PleaseView OnlineApple Hot LinePlease“Good day ain’t it, Apple Seed?” “Sure is, Crisp. How’s the fam?” “Doin’ well, doin’ well. How’s the farm?” “Same as usual. Trees growin’ the apples and I’m buckin’em down.” “Day in and day out, huh?” “Eeyup.” “Ya think you’re goin’ to get a good haul this season?” “Absolutely, cuz. Got a new plan going into this season. Gonna rake in the apples this year and finally get out of this place. Away from all those dang unicorns poking their horns into my business.” “Sounds ambitious. What’s this plan of yours?” “Well, ya see. I got this new fertilizer.” Ringing blared from somewhere within the house. Noteworthy’s eyes snapped open as his mind stumbled into wakefulness. He blearily lifted his head as he attempted to identify the source of the irritating noise. Throwing the covers off of his bed, he clumsily got onto the floor and started making his way towards the sound, his apprehension of the unknown numbed by the early morning hours and his own sleep-addled brain. From an outside perspective, one would think Noteworthy was a ghost as he sauntered down the corridor. His blue coat and mane blended in with the shadows of the night with his half-opened golden eyes the only indication of his presence. The cacophony of noise grated on Noteworthy’s nerves as he progressed forward, causing him to grind his teeth. His mind slowly came to life as the unwanted alarm drew him further out of his slumber. It brought forth other annoyances to the forefront of his mind. Leftover thoughts from the day. How the barkeep at the pub he played in short-changed him. How he was purely average in colour and appearance, hammered home by no one ever looking his way. How he never really seemed to live up to his lofty name. But none of that was as annoying as that damned ringing. By the time he reached the living area, he was stomping with every step, charging into the room with an angry snort. He found the source quickly enough. Looking past shelves of participation ribbons and third place trophies in piano playing and his personal standing piano to the new corded phone mounted to the wall ringing so hard it almost seemed like it would fall off. It was brand new. The cutting edge of Equestrian technology. The phone was made up of a long curved rectangle known as the receiver connected by a black spiraling cord to a large carriage that provided the device with energy. All but the cord was made from shiny red metal, the perfect protection against ponies that accidentally fumbled the device while trying to press the buttons on the inside of the receiver. He yanked the phone off its case angrily, shoving the listening end into his ear. Nothing but a beeping dial tone greeted him. As a new device, it was prone to some error, so he plugged his other ear with a hoof and listened intently to the sound emitted by the phone in case the phone was still trying to connect. Faintly, he could hear something indistinct through the loud bleeps. Leaning his head into the receiver he focused on the eerie, indistinct sound, but it couldn’t cut through the overbearing noise of the dial tone. His musically trained ears could make out a melody to the words leading him to conclude that it might be singing, but it wasn’t enough to figure out what exactly it was. Frustration caused Noteworthy to slam the receiver back into its case, too tired to deal with the machine any longer. He waited for a moment, and, when the phone remained mercifully silent, he returned back to his bedroom to hopefully fall back to sleep. Noteworthy trotted along the fence line of Sweet Apple Acres blinking languidly in the morning light. He yawned as he took in the vast orchard of apple trees growing tall in the fields. He’d walked this same route for years as one of the Apple family’s few neighbours, and it was a welcome sight after his uneasy sleep following the phone incident. His dreams had been plagued by uneasy whisperings he couldn’t place, whispers that even in broad daylight he could still hear. Shaking his head to dislodge the murmurings, he perked up as he came to the gates of the orchard proper. One of the Acres’ long-time residents stood nearby. The stallion was heads above him and built as thick as the trees he tended to. He had a confidence to him that bespoke comfort in both his body and demeanor. Some would call it stoic, but Noteworthy had known this stallion since they were foals. He knew it was because the pony was level-headed and preferred speaking as few words as possible. A shovel