Darkness Blooms (3 page)

She started to run for the door, but something grabbed her foot. As she fell she saw the black and white jointed plant crouched beneath the table. On its back at the center was a large solid white bulbous pod.

Sylvia screamed as she went down, knowing that after seeing the dark green orb erupt with tiny creatures, that the solid white pod on the back of the black and white plant could be nothing good.

A thought came to her as she fell: if the black and white plant is under the table, what grabbed my foot?

She hit the ground hard and rolled away from the table where the black and white plant waited for her. She banged her head into something hard and screamed again, more in terror that her vision was starting to black out from the head impact than from pain at the impact.

She looked down at her foot as black dots pressed in on her vision. The roots of the venus fly trap were wrapped around her ankle. The roots wrapped tight and the mouth with the bright blue tendrils that terminated in sharp black points slammed itself into the rubber sole of her shoe. Through the rubber sole, she could feel the points although they didn’t press all the way through and pierce her skin.

Thank God they aren’t long enough for that,
she thought for a moment before feeling the points in the sole start squirming and the little bumps right against her foot getting larger. She screamed and scraped her foot against the floor of the greenhouse. The Venus flytrap tore apart on the concrete and Sylvia kicked back against the ground, trying to turn around and stand up.

When she felt something caress her neck, she screamed again.

The black and white plant under the table. How had she been so stupid?

Sylvia reached back and grabbed at it, ripping it away from her neck.

Something huge and black—the black coat from the scarecrow—flew across the greenhouse and Sylvia caught sight of the black and white plant from the corner of her eye, still crouching where it had been when she first saw it.

It was almost like it was waiting, then Sylvia thought she saw why.

The green creatures that had burst from the orb came toward her in a steady line and then stopped as if there was an imaginary line marked on the ground. Although the green creatures stopped moving forward, they still spread out to either side, and Sylvia began to see an arc forming. An arc which if it surrounded her would be a circle.

A perfect, pristine circle.

Sylvia looked across the room at the rumpled black trench coat she’d thrown when it touched the back of her neck because she’d thought it was the black and white plant.

After taking a shuddering breath, Sylvia looked up at the scarecrow that she’d ripped the trench coat from. The antique plague doctor mask and hat were still where they’d originally been.

Upon the main post and along the post that intersected to make the arms, hundreds of the same dusky black flowers that ate the
Neofinetia
nested. The blooms were still twisted shut, and there seemed to be more plants where the chest of the scarecrow was than any other place.

None of the flowers moved.

Sylvia realized that the greenhouse was completely still. Even the green spores had quit their movement, their circle only half complete.

Taking a second to assess her situation and trying to come up with a way to escape, Sylvia looked around with just her eyes. She didn’t dare move her head.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the jar that held the plant with the milky white jewels of liquid. The plant was now hanging down from the lid like a pus dripping bat.

Above it, sprouting from a piece of bark were several long, bright yellow tubes. Sylvia didn’t know what was inside of those tubes and didn’t want to find out.

Cutting her eyes to the left, she saw a giant bush that blocked the window. It was covered in tiny leaves that ended in little sharp points. The leaves reminded her of holly leaves, but these were definitely more aggressive.

Black beads of liquid hung from the points of most of the leaves. The beads glistened in the light, poison dew drops from some other place. The wood of the table in front of the bush was also covered in black liquid. So much that the liquid had dripped down one of the posts.

I’m going to have to turn around and go for the door.
Fine.

Sylvia glanced back at the scarecrow, one last time to make sure that all the blooms were still closed.

Up around the left pocket, something glittered in the midday sun.

Still not moving her head, Sylvia squinted, trying to get a look at what it was, a sense of deep unease filling her.

Clink, clink.

She’d seen something glitter like that before.

Clink, clink.

On the gold wallet chain that Papere always wore.

The scarecrow was Papere. The flowers were growing out of his body.

“Fu—” Sylvia breathed, trying to cut it off before the word was completely out of her mouth.

