It’s Garden

It was an uncharacteristically cool spring morning in south Mississippi. Not quite cool enough for a jacket but the gardener wished he had kept his long sleeve work shirt in his truck. As he was stooped over pulling weeds out of the bed beneath the kitchen window he heard a voice over his right shoulder. Instantly he knew who it was but recognizing that voice made him a bit nervous. He spun around and stood up, “Good morning, Mr. Kerner, I didn’t expect to see you so early.

Abebe, I have a special plant for you. This angel trumpet was given to me and I’d like you to plant it in the back corner of the garden. It’s going to get pretty large so I’d like it planted where it will be the focal point of that back part of the garden.” Yes, Mr. Kerner. I shall find a nice place for it. I do love angel trumpets. I’ve seen a few of these in New Orleans. Do you know what color the flowers will be? The blue ones are my favorite.”

“I have no idea what color the flowers will be but I’m sure it will be quite a site when it is in full bloom next year.” I’m sure you are correct.” Mr. Abebe agreed. “Now let me find a place to put this beauty.”

The angel trumpet started out small and inconspicuous. However, It quickly established itself as one of the most outstanding plants in the garden. By late spring, early summer It had grown significantly, towering over the rock wall and it’s natural beauty began to garner the attention and admiration of the neighbors. It stood tall and strong but alone; majestically towering over all the other plants in the garden. Unbeknownst to Mr. Kerner and his friend, Mr. Abebe, It had a deadly secret.

“I’m not sure why angel trumpets aren’t more common in Hattiesburg. I love their flowers and the aromatic smell they give off.” “Yeah, it’s a mystery.” replied Mr. Kerner. “They have a somewhat exotic feel to them. I really like that they grow so tall and the flowers are so big and beautiful.” “You know in some parts of New Orleans there has been a problem with youngsters stealing the blossoms because of the hallucinogenic affects of the nectar.” “Yeah I’m hoping that doesn’t happen here in Hattiesburg. We definitely ain’t New Orleans.” Mr. Kerner replied.

That exotic flare helped to hide It’s secret. The nectar within the flowers of a normal plant offer a hallucinogenic effect much like that of recreational drugs, just not quite as potent. The effects of this peculiar plant seemed to be greatly magnified.

Mr. Abebe had tended these grounds for over two decades and had intimate knowledge of every corner of the garden. Not long after It had been placed in the garden he began to notice a trend that had never occurred before. Seemingly overnight, otherwise healthy plants would die. One plant in particular made him take notice after it died. The day before he found it a limp brown version of it’s former showy self he had taken a few cuttings from it and the other foxglove plants in the garden for a centerpiece for the Sunday brunch that Mr. Kerner hosted each week.

Something about his new prized speciman had enamored Mr. Kerner. Before It was introduced to the garden he spent a minimal amount of time on the grounds of his estate. All of that changed the day that he asked his friend to find a special place for It in the far corner of the garden. He found a renewed interest in his prized garden and could be seen wandering the grounds looking at the flowers. He spent an exceptional amount of time in the far back corner admiring the angel trumpet’s beauty, not knowing that It was already unveiling it’s insidious plan.

Mr. Kerner wondered what color blossoms his new angel trumpet would have. Mr. Abebe noticed how much time his friend would spend in the far corner of the grounds and had a basic yet sturdy bench made and placed directly across the small open area in front of the angel trumpet. A small but elaborate pergola was added that stood over the bench creating a somewhat intimate space which immediately became Mr. Kerner’s favorite spot in the garden. He planted wisteria and Carolina Jessamine at alternating corners of the pergola.

Over the next year the three plants thrived in their new environment. The wisteria and carolina jessamine grew and covered the top of the pergola to the point that the bench was completely shaded and several degrees cooler than the rest of the garden. It grew taller and more hardy than ever. That space became so cozy and nice that Mr. Kerner began to spend entire evenings sitting on his bench. He really enjoyed the coolness of the shade and loved the showy bright yellow blossoms of the jessamine in early spring. He often complimented Mr. Abebe for planting the two vines together because he loved how the yellow blossoms give way to the purple clusters hanging from the ceiling of the pergola spring faded into summer.

Mr. Kerner would often bring guests to this part of the garden to show off his newly built paradise, small as it may be. Only one thing would make his little bit of paradise better. He asked Mr. Abebe dig up a small section of the angel trumpet and plant it behind the bench. That afternoon Mr. Abebe dug up a small portion of the plant and took great care to select a space that was exactly centered along the back side of the pergola. The next morning as Mr. Abebe entered the garden he was greeted by Mr. Kerner, who thanked him for transplanting the angel trumpet. He confessed to being perplexed at how Mr. Abebe was able to move such a large and beautiful portion of the plant without making it noticeable that so much of the original plant was missing.

Confused at what Mr. Kerner was referring to Mr. Abebe walked straight to the transplanted angel trumpet. What he found sent a chill down his spine. Just the evening before this plant had only been about 6 or 8 inches tall. Before him was a mature plant standing over 6 feet tall with a few stalks containing large, showy leaves. Mr. Abebe was dumbfounded at how the small, still somewhat delicate plant could have grown so quickly in less than a day. He was certain that it was not the small young stalk he had placed there the day before. It was out of character for Mr. Kerner to joke around by replacing the small transplant with a mature plant such as this. Mr. Abebe was truly perplexed. It wouldn’t be long until he would begin to suspect foul play.

Over the next few days the transplanted angel trumpet thrived in it’s new location. Within a week it grew to a size comparable to plants that grew in more tropical climates where angel trumpets were able to grow year round In most parts of North America where the colder winters kill the foliage each winter forcing the plant to grow completely foliage each spring. After another week the original plant had all but died. The “new” plant was larger and more breathtaking than ever before. It was almost as if it had absorbed the energy from it’s parent plant, but how was that possible. Mr. Abebe again thought that something was unsettling with this plant.

Slowly both men began to notice strange things happening. That spring the Carolina jessamine blossoms were exceptionally large. They seemed to be almost twice their normal size. Once or twice he thought he had seen the blossoms all waving in unison. Occasionally Mr. Abebe thought he saw the angel trumpet lean over ever so slightly toward Mr. Kerner when he would stand up from the bench and begin to walk away. Understanding that plants don’t behave in such ways and that most plants aren’t capable of such movements, Mr. Abebe convinced himself that he hadn’t seen what he thought he saw. Mr. Kerner was now spending exuberant amounts of time sitting on the bench just staring at It. He would sit there motionless for hours at a time.

One afternoon Mr. Abebe was working late on the front lawn. When he’d finished he went to bid his friend adieu for the evening. Mr. Kerner was no where to be found. Though he’d occasionally venture out to his favorite restaurant his bike was still under the carport. Curious to know what might have happened to his friend he began to walk around the house toward the garden in the back. Once in the garden he immediately looked toward the back corner where he saw his friend sitting motionless on the bench.

Mr. Abebe called out to his friend. “Hey Arthur, I’m heading home for the evening.” As he was turning to leave he realized he didn’t hear a response. Mr. Kerner was usually jovial and quite the conversationist who almost always responded when someone spoke to him. So Mr. Abebe figured that he must have been preoccupied with something and just didn’t hear him. He turned back to see Mr. Kerner seemingly in the exact same position as before. He opened the gate and started toward the pergola while continuing to call out to his friend.

As he approached Mr. Kerner he spoke one last time “Hey! Are you ok