The Cherry Eater

My name is Sally Henderson, and I am here to tell you that George Washington can indeed tell a lie. He is not even the George Washington that history remembers for the real Georgie that we loved oh so much had fallen ill from the pox when he was a small child. The sweet boy could not overcome the dreadful disease which had taken many young lives in our time. His poor mother, overcome with grief, had another child by the name of Gregory Washington later that year. I bet you did not know that. I will explain it all: why George can lie, why he is not even George, and the disappearance of Gregory Washington.

It all started on a crisp spring morning in the colonies. A recent shipment from our motherland, Great Britain, had just delivered a large shipment of school supplies, clothing, farming tools, tea, and more. I was particularly excited because the cloth would mean a new dress would be sewn for me by my dear mother. God, rest her soul.

Georgie had been dead for those last couple of months. The winter blew in with the pox and took him as well as many other classmates. Several desks stood empty as the teacher prattled on about some tedious mathematical concept. The spindly legs looked like bones that contained the ghosts of the children who had once sat there. Indeed, they rattled as we got up to leave when class was dismissed and seemed to stare at our backs as we left.

As I got up to leave with the rest of the students, a cold breeze blew onto my skin and left me shivering slightly. I looked back to see George sitting at his former desk looking forlornly in my direction. In my fright, I fled as fast as I could out of the schoolyard and to my home. On my way, I passed by George’s home where I saw his father planting a seed in the cold soil. He caught my eye and whispered to me.

“This time next year, this will be a beautiful cherry tree in the honor of my son.” How I could hear him, I never knew. Maybe the wind blew his words to me like a feather on the wind. Maybe something more sinister was afoot.

It was true. The next year, a wonderful cherry tree had sprouted supernaturally fast out of the earth and took its place next to the native trees in the yard. Likewise, Gregory had also begun to grow abnormally fast and exhibited strange similarities to George.

One evening, I paid a visit to Gregory on his birthday to wish him well. I had baked him an apple pie with the new shipment of sugar that had recently come to port. His age was now three years however he looked like a six year old child. I could see the concern on his parent’s faces as they welcomed guests and well-wishers. All at once, a group of villagers had come for the merriment and Gregory slipped outside into the pleasant June night. The blossoms on the cherry tree glowed in the moonlight as a few fluttered down from the branches and laid to rest in the dewy grass. I followed him out.

“Gregory? You mustn’t leave your parent’s sight! Who knows what creature may be lurking–!” I stopped.

A glow was emitting from Gregory. He morphed into the very image of George as he walked slowly to the tree, floating slightly. To my horror, his jaw began to unhinge and open wide like a snake’s. The grotesque sight kept me glued to my spot as George took a bite of the cherry tree like it was not made of bark but a soft substance. It broke and splintered. He swallowed every bite, every leaf, every petal until the tree was reduced to a stump with a child’s teeth marks gouged into the wood.

It created such a mighty noise that all the people in the house had run out to see what was happening. George’s mother wept profusely in fright. The villagers stared in shock.

“What have you done?! Did you eat this tree?” asked the father, not even believing the words that had come out of his mouth.

The creature, George, twisted around slowly and stared at his father with eyes that seemed to look past our souls. “I can’t tell a lie, Pa.”

“You cannot call me Pa, creature. You are no son of mine!” said the father.

George scowled unnaturally, stretching his jaw in a way no human could possibly imitate. Getting on all fours, he scuttled into the forest near the house, leaving no trace of his presence.

At once, the mother fainted on the ground, losing her first child for the second time and losing her second child for the first. The father swore the villagers to secrecy though word would spread of the story of George Washington and the cherry tree.

As if to banish a demon, the Washingtons bore a third son who they had named George. He went on to be a great man though his curse would never transfer, because he swore off children in fear of creating another creature.

We never saw the first George or Gregory again. The stump sat in the yard, the last remnant of the lost sons of Washington, and I went on to tell the true tale of George Washington.