It didn’t matter though.

One bloom, then two, then four, then twelve burst open in red flares, a hellish organic fireworks show that exploded across Papere’s corpse.

Sylvia screamed and spun around, scrambling to flee from the black flowers.

She felt three barbs pierce the back of her neck, another six down her spine, two on her ass, and three in the back of her right leg.

She didn’t give the flowers a chance to pull her in though. She kept churning forward, ignoring each new jab of pain as she pistoned her legs toward the door. The flowers tried to pull her back as she pressed forward, but she was too strong. The pistils snapped and one of the barbs in her ankle tore out, taking a chunk of her skin and flesh as she felt it snap away.

Fine.

They could have a chunk of her so long as she wasn’t dragged back and eaten alive like Papere had been.

Sylvia tried not to look at the glowing skull on the inside cover of the control box as she surged toward the door.

Glass shattered behind her and she heard something hiss from her left. She didn’t quit moving though. Hitting the door full speed, Sylvia barreled out into blinding light, slamming the door to the greenhouse behind her. She heard something solid hit the other side of the door, from inside the greenhouse, but Sylvia didn’t care. She kept her legs pumping, focused on the back door of the sagging house.

She pounded up the stairs and through the back door, making sure to slam that behind her as well.

She couldn’t let whatever slammed into the greenhouse door follow her into the house. Spinning around, Sylvia squinted out the back door. The greenhouse looked undisturbed. The door wasn’t open, and from what she could tell, it wouldn’t be bursting open any time soon.

Sylvia’s attention focused on the black mound closest to where she stood. In the center of the blackness was a bright red star. She knew what that bright red star was. The mound also seemed closer than she’d remembered it. Not a ton closer, and she couldn’t be absolutely sure, but it definitely looked at least a tiny bit closer.

Scanning the backyard, Sylvia saw that all of the black mounds dotting the grass had a red center, and if Sylvia could see red it meant that the bloom was open and facing her.

Great.

Sylvia slipped her hand around to her back pocket where she kept her phone. It wasn’t there. She patted the other pocket and then the front two, just in case. Where was her phone?

She’d had it when she was looking at the GPS, but—the cup holder of her car. It was sitting in the cup holder of her stupid car.

Great.

Sylvia spun in the kitchen and walked to where the house phone was mounted beside the fridge. She picked the receiver up from the cradle and held it to her ear. No dial tone.

“Shit,” she said. “Shit, shit, shit.”

She turned away from the phone. Papere’s book was still on the counter, but now there were two.

“Where did you find the time to have a baby, momma book?” Sylvia asked the empty kitchen, a giggle bubbling up from her stomach at what she’d said.

Sylvia tried to focus on the book and found that she couldn’t. Every time her vision started focusing, her stupid, heavy eyelids would slip down and she’d have to start from scratch.

That was okay though. She could start over. She was good at starting over, starting from scratch. She could do it.

Sylvia took a step toward the double image of the book, but the floor tilted and she stumbled to the right, away from the book and into the refrigerator. Bright pain lanced through her shoulder, but it felt dulled for some reason.

Her whole body felt dumb now that she thought about it.
Dull,
not dumb.

“Wha’s happnng?” Sylvia slurred.

She tried to lean toward the cabinet with the book on it, but her body just pressed harder against the fridge.

Fine. She could play this game.

Sylvia tried to lean harder against the fridge and the room tilted in the opposite direction like a ship listing to its side.

“I gots dis,” she slurred, right before she banged into the counter with her hip. She tried to pull her head back from hitting the cupboard, but that only made it hurtle faster towards it. Her head slammed against the cupboard so hard that all the plates inside rattled.

The rattling of the dishes seem to come from three houses down, and although blackness started closing in from the edges of her vision, her head didn’t hurt a bit.

The blackness of a million dusky flowers pressed in and blotted out her vision as she fell unconscious to the kitchen floor.

Sylvia came to with a scream. Her eyes flew open wide and she sat up fast.

