Haley Thistle
patreon
The Garden: Part Four (special preview)
🕑 Added 2020-06-26 21:00:02 +0000 UTCI used to joke my job wasn’t so much gardening as it was bored housewives. It was a cruel joke, but it was the truth of the matter. I lie and say it was a rumor, but I know it wasn’t. I got caught one day in the bed of one of my employers’ wives and, from there, people gossiped. Even the other women I slept with. They did it to cover their tracks, but I ended up with the dirt kicked back on me.
It was wrong. I know it was, but the way they ignored it, the way they buried it, that was what hurt most of all. They turned their back on their guilt just to kick me. But what else could they do? It was the same to them as waking up in the morning.
That morning, I made my coffee for breakfast and the body sagged in the vines. It looked decomposed, but it was still bleeding. The vines kept it held up, but I could see the weight of it boring down upon the limbs. The mouth hung open and splatters of drool hit upon the cobblestone. Was it...no, there is no possible way it was still alive. But it was bleeding. It was drooling. Could the corpse, somehow, still be living?
“Mr. Brone?” The voice is a cold snap to my bones. I lose my breath once he speaks and I move slow to see Mr. Barkridge standing in the door of the solarium.
“I was-” I’m not sure what I’m saying or why I am even attempting to say it. I look into his cold eyes, his pompous posture. I remain still like the body as I wait for his reaction.
“My wife is very particular about how she keeps her garden.” Mr. Barkridge says as he walks towards me. “And I’m afraid I’ve had to do things to keep her pleased.”
I shake my head. All the while, I keep wondering if we’re alone here. He talks about his wife in the present tense, but the only things I have seen here are him, the face, and those strange creatures in the forest. At least, I think I have seen all those things.
Mr. Barkridge comes to a stop just before me. “Have you really been taking those vitamins, Mr. Brone?”
I swallow hard as I look to the body then back up at him. “No.” I sprint, running away from Mr. Barkridge at a breakneck speed. I race for the iron gate. Once I get there, for some reason, I think I will be safe from him. As I run through that gate, the world is covered in blood red roses. I step on their thorns, but it is better than what is behind me. I didn’t trust Mr. Barkridge when I came here, now I know he is no one I should be running to for help.
I run to her, my rose, but the further I go, the more of those creatures I begin to see. They stand in shadows, crouched down and watching me. They hang their heads at odd angles and thrust their bound arms at their backs. They start laughing, making strange guffawing noises as my gate slows to a walk.
The scent of roses is strong around me, almost overpowering. Ever since I came here, I’ve been breathing in that smell, the pollen. My tongue feels like velvet in my mouth, thick and spongy. I lick my lips as the creatures laugh and giggle around me, bouncing up and down where they stand.
I walk again, finding my rose surrounded by even more roses. She looks at me and smiles, lifting her head so that I may kiss her. Her long tongue slithers down my throat and she moans erotically, her eyes roll into the back of her head. All the while, the creatures laugh.
“I need help,” I whisper to her. “Please, I think he’s going to kill me.”
Her lips pout as drool dribbles down the corners of her mouth. “My mother can help you,” she replies.
I furrow my brow. “Your mother?”
The face smiles. “You’re in her garden, don’t you know?” Her mouth is completely yellow, both wet and powdery at the same time.
I stare at her in disbelief. “But Mr. Barkridge said-”
“My father,” she tuts. “He’s been trying to use you. But my mother only wants to help. She only wants to make the garden grow and flourish. My father keeps it contained.”
The corpse in the wall, I wonder if that had something to do with it. I close my eyes, trying to breathe, but every breath is full of pollen.
“You should come see mother,” the face whispers. “She will take care of you. She will love you.”
I raise my eyes to her. “Where is she?”
The creatures start whooping and crowing all over again. Their ghastly sounds fill my senses like the pollen does.
The face rises up and, behind her, the roses follow as well. I blink a few times, not sure what I am taking in. All this time, I thought that the face had been trapped here and couldn’t move. I thought she was a prisoner. Yet vines twist and slither, gathering to form a long pillar on the ground, one that moves from side to side as it forms a coil around the face. She smiles at me, rising up to my height then taller. She looks down at me where I had been looking down at her.
