to do. There I was, with a bag of apples, the town sheriff—a pillar of the community—bawling his eyes out, everyone staring at me including Big and Hefty. I don’t know when I’d felt so unwelcome before like I was some foreign host injected into a body. In this case, the body of Christ. 

Sorry, couldn’t help it. 

I changed tactics. I lingered until most people mosey’d on to Sunday brunch or whatever. I spoke with the pastor. He was cordial and warm, but not forthcoming. I got the feeling he was protecting his people, but from what threat? My hubby warned me something like this could happen in a place like this.

I changed tactics again, though I knew it was liable to get me in trouble. I walked around town until I found the local park. I did the routine, pretending to look for my lost ten-dollar bill. Got a couple kids to speak with me. They told me two things:

1. Don’t eat the apples.

2. Get out.

How’s that for progress?

Thank you for reading (and listening to) Adam’s Apple Pt. I. Part II coming next month! Subscribe to get it in your inbox as soon as it’s available.

Subscribe now

• 🍎 What do the apples mean?

• 🍎 What kind of cult is Jordan dealing with?

• 🍎 Is she really in danger or is she paranoid?

Leave a comment

Until next time, Realm Walkers, you’re reading Realms.