was slung over one shoulder, held by a massive hoof. He looked out into the orchard, his indifferent expression scanning over his dominion. A true pony of note, Noteworthy thought. Bitterness left over from the frustrations of the morning. He shook his head once more to clear the dark fog around his mind and waved companionably to the stallion. “Morning, Mac,” Noteworthy greeted. He got a curt nod in response. “Digging some holes today?” Noteworthy asked, forcing a friendly tone to his voice despite his exhaustion. “Just one,” Mac replied. “What for?” “Expansion.” “For some new trees?” “Yeah.” Mac scowled. “For the trees.” Curiosity demanded that Noteworthy ask about Mac’s expression, but he knew the stallion valued his privacy so instead he said, “I’ll leave you to it then. See you later, Mac.” Resuming his trot towards town, he stopped after a few steps when he heard a loud grunt from behind him. He turned to see Mac looking at him intently. “Tired?” He asked. “Yeah,” Noteworthy answered, blinking in surprise. Mac had never started a conversation with him before. “My phone started ringing early this morning.” “What for?” “Nothing. Just the dial tone,” Noteworthy continued. “Though…” he trailed off, stopping himself just before he voiced his concern over the singing he had thought he heard. He didn’t know why he did, but something told him not to tell Mac about it. Mac stared intently at Noteworthy, his gaze causing Noteworthy to tap his hooves uncomfortably on the ground. “Though?” Mac questioned. “I thought I heard singing,” Noteworthy answered, Mac’s scrutiny causing him to break. “Singing,” Mac stated. “Like a chorus line,” Noteworthy continued. Realizing that Mac might not know what that was, he explained, “it’s usually a large group of dancers, but can also be attributed to—” “A group of singers. I’m in an acapella group. I’m aware,” Mac admonished. “R-right,” Noteworthy stuttered. “Anyways, I thought I had heard that over the beeps, but it was so quiet I couldn’t be sure.” Mac was quiet for a moment, clenching his jaw. “Well, be careful,” Mac eventually said, an unknown edge to his tone. “You might hear something you shouldn’t.” “What do you mean?” Noteworthy asked, puzzled. “Exactly what I said. Have a good shift at the pub, Note.” With his piece said, Mac trotted off into the orchard. Noteworthy watched him be swallowed by the rows of trees as he tried to decipher the meaning of Mac’s cryptic words.
RespondView OnlineApple Hot LineRespond“Hey, you doin’ okay, Apple?” “Yeah, why?” “Well, you’ve been lookin’ really tired lately.” “You implying that I can’t keep up with the orchard?” “No, I’m implying you look tired, cuz.” “Well, thanks for your concern, but I’m fine. Orchard’s growin’, fertilizer is workin’ and I’m keeping on top of it all. Couldn’t be goin’ better.” “Right. And the mud?” “What mud?” “On your hooves. You look like you’ve been trudging through a swamp with how thick that gunk is.” “Oh! That mud.” … “You gonna tell me why you’re covered in mud now?” “Been diggin’ holes.” “How many?” “Lots.” “Why?” … “Why are you diggin’ holes, Apple?” … “Apple.” “I’m expanding the orchard.” “Apple! You’re gonna—” “I can handle it! Look, if I want enough money to get me and mine out of here and somewhere better, I need to put in the work. I hate havin’ those unicorn bastards—” “Hey! Watch what ya say, cuz. You don’t know who’s listening in and those kinds of words are what get you into trouble around here.” “I know, I know! But it won’t matter none once I get enough bits to get out of here. Just need to plant a few more trees, and harvest’em. “Just a few more and it’ll all be over.” Ringing blared inside the house. Noteworthy groaned as he was brought out of his slumber. He stumbled his way out of bed and headed directly to the living room knowing that the phone was the source of the noise. It had rung every morning for a week since that first night and it was wearing at his already frayed nerves. As he came into range of the phone, he did as he had done every night prior. Noteworthy grabbed the receiver and slammed it down onto the carriage to hang it up. But this time, he stopped just short of clicking the receiver into place. Curiosity burned within him as he wondered if he might hear the singing from before and in conjunction with how tired he was, it impaired his cautionary judgement. Hesitantly, he brought the receiver to his ear. The dial tone greeted him, but he kept it close, leaning his whole body into the listening end of the phone. After a