Too fast.

The blackness started pressing in at the corners of her vision again and she hunched over to the side, moaning when her head bumped the cabinet door. She stayed in this position for five minutes, breathing deep breaths, but staying conscious.

She couldn’t pass out again.

Wishing she could believe that the nightmare greenhouse was a figment of her imagination, the throbbing pain at the back of her neck, along her spine, and the backs of her legs told Sylvia otherwise.

Sylvia opened her eyes slowly, trying to baby it, not wanting to push anything too fast.

Pale moonlight shone onto the kitchen floor and Sylvia moaned again. This time not because of any pain she felt, although there was more of that than she knew what to do with. No, she moaned because she’d arrived at the house in the morning, and now it was night.

“It could be early morning for all I know,” Sylvia mumbled, getting her legs under her as gingerly as she could.

With her feet positioned, Sylvia stood. She did so with her eyes shut, not wanting anything to make her dizzier or to cause the floor to start sloping on her like it had earlier.

Sylvia put her hand on counter and almost shrieked in the silent kitchen.

Her hand pressed into the pillow-smooth leather of Papere’s book, and she’d thought for a moment that she’d put her hand down on a face.

Sylvia picked up the book and started heading toward the front of the house.

Time to go.

Her bladder was full, but she didn’t want to stay in the house any longer than she had to. She would stop at a gas station and use the bathroom there. She could also call the authorities or whomever it was that you called in situations like this.

She imagined how the phone call would go.

Yes, hi. Police? I’d like to report a crime. What’s that? Oh, carnivorous plants. Yes, I know. I must seek help, but could you do a girl a favor and swing by this address? You see, Papere has been crucified and has flowers growing from his chest, and Mamere? Well,
Mamere blew town this mor—

She quit walking.

Mamere.

Why had Mamere told her to come here? She had to have known about the flowers.

Sylvia thought back to when she left Mamere and Papere. Papere understood, though he had to stand by Mamere. That was just how things worked.

“You’re gonna be home tomorra, if not tonight,” Mamere had said as Sylvia slammed the trunk to her car.

“Yeah right,” Sylvia had mumbled under her breath.

Mamere, just as sharp of hearing as she was with always knowing what you were doing or thinking said, “I heard that, girl. Jus’ wait and see.”

Sylvia didn’t bite. She kept moving, checking that the straps on the roof of her car were tight. She didn’t have much, and she couldn’t afford to have it blowing off the roof of her car on the way to New Orleans.

“Now, LSU is a plenty good school. It’s closer too,” Mamere said, stepping in front of the car.

“I didn’t apply to LSU,” Sylvia said. “I got a scholarship to Tulane and I’m going.”

“Oh? Too good for LSU?”

“You know that’s not it,” Sylia sighed. Why did it always have to be this way? Why did Mamere always have to make everything so difficult?

“So now you know what I know? Is that how things are?”

Sylvia checked the straps on the other side. All good. She was ready. It was time to go.

Looking back at the house one last time before she got into her car, something wet smacked against the side of her face.

Sylvia brought her hand up to her face and wiped at her cheek. Looking at her hand, she saw the wet strings of tobacco-laced spit hanging from between her fingers.

Mamere stared her dead in the eyes, a little smile playing at the corners of her lips.

“That’s what you are now to me,” Mamere said, spitting agin. This time on the ground though. “Nothing more than trash. You jus’ a spit bottle.”

The words slid over Sylvia’s tongue, slipped between her grinding teeth, and shot out from between her lips. “Fuck off, cunt.”

Mamere took a step back, her filthy, shitty smile gone, then she took a step forward.

Sylvia now expected physical violence.

“You are dead to me,” Mamere said. “Don’t you ever call or come ‘round here again. I’ll take a fuckin’ knife to your gut if you do. Gut you like one of my hogs.”

Sylvia hadn’t said another word. She got in her car and left the little place behind in her dust, but now she was back in the house. Papere was dead and Mamere had lured her here.