Page 26 of The Sasquatch and the Hairdresser

The air is chilly this morning, so I decide to make a hearty oat porridge for us. I’ve just finished eating my breakfast when a sleepy-eyed, wild-haired Skylar pads into the kitchen, yawning. He’s still wearing the clothes he had on when I put him to bed last night, but he’s added a hoodie.

“It’s cold this morning,” he murmurs in that wonderfully raspy voice of his as he sits down. He gives a little shiver.

“I have just the thing to warm you up.” I hurry to the stove and prepare a bowl of porridge for him, topping it with fresh berries, walnuts, and a side of cream and brown sugar. I also pour him a steaming cup of coffee and carry his meal to the table, setting the dishes down in front of him.

He smiles at me, his expression soft and missing the wariness that’s usually at the edges. “Thanks, Hal, this looks great.”

I’m about to sit down and join him with my second cup of coffee when my cell phone starts ringing.

“Sorry, I have to take this call,” I tell Skylar as I frown down at the screen.

He waves me off, and I hurry out of the kitchen and to the front parlor as I answer, “What’s wrong, Laurelis? You wouldn’t be calling me this early if there wasn’t a problem.”

“Indeed,” the dryad says in her soft, musical voice. “I’m afraid we’ve got a bit of an… issue down at the orchard.”

My stomach drops. “How serious is it?” I start gnawing on my bottom lip, fearing the worst. In less than three weeks, we’re kicking off the start of the Harvest Festival with Jayden Bell’s students performing a musical number down at the orchard. Then we have an apple picking event, family-friendly games, and wagon rides lined up. A catastrophe at the ninth hour is not something any of us need right now.

There’s a beat of silence on the other end before Laurelis speaks again. “I think it would be best for you to come here and see the situation for yourself. It’s hard to convey over the phone. I don’t mean to alarm you,” she hurries to add, “and I want to stress that this is not a dire emergency, but it is a concerning situation.”

I run a hand through my hair and work to stay calm. “I’ll be there shortly.”

“Good. I’ve called Baxter as well. He’ll meet us here.”

Bringing in the chief of police doesn’t sound good no matter how you slice it, and anxiety roils in my gut. Overseeing logistics on the festival planning committee this year is an important role, and one that I cherish. This festival means a lot to everyone in town, and I don’t want to see anything ruin it.

Laurelis and I say our goodbyes and I hurry back to the kitchen. “Sorry, Skylar. I’m going to have to head out. There’s a bit of an issue down at the apple orchard that they need me to help with.”

He frowns. “Nothing too serious, I hope?”

I wince. “Not sure, but it seems important, and this close to the opening of the festival is not ideal. Whatever the situation, we need to be able to deal with it quickly.”

Skylar bites his bottom lip. “I’d offer to come with you, but I’ve got a virtual appointment with my therapist in a little bit.”

I hold my hands up to stop him. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it under control. You can’t miss your therapy appointment. It’s so important.”

He studies me intently, then nods. “Okay, but if things get really bad, message me. Otherwise, I’ll be down at the salon after my session. I’ve got the plumber coming just before lunch to install the washbasins, but otherwise I can probably free up a bit of time if you need me.”

“I appreciate the offer, but we should be okay. You need to focus on finishing everything up in the salon. I’ve got plenty of other people I can call on if we need extra hands. Hopefully, I should be back by dinnertime, but I’ll keep you posted.”

Already in my apron of the day, one with a sasquatch knitting on the front, I head out of the house and hurry toward the apple orchard with long strides.

Situated on the north end of town and nestled in a little valley, the orchard is magically protected, like just about everything else in Mystic Hollow. Even the apples grown here are cultivated via magic-infused horticulture that allows the orchard to produce them year-round, although their most robust season is still early fall. However, even in the depths of winter, there is one special species of Frost Apple that grows amid the snow and ice.

Laurelis, the orchard’s caretaker who lives in a little red farmhouse on a small hill adjacent to the orchard, hurries to greet me as soon as I arrive. She’s beautiful and mysterious in the way that most dryads are. Her light brown skin is permanently sun-kissed, and her bright green eyes and mossy tendrils of green hair make her a veritable embodiment of nature. As usual, she’s wearing a flowing tunic woven with leaves and flowers that move with her as she gracefully dances toward me.

Today, her usually placid face is pinched with obvious worry, and my heart starts racing again. Thankfully, I don’t see any typical signs of catastrophe around me. No fire or anything equally dire, and I breathe a silent sigh of relief.

“Follow me. It’s better if you see and hear it for yourself.”

I’m not entirely sure what she means, but I dutifully follow her as she leads me toward the trees. As I get closer, I can’t help but gape.

I blink several times, certain that I’ve stepped into some kind of weird alternate dimension.

“Am I still asleep?” I mutter. “Or are the apples singing?”

More particularly, they appear to be performing a version of Charli XCX’s “Apple” in high-pitched, childlike voices.

Laurelis sighs. “You’re not dreaming, I’m afraid. The apples are indeed singing. And I have no clue as to how or why.”