The Reddest of Roses

A young girl goes insane and her town finally finds out just how far she's gone...

 

 

She stood in the sunlight on her porch reveling in the cool heat of something so far distant. She might have looked like she was stuck here in this mosquito net contraption of horror but she had found release from this painfully mundane world. The people on the street looked up abruptly as she began to laugh. Whispering in voices like little ant feet they watched, wondering at the mental state of this the newest resident of the little crooked house in the middle of the lane. That house had a history, one that no one could ever be proud of but the real story was the family that lived there. The Desturirs had inhabited the house since sometime in the 1900’s .then it had been well kept and bustling with activity. That was long ago now and Verite was it, the last child of a long line.

She reigned in her unseemly mirth scolding herself internally. She had simply had the urge to giggle at the silly creatures, drones marching along in a mindless line hanging their pointless Missing posters, as if anything would ever come of it. The volunteers relaxed as she turned her piercing gaze away from them. The house seemed to cringe as she entered creaking, screeching and scraping. She passed effortlessly through the falling debris; she had eyes only for her garden.  With a sigh of awe she fixed her stare upon her little plot. Now that was a thing of beauty, her beautiful red, red roses, the reddest of their kind. Her sharp eyes spied a wilting leaf and as her shoulders sagged and her head bowed her eye began to acquire a manic gleam. It was time for more fertilizer. Had anyone taken a peak inside the little crooked house that day a set of shivers would have taken a long trip up their spine.

 The next day dawned in a nearly identical fashion on a nearly identical scene. People were still scattered along the road posting Missing signs that somehow looked more plentiful than before and Verite Destuir sat placidly in a rocking chair upon her porch. She munched on cookies thoughtfully as she surveyed their progress with an emotion so close to amusement it is often mistaken for it. The cookies were her grandmother’s recipe just like the fertilizer, though she had made a few little changes. Things passed down always seemed to come out best. The little people ants seemed more wary today, shivering as she smiled at them exposing perfectly pointed teeth. She had never understood that fear; that wariness of her family that the whole town had adapted sometime in her youth, had never really cared to actually. Why should she care about the peculiarities of mothers hustling their children inside when she passed, or those of the townsfolk who avoided her eyes and made the sign of the cross? People in this area were all so strange, at least she was normal. And her roses, her roses were spectacular. Her  eyes glazed over as she drifted into a day dream of her roses.

 

A little girl tripped down the street merrily humming. The humming lost volume by half as she came closer to the little crooked house in the middle of the street, then fell silent altogether as she reached the little prim house next to it. But the air itself did not fall silent, through the still air floated a warbling tune.

 

-lood roses

Blood roses

Back on the street now

Blood roses

Blood roses

Back on the street now

Can’t forget the things you never said

On days like these, starts me thinking

Now you’ve cut out the flute

From the throat of the loon

At least when you cry now

He can’t hear you

Sometimes you’re nothing but meat……

 

 

The little girl’s scream split the air as she tore down the street towards home.

That evening, as the sun hung up her twilight cloak upon the sky, the town in its entirety migrated like a flock of geese to the town hall. The council was meeting.

~/~

“I call this meeting to order.” The mayor’s voice rang through the air. “On account of all the complaints we’ve been having these past few weeks about the young Destuir gir-”

 

 

“-she’s unnatural I tell you, always sitting on that porch and watching, she never leaves the house and nothing ever arrives, how is she still alive?”

 

“And that fence she has around the back yard, what does she do back there satanic rituals?”

 

“And the songs she sings-“

 

“-My little girl was scared out of her wits by those songs”

 

“That house is a blight on the entire neighborhood, it should be demolished”

 

“The house isn’t the problem it’s the woman in it”

 

“Yeah I think she’s a witch” said a young boy

 

“Shh... don’t say that she might hear you” whispered his sister, who looked up abruptly as a tall matronly woman stood.

 

“Shame on you, shame on you all.” She said so full up with anger she could hardly speak “Condemning that poor girl like that, she only lost her mother four months ago, of course she’s a little reclusive. And here we are holding secret meetings and whispering lies behind her back. Why, I am ashamed to call you neighbors.” With those words she sat down with a huff.

 

A kindly old man, who happened to be the mayor, looked thoughtful.

 “What do you, Ms. Johnson, propose we do exactly?”

