The Mind Plant

I was particularly unaware of when my uncle, Professor Thomas Arthur Lyncroft, first made contact with the bizarre plant that sat within a cardboard box, wrapped in brown paper and tied with string, atop the highest shelf of his dust-ridden study. As his most curious and convincible nephew it didn’t take long for me to respond to my uncle’s invitation. An invitation to stay with him for a month or so in his dubious Boston estate, a cornfield away from the prestigious Sutwell University, where he taught biology and every that cursed creationism.

In this month or so he would teach me the basics of what a biologist would have to prepare for, if I would ever plan to one day find myself before students of my very own, handing down the teachings of my uncle and late father and making a name for myself, following the Lyncroft legacy. My uncle was going to teach me so much. I am now startled to say that over time a kind of dark-influence fell over my uncle, leading to his untimely death… and at my hands. 

While I struggle to tell myself that this act was out of mercy, part of me couldn’t help but muster a hatred for my uncle, and for this thing he so ignorantly flaunted as his greatest find. Pulling back the clock to my arrival in Boston, my uncle wasted no time in showing me to the chambers where had stowed the thing away. Much of his behavior had struck me as peculiar, when I first saw him; Such as his appearance and mental state.

He was a skinny man who looked like he’d never slept. His speech was staggering and his moments were shaky. He looked uneasy with every moment that passed him by, and with this strangeness about him, I kept my distance.

When I was brought to his lab the plant was displayed on  table before me. Bits were glowing as the yellow and hot pink spotted pedals flowed out, down to the dark stem and thorn-spiked leaves. The only odd thing about the plant, that struck me at first glance, was crystal-like quills that glowed with a dark purple which grew out from the base of the plant.

My uncle would not reveal to me about where he had gotten the thing, and would rather avoid the question, change the subject or dismissing my question with another question; Like a smart-a*s. I quickly ceased asking and merely shared in his investigation of the plants’ genetic make-up. My first week in his estate was spent alongside him, examine the specimen.

It wasn’t too long before I began to notice the plant seemed to have a defense mechanism. When the plant was met with an object that could slice or press through any surface of it, the purple quills at the base of the flower would fire-out like those of a porcupine. It would take twenty-four hours for the plant to grow back new quills, and every attempt to dissect it would be met with this resistance.

I didn’t think to ask the major questions during the start of the examinations, as my uncle seemed defensive about delving into the origins of the flower. This led me to finally ask about a bizarre series of green vessel-like tubes which had embedded themselves on my uncles arm, and all of a sudden. This was something he could not hid, as with each day the hole from which the vessels came would glow with a brighter shade of purple.

He gave way rather quickly, as he explained a mishap that occurred during his first examination of the planet. He admitted to being hit with one of the quills and suffering a mild decrease in energy as well as a multitude of physical abnormalities. My uncle assured me that the effects of the quills “toxins”, as he called them, were merely temporary and that he was feeling fine.

I did begin to notice a great difference in his appearance. He looked healthier, happier and more energetic after our talk. I believed all was well, until a midnight stroll through the estate brought me peering through a keyhole of his laboratory, lured by whispers and the sounds of conflicted ramblings.

I had heard him from the hallway and couldn’t believe the panic he was in. The plant sat on his desk, still and glimmering. The brighter the quills shined, the brighter his vessels on his arm lit up, and the more hysterical he became!

I began to realize how the mailman and the servants had all ceased coming up to the estate. The gardeners and the groundskeepers hadn’t come since I’d arrived either. I noticed that this entire time the only person I’d seen all month was my uncle, fluctuating in wellness.

Deep in thought, I fell forward, slamming open the door and startling my uncle. He looked at me with a vicious glow, grabbing a letter opener, he lunged at me!! I pressed up against the wall and kicked him away into a corner.

He was disoriented for a moment as I swiped the letter opener out of his hand and took it to the plant. The purple quills fired, one catching me in my arm. As I pulled it out my uncle jumped on me from behind.

As I got myself loose he screamed for me as I ran out the door of the study. He had finally lost it. By the time I had made it to the door he caught up with me.

I ran to the basement where I figured I could hid. Tripping down the wooden steps, and landing at the bottom. I peered out through the darkness to see the mangled bodies of the mailmen, groundskeepers, gardeners and household servants all littered around the cellar.

With a sprained arm I stumbled through the pool of blood that made up the basement floor; Holding my mouth and trying not to vomit at the sights and smells of rotted bodies. Hearing my uncle call out for me once more, I located an axe and took to an area behind the boiler to hide. I believed I was safe, hearing his heated breath come down the basement steps and stepping through the bodies on the ground.

He monologged as he searched for me, explaining how ever since he’d been hit with the quill, he began to hear voices. He believed it was the plant, speaking to him, controlling his health and his will, bending his state of mind and informing him of the horrors entailed if he chose to disobey it. He told of how the quills allowed the flower to get into your head, infect you slowly, until your will belonged to it.

It was the ultimate defense mechanism, or as I saw it, the ultimate offensive-mechanism. I began to realize that it was no longer my uncle talking. Only the will of the plant exhibited now; Burned into his brain.

My uncle’s honesty faded in and out until only the speech of a psychotic hypnotized man remained. It had taken over my uncle and murdered anyone who wouldn’t convert. I hushed my breathing as I waited for the right moment to make for the stairs. 

This moment came too late as I felt the letter opener from before pierce my chest four times before I fell to the ground. As I looked up, on my back, my uncle stood with wide eyes bleeding a yellow substance, he grinned and readied the letter opener again. I mustered all my fury and kicked him backward, my chest burning as blood streamed out.

My breathing was staggering as I took the axe to my uncle who sat, looking upward at me with saddened eyes, screaming for help as I jammed the axe into his skull again and again! I was screaming with each thrust down, watching his hand reach out for me, I cried when he’d finally stopped moving, and I was sure he was dead. I sat there a long while until my tears dried.

I eventually got a hold of myself and made my way back to his study, with a busted arm and four holes on the right side of my chest. So, now that brings us back to the present. As I sit here, wondering what to do with the plant he packaged up so tightly before coming after me.

Part of me would love to tear this damned thing apart, but that’d be too easy. Luckily I haven't forgotten that I pulled one of those quills out of my arm a little while ago. My life and the safety of those around me is compromised, as is the fate of the world if this plant is allowed to be transported and studied.

The voices are beginning to set in. There are more than one. What if this means that there are more than one plant? Could there be more, freshly grown out somewhere? 

Could this be me sensing them? I feel a collective of sorts, in my brain, intruding and trying to take over. The influence of this hellish flower has taken so many lives, but this one ends with me.

I guess I’ll just set fire to this whole damn estate. Who’d believe me, secluded in a house full of butchered up bodies. So, I’ll burn it all.

Thus ends the family legacy of Professor Thomas Arthur Lyncroft and his curious, convincible nephew.