few moments, he was rewarded with the soft singing from before. Straining his ears, he waited, hoping for the sound to grow louder. As if in answer to his plea, the chorus grew in volume, overcoming the insistent beeps of the dial tone. An innumerable number of voices sang in dissonant harmony. A chaotic symphony that was difficult to follow, but pleasant to listen to. He sat down on the floor, letting his mind be pulled along with the music, thumping his tail in time to the beat. Suddenly, a new sound began to resonate within the chorus. It was quiet at first but began to grow in intensity over time. Soon it was screaming, a single disjointed note that rang inside of Noteworthy’s head derailing his thoughts. He dropped the receiver as he cried out in agony, clutching his ear with one hoof. He pulled his hoof back when he felt wetness only to gape as he saw blood covering his fur. Acting quickly, he hammered the phone back into its carriage and unplugged the phone from the wall. He then trotted quickly back to his room, unnerved by the screaming note and wanting as much distance as possible between him and that horrible noise. As he stepped past the threshold of his bedroom door, he heard a ringing sound behind him. He turned back, horror dawning on his face, as the phone rang through the house. Slamming his bedroom door shut, he huddled underneath his covers, pulling a pillow around his ears, desperately hoping to keep out the sound. A moment later, the ringing stopped. Noteworthy dragged himself forward, his hoofsteps heavy from lack of sleep. The ringing had taken its toll on his mind and it was making it hard to keep focus during the day. “Mornin’, Noteworthy.” With an immense amount of energy, Noteworthy lifted his head to look at Mac. He stood just behind the gate to Sweet Apple Acres, a shovel over his shoulder once again and mud caked onto his hooves. “Morning, Mac,” Noteworthy replied weakly. “Not sleeping well?” Mac asked. “No,” Noteworthy said with a weary sigh. “My phone keeps ringing every night. It's been going on for over a week now.” “You didn’t answer it, did yeah?” “No, I…” the lie died on Noteworthy’s lips as exhaustion pulled at him. “Yeah, I did.” “You hear anything this time?” Mac continued, staring intently at Noteworthy. “Like that chorus you mentioned before?” He wanted to answer yes, but an inexplicable feeling stopped him. A sort of ownership over this horrid event that made him want to keep that knowledge to himself because it made him feel— Noteworthy looked away from Mac’s gaze. “Just the dial tone. All I heard was beeping.” Mac glared at him before looking askance with a heavy sigh. “Just be careful. You don’t want to overhear something you shouldn’t.” “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind,” Noteworthy replied. Refocusing on the road before him, Noteworthy continued his trek into town, his eyes firmly to the ground. This was his problem to deal with, no one else. He would overcome this, he had to. It was in his name.
AfterView OnlineApple Hot LineAfter“There’s a unicorn missing.” “Good. One of those no good horners finally got what’s comin’ to’em.” “They were last seen goin’ to your farm, Apple. Right before you started using that new fertilizer.” “So?” “He was a debt collector. Only came to light recently that he hadn’t come back for several days after he visited your place.” “And? He was a no-good varmint. I chased him off my fields for sticking his horn in where it didn't belong. Probably scurried off to bother some other poor earth pony farmers in the next town over.” “That’s what everyone thought, but someone is saying they didn’t leave your fields.” “Yes he did! I just said I chased him off! My boy Honey saw the whole thing.” “Apple, I’m worried.” “Worried about what?! Nothing happened and I’m doing great! The apples are comin’ in droves and selling like crazy! This whole thing will blow over in a few days once the rumours die off and it won’t even matter soon since I almost have enough bits to get out of this miserable place.” “You’re caked in mud again.” “Yes, thank you, Crisp. Couldn’t have—” “Ya diggin’ holes again?” “Yeah, I’m expanding the orchard even further and the trees need a lot of fertilizer to keep growin’ the way they are. What’s this got to do—” “What’s in the fertilizer Seed?” “What any good fertilizer is made up of! The apples I can’t sell in the market, waste from the animals—” “Maybe somethin’ a little more rotten than that?” “What are you implying, cuz?” “That ain’t the only unicorn that’s missing. There’s been a few disappearing and the big’uns in the town are starting to look into things.” “What’s your point?” “Go check your holes again, Apple. Make sure they’re as deep as can be because the guard is snooping around and you better hope that if they start lookin’ in your fields that all they find is some rotten produce.” “Of course, that’s all they’ll find! Seriously, Crisp, you’re makin’ me out to be some bad guy. I’m not! It’s just good fertilizer. Grows’em well. Now stop with your worryin’ and botherin’ me about all this. You got your own things to worry ‘bout, so leave me be. