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Whose Garden Grows at Midnight
mysteryEveryone6 contributors · 3 paragraphs deep
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.'
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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A possible continuation
The footage shows the pumpkin. Midnight. It starts to roll. Across the soil. Toward Mrs. Pratt's plot. No hands. No rope. No person pushing it. Just rolling. On its own. For a full minute. Until it stops exactly where it is now.
ED
Elif Demir
12 votes · future 1 of 2