 

She looked shocked to be addressed.

“Why, go over there and comfort the poor thing of course.”

 

“Your instincts on matters like this are rarely wrong, why don’t you take a few of the neighbor hood ladies over there tomorrow, if it helps our problems then this will be over, but if not we need to have a meeting to create a plan of action, not comfort. Agreed?”

 

A chorus of reluctant ‘Aye’s rose up from the crowd.

 

“Then I declare this meeting of the town council over”

~/~

 

The following day found Ms. Johnson and a few others standing on the porch steps on the little house, they called for the girl but received no answer. Finally when they had gotten enough strange looks from others who were at the meeting and gathered up their understandably meager stores of courage, they entered the house. The screen door let out a bloodcurdling screech as they pulled it open to creep cautiously in to the house. The floorboards creaked and Ms. Johnson imagined it sounded as if it was warning them away. First they passed though he living room. It was so dusty it looked as if human hands had not touched it in years. Treading carefully, the women proceeded through a room one could call a den and a small washroom. There they found the door to outside, the door into the mythical garden of the little crooked house; from behind it they heard singing.

 

“Well they encourage your complete cooperation.
Send you roses when they think you need to smile.
I can't control myself because I don't know how.
And they love me for it honestly I'll be here for a while.

So give them blood, blood,
Gallons of the stuff,
Give them all that they can drink and it will never be enough.
So give them blood, blood, blood.
Grab a glass because there's going to be a flood.”

 

On that note they wrenched the door open to a sight horrifying beyond belief. Instead of the beautiful “roses” they’d been led to believe she was growing were rows upon rows of hearts on wooden stakes, some still pumping that last bit of blood. The rows gave way to a clearing. There dancing naked, covered in blood, upon a sheet of shredded bodies, was the girl they’d come to help. Her face spilt with a manic grin and with a wild laugh she spoke, sing-songing the words.

“Come to me my little flowers come join my garden of roses. You’re just in time to fertilize all of your brothers and sisters.”

 

She ran at them, they heard the door slammed shut. The last thing they saw, as the world faded to a pinprick of light, was a set of crazed eyes and a rabid grin with pointed teeth.

 

The yawning sun took its place in the morning sky above a scene that was rapidly becoming familiar to the folk of the town. There in a line stood a group diligently posting up Missing signs. Today’s faces were not only those of yesterday but also the ladies from the council meeting.  There on her little screened porch sat Verite, rocking and eating a cookie, with a quite smile on her face and a secret in her eyes. She was still rocking later that day as a group of worried looking people approached her house. Her smile grew and they relaxed. She invited them inside and like lambs to the slaughter they followed. That night the sun went down on the little crooked house in the middle of the street to the chilling sound of rapturous laughter intermixed with the heavy meaty thunk the meat cleaver made when it hit bone and the soft sucking noise that soon gave way to squishing as she danced.

 

The world opened its eyes, then shut them again denying reality once, twice maybe a thousand times. Verite still sat upon her porch, counting her Missing posters and dreaming of her garden. Today’s snack though, was not one of cookie but a still steaming heart upon which she nibbled with great relish as she pondered the great quantity of people who seemed to be Missing. First there had been ten, maybe twenty posters, then forty, then fifty. Now the street was nearly plastered with them, every square inch was covered with another smiling face, and still more lay in piles to be hung. But they would gather dust, as the woman tended her garden and the wind blew down the streets of what was now a ghost town.

 

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[TL Boehm]

an interesting write and an interesting premise. there is an Algernon Blackwood feel to it. Are you planning to develop this further?

[lavenderspark]

very nice. i was thinking of the roses & fertilizer slightly differently as i was reading, but i like your twist. and the use of the songs was very fitting. i know the first and the second is familiar, but i can't place it. what is it?

[The Dark Priest]

I could see the posters blowing through this ghost town in my head. I imagined the houses were circa 1900 french victorian (this is my own insane taste of imagery) and the woman had straw-like hair and wizened skin. You captured this vision is a way that intriques me. I really like this. Great read! Oh and that song she sang "blood roses, back on the street now" I could literally ehar the girl in my head singing it. :)

[akpolarmom]

A little too far out for me...lol I will try to go thru later and make some more pertinent comentary on the writing...ok?

Onwards, Searching for more Tools of the Craft!

Akpolarmom