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I got trees to tend to and they require a lot of care. “They always be needin’ more.” Ringing blared through the house. Noteworthy pulled his pillow tighter around his ears as he curled into himself, desperately trying to drown out the incessant noise. His eyes were wide open and bloodshot, his fur tangled and in disarray. Through the ringing, he could hear the chorus sing, trying to lure him into listening. He wanted it to stop, he wanted them to leave him alone, he wanted silence, but the phone just kept ringing and ringing and ringing and ringing— Throwing his pillow against the wall, Noteworthy stumbled out of bed and galloped down the hall. He charged into the living room and raced towards the phone. Before it could start another round of infernal racket, he yanked the receiver off the carriage and put it to one ear. “Stop calling me!” Only the dial tone greeted him. “Leave me alone! Leave Me Alone! LEAVE ME ALONE!” Noteworthy screamed, his voice going hoarse from the exertion. As he shouted, the first few notes of the chorus began to sing. Noteworthy slammed the receiver onto the floor and stomped on it until it was nothing but bits of metallic pieces. Tears rolled down his face as he slumped in place, exhaustion taking its toll. A click resounded through the room before a dial tone began to beep from the broken phone. “No. No. No. No. No! No! NO! NO! NO!” He croaked out through his battered throat. He collapsed to the floor, curling up into a ball, hooves covering his ears. It was no use. The chorus began to sing and penetrated through Noteworthy’s attempt to block it out. As the song continued, it became harder and harder to resist listening. He unclenched himself, letting his body go limp on the ground. Laying there silently with tears still rolling down his face, he listened to the chorus as it sang in the dawn. Noteworthy dragged himself forward, momentum being the only thing that kept him going down the well-worn dirt path. His hooves dragged, creating deep grooves. He was slumped over, heavy bags under his eyes. “You listened to it.” He raised his head to look up at the large form of Big Mac who stared down at him with an even expression. Once more, he had a shovel slung over one shoulder, and grime caked onto his hooves. “It wouldn’t stop,” Noteworthy whispered hoarsely. “It wouldn’t stop.” Mac snorted. “Can you stop it?” (Mac shook his head). “Oh. I thought maybe you could.” “Ain’t no one that can anymore for you, Noteworthy,” Mac said. “Only thing you can do is just get through the day.” Nodding his head, Noteworthy continued his forward movement. As he passed by Mac, he perked his ears as he heard Mac say under his breath, “Might as well enjoy them since you don’t have many left.” Fear should have gripped Noteworthy at those words, but at that moment, he found that he had accepted that he was reaching the end of the line. So, he trudged forward. The chorus sang in his ears as he did.
DialView OnlineApple Hot LineDial“Hey, cuz, you, uh, okay?” “It needs more, Crisp.” “What needs more?” “The trees, Crisp. They won’t keep given’ me apples if I don’t give them what they want.” “They’re just trees, Apple. I’m kinda—” “I keep giving them more and more and they just keep raising the price. I’m so close. Just a few more bits til I can leave. Never look back.” “Slow down there, cuz. I don’t understand what you’re sayin’. I just wanted to know where the singing was comin’ from, but now—” “It’s the call! They’re calling for more. They need more. I thought just one would work but then they wanted more and more and more and more and more and more—” “Okay, I need you to stop whatever… this is. What is going on? And were you diggin’ holes again?! Geez, Apple, you’re coated in mud! You really need to stop, those trees are starting to go into other fields. You’re growin’ that orchard too big. It’s out of