Sifi Jalo Bean

The Silent Fields Jalo Bean Co.

The aroma of burnt coffee and stale pastries hung heavy in the air of Millie’s Diner on this grey morning. A group of regulars huddled around a chipped Formica table, their morning routine of Nothing Much broken by the arrival of Mr. Henderson, Silent FIelds’ most up-to-date resident.

“Heard something peculiar down at the old mill,” Mr. Henderson announced, his voice crackling like dry leaves. “New factory’s opened up today. Says they’re gonna be churning out jellied confectionary. The Jalo Bean Company, they call it.”

The gathered septuagenarians gazed up at the recent arrival and a mixture of confusion and misgiving washed over the group. “Jelloed Confecktionwhat?” sputtered Jimmy Gripes, his dungaree straps straining against the effort. “Jelly? Like jello?” scoffed Mrs. Gable, her lips pursed in disapproval. “Don’t think we have need of that. We got perfectly good apple pies right here.”

“Well, they claim it’s gonna bring jobs,” Mr. Henderson countered, “and maybe even a little bit of excitement to this sleepy town.”

The excitement, however, arrived sooner than expected. Over the course of the day, strange occurrences began. Mrs. Gable’s prized petunia, normally rooted firmly in the ground, was found dangling precariously from the telephone wires. Old Man Hemmings, known for his leisurely strolls (while advising his fellow citizens of their front yards’ shortcomings), was discovered clinging to the church steeple, muttering about “jelly bean angels.”

The next day, the cafe was buzzing with the inexplicable. “My prize-winning rooster,” declared Farmer Goodspark, “flew right over the barn roof! Landed in the pigpen, poor fella.”

“My jello salad,” Gripes gasped, “it bounced right off my plate and landed on the ceiling!”

Mr. Henderson, ever the optimist, tried to maintain a calm demeanour. “Just a bit of… unusual weather, I reckon. It has been unseasonably warm.”

But the strange occurrences escalated. Jelly beans rained down on Main Street, bouncing off cars and shop windows. A rogue jello mould, shimmering ominously, hovered above the town square, casting long, gelatinous shadows. Panic began to set in.

Then, the unthinkable happened. The factory itself, the source of all this chaos, began to ascend. It rose slowly at first, then with increasing speed, until it was a shimmering, candy-coloured blot against the azure sky.

As the factory reached the clouds, it began to morph, its gleaming metallic form twisting and contorting into a monstrous, gelatinous beast. Tentacles of shimmering jello snaked out, grasping at passing birds and planes. A shower of monstrous, gummy bears rained down upon the terrified town, each one growing larger and more ferocious with every bounce.

A whispering on the breeze started to move through the town, like the distant hum of a refrigerator. Mrs. Gable was the first to hear it, and her usually sharp tongue softened, her words slurring together as if spoken underwater. By the time the first gummy bear bounced off the barbershop window, the whispers had become a full-blown chorus, infecting every mind in town.

Millie, watching from behind the counter of her diner, saw the changes first-hand. Old Man Hemmings, usually a gruff curmudgeon, now swayed gently, his eyes glazed over. Even the regulars at her counter, those pillars of the community, seemed to be losing their edges. Jimmy Gripes, once a fountain of complaints, now merely sighed, a gelatinous sheen spreading across his usually ruddy face.

Fear, cold and wobbly, began to grip Millie as the insidious change in the people she knew, the erosion of their very essence took hold of them. She watched as her reflection in the window began to shimmer, the edges of her face blurring. A wave of dizziness washed over her, and she stumbled back, clutching the counter for support.

The jello, she realised with a chilling certainty, wasn’t just affecting the physical world. As it seeped into their minds, their individuality was dissolved, along with their will and their very humanity. The town, once a vibrant tapestry of unique personalities, was slowly being homogenised, reduced to a quivering mass of indistinguishable jelly.

And Millie, the heart and soul of the diner, the keeper of the town’s secrets and sorrows, felt herself slipping away, one wobbly step at a time.

The bell on the diner’s door unexpectedly dinged, indicating a new arrival. It was Old Man Hemmings, the town curmudgeon, his usually stooped frame surprisingly rigid. He had somehow managed to climb down from the church spire earlier, his high perch seemingly affording him some protection from the full force of the jello’s influence. “No!” he roared, his voice surprisingly strong, a stark contrast to the slurred, gelatinous speech that had become the norm.

He lunged at a nearby gummy bear, a surprising burst of energy propelling him forward. To everyone’s astonishment, he punched through the quivering mass, sending it spattering into the wall. The sharp splat of the impact seemed to pierce through the pervasive gooeyness, jolting the townsfolk out of their stupor.

Mrs. Gable, her face still slightly elongated, gasped. Jimmy Gripes, his voice regaining a hint of its usual grumbling, muttered, “By golly, that’s the spirit!”

The unexpected act of defiance ignited a spark of resistance. Millie, finding some strength, reached and grabbed a pan and metal spoon from the service window. The percussive cacophony seemed to destabilise the movements of the jelly creatures and give strength back to the townsfolk.

Others starting joining the drumming, beating on tables with cutlery, plates (Gripes smashing a plate in the excitement). Out in the street, people catching on started to hit fire hydrants and cars with umbrellas, walking sticks - whatever they could find.

The jelly recoiled. The encroaching tentacles hesitated, then began to shrink, withdrawing like frightened slugs. The gummy bears, their ferocity waning, began to shrink, their movements slowing, before dissolving into harmless puddles of sugary goo.

Even the monstrous factory, suspended in the sky, shuddered. Its ascent slowed, then stopped altogether. It hung suspended in the sky, a grotesque, pulsating mass, seemingly stunned by the unexpected defiance of the townsfolk.

As the noise of the town hitting anything they could find with everything they had reached a crescendo, the jello began to melt, dripping from the trees, oozing down the streets, pooling in harmless puddles. The townsfolk began to fight back, hurling rocks at the retreating tentacles, swatting at the dissolving gummy bears.

Old Man Hemmings, his eyes regaining their usual sharpness, led the charge, his cane surprisingly effective against the retreating jello. Millie, her voice now strong and clear, started to sing, her voice a beacon of hope in the face of the retreating gooey menace.

Slowly, agonisingly slowly, the jelly retreated, its grip on the town weakening. The people of the town watched as the monstrous factory, drained of its power, began to crumble, collapsing into a heap of slop and metallic debris. The air, once thick and suffocating, began to clear. The sun, obscured by the jello-infused clouds, finally broke through, casting a warm glow on the battered but defiant town.