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Whose Garden Grows at Midnight
mysteryEveryone6 contributors · 2 paragraphs deep
I write down everything at Marrow Lane. Rain. Whose here. Which plots are thriving. Every morning same routine. But this morning something feels OFF and I can't look away from it. It takes me maybe ten seconds to see what my brain already knows is wrong. And then it hits me. The pumpkin. Mr. Okafor's pumpkin. It's not where he left it.
Mrs. Pratt is kneeling beside the pumpkin. Her strawberry bed. She touches it with one finger. Then her whole palm. Her face goes strange. 'This is warm,' she says to no one. 'This is still warm.'
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Mrs. Pratt pulls out her phone. 'I have a camera. For the foxes.' She opens the app. Pulls up last night's footage. Her face changes. 'Oh no. Oh—no, look at this.'
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Sasha Volkov
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