control.” “It is out of control, Crisp! I-I can’t stop it anymore! It keeps calling to me, telling me it needs more. I gave it Honey, but it still needs more!” “You gave it— Apple, what does that even mean?!” “It means… it means… it means…” “Apple, what are you doin’ with that shovel? Apple, please, stop. What’s going on?” “It needs more, Crisp. Just until I get enough bits. Get enough bits and we can all move on. Go to greener pastures, away from the unicorns and trouble and this dang orchard. But I can’t do that if the trees won’t give me apples. “It needs more.” Ringing echoed through Noteworthy’s head. He woke up, and got out of bed, feeling more energized than he had for over a month. He trotted quickly into the living area and sat down at his stand-up piano. He poised his hooves above the keys and turned his head towards the smashed remains of his phone, waiting expectantly. On queue, the chorus began to sing from the broken receiver. His hooves played in tandem with the chorus, each note harmonizing with the rise and fall of the voices. His eyes were glazed over, seeing beyond his home and to the true melody of the song. Note after note he played, new voices bringing depth to his music. The only thing he could hear was the singing. The only thing he needed to hear was the singing. It made sense to him. It called to him. It wanted him. It was the most extraordinary thing that had ever happened to Noteworthy. As the dawn filtered through the window, the chorus receded, but Noteworthy could still hear its siren’s call. It had gone below ground, traveling along the lines buried beneath and towards its source. He raced out the door leaving it ajar, ready to follow the singing to wherever it needed him to be. Because nothing mattered to Noteworthy except the chorus. Noteworthy stood before the gate to Sweet Apple Acres. It was already open, expecting his arrival. The chorus drew him further in. He galloped after it, a blissful expression on his face. He wound his way through the rows of trees, further and further into the acres, the chorus growing in fervent sound. Louder than it had ever been. He entered a grove, hedged in by apple trees. Before him, on the far end, was the biggest apple tree he had ever seen. Carved into its bark were words that he could barely make out nor wanted to for his attention was drawn to the hole that had been dug into its roots. A single grand piano stood within it, a mass made of tangled together wood with keys made of carved apples. From its open lid, Noteworthy could hear the most pleasant of sounds. The chorus, beckoning him forward. But hesitation gripped his heart. A sudden fear at what joining the chorus might mean. It caused him to back away slowly, his body shaking as it caught up with the situation he had put himself in, his blissful expression turning to one of indecision. “Join them, Noteworthy.” Noteworthy turned to Big Mac as he entered into the grove, a shovel slung over his shoulder, grime caked onto his fur that matched that of the hole before the apple tree. “You don’t have any other options. You’ll never be given peace again,” Mac continued. “This is your end. “The orchard always gets what it wants.” His hesitation began to ebb as the chorus rose in volume. He smiled at Mac before renewing his focus on his final destination. He trotted forward, tears of joy in his eyes as Mac watched him from afar, an unreadable expression on his face. As he drew ever closer, skeletal beings emerged from the ground entangled in roots, empty sockets glowing green, their jaws flapping in time to the song being sung. They loomed over him as he entered the hole, blocking his retreat as they welcomed him into their orchestra. Sitting at the piano, he touched a key with one hoof. It was smooth to the touch. He pushed it down, exhilaration flowing through him as the most beautiful sound emerged from the instrument. He hunched over in ecstasy as drool pooled out of his mouth and his eyes rolled in their sockets. He hit another key, and arched backward, laughing in pure joy. He brought his second hoof to the board and began to play, each note jolting him with pleasure as the chorus joined in his song. He followed the chorus before he began to change the music. Conducting them into a new tune. The skeletons shifted their pitch, guided by their maestro. A role that was taken with immense glee and satisfaction. They moved in closer, roots, and bone trapping him in. They touched him, warm and inviting. The roots grew from their hooves, ensnaring