The Orchard of Gravewitch Morwenna

Under an ash-gray sky stretches an orchard where not a single tree bears a leaf. The branches are bleached bone, grown up out of the graves below, and the fruit are skulls that click softly in the wind as though murmuring to one another. Dust drifts across the paths and grits between your teeth. Nothing moves, no bird, no insect, and that perfect stillness feels more wrong than any roar.

The nearby village has buried its dead here for centuries, and the bone that blossoms into these trees was always a sign that the souls had found rest. But this month something has changed. From the deepest, oldest row rises something no one planted or sowed: a figure that feeds on the buried dead and reshapes the orchard into her own garden, where the fruit no longer rest but wake.

You are hired by the hollow-cheeked gravedigger, the last who still dares to come. You cross the rows, read the headstones to understand what is waking here, dodge the branches that grasp at you, and harvest clues from skulls that whisper when you pass too close. The orchard rearranges itself, and the way back never lies where it lay.

Around the oldest tree, the intruder proves to be De Grafheks van de Bottenboomgaard, Morwenna, a withered figure whose fingers root into the earth as the skull-fruit around her open their jaws. She is cultivating a harvest of undead, ready to flood the village at the next new moon. To stop it you must fell or burn the mother tree before the fruit ripen, while the whole orchard wakes around you and the clicking skulls begin to scream. The climax plays out around the burning mother tree, with the dead rising between every row.