Noteworthy in their embrace. As he was consumed, as the roots burrowed into his skin, Noteworthy laughed and cried and played for he had found purpose. He’d finally lived up to his name. Big Mac regarded the now empty hole before the Seed. Another had been claimed by the orchard. He slid his jaw from one side to the other, clenched in irritation. A gross feeling hung over his mind as it did every time he had to do this. “Are you happy now, varmints?” He called out. In response, the trees swayed, their bounty of red apples shining brighter in the morning sun indicating that they have been sated. For now. Grunting, Big Mac buried his shovel into a nearby pile of dirt, scooped out a heap, and threw it into the hole. It was a gaping wound in the land that would need to be covered up. He doubted it was necessary, but you never knew if a random stranger may stumble upon something they shouldn’t. It would be long, arduous work. But it still had to be done.
ToneView OnlineApple Hot LineToneBig Mac stared out over the Acres, his front hooves dangling over the porch railing of the family homestead. A light breeze shook the branches in the light of the setting sun, whispering the start of a song. He frowned at that and shook his head to clear out the noise. The trees had already gotten what they wanted. They could wait a while for the next one. “Ya done fillin’ in those holes, Mac?” Without glancing at the newcomer, Mac replied, “Eeyup. All closed up, Granny.” Granny Smith threw her hooves over the railing alongside her grandson, staring out at the trees with an expression of distaste. “And any problems are good and buried?” Granny continued. “Won’t nobody be able to even tell,” Mac answered. She nodded then spit on the ground, growling at the acres. “Three in four months. Bunch of greedy varmints these trees are.” Mac nodded. “Goin’ to be my time soon.” Granny held up a hoof to cut off Mac’s protests. “I ain’t an alicorn, Mac. Gonna happen eventually, and since Bloom and Applejack don’t have the blood, it's going to have to be you who handles everything going forward.” She scowled, her wrinkles intensifying the disdain in the expression. “Keep our ancestor’s stupidity contained.” “Wouldn’t it stop if there was no one to take care of it?” Mac asked. Granny gave Mac a side-eye. “We’re just cousins to the horrid blood that grew these monsters. Got it shoved onto us because we had the biggest land and not a whole lot of Apples left that farm on this scale. ‘Sides that, you saw what it did to that poor fella, Noteworthy. “These blasted trees can fend for themselves now.” “What do we do if they figure that out?” Mac asked. With a weary sigh, Granny shook her head. “I don’t know, Mac. All we can do is hope they don’t.” Mac nodded, resting his chin on the porch railing. They sat in quiet companionship, staring at the burden they had been saddled with. One, tired of the decades of struggle they had already done, the other, thinking of the burdens to come. “Heard you met a mare in Our Town,” Granny said, breaking their contemplation. “What was her name again… Sugar Cane?” “Sugar Belle,” Mac corrected. “You like her?” Granny asked. “She’s fine enough,” Mac answered, omitting the ‘not really my type’. “Fine enough to get a foal out of it?” Mac turned to stare at Granny who continued to look out at the Acres, a sad expression on her face. “Look, Mac, the blood ain’t followin’ the other two, which means it’s up to you to sire new blood to keep this under control,” Granny explained. “I knew goin’ into this after your father died, that one of you three wouldn’t get a choice in the matter, and, I’m sorry to say, but that’s you, Mac.” “Is there really no other option?” “You have a few,” Granny relented. “You can sire a foal with Sugar Face, find some other mare to sire with, or let the orchard go. Walk away and don’t think ‘bout no more.” Granny looked into Mac’s eyes, her expression intent. “But I know you won’t take the third option, much as I’d almost prefer you did.” Releasing a weary sigh, Mac said, “was hopin’—” “We all hope for a lot of things, Mac,” Granny interrupted. “Unfortunately, most of us don’t get what we want and you are ‘most’.” A shrill, metallic ringing filled the air. Granny snorted. “Dang landlines.” Granny returned to the house, the ringing ending shortly after. The sound of a haunting tune echoed across the orchard. Mac perked his ears in its direction taking in the sweet tune of the chorus accompanied by the melody of a piano. Noteworthy indeed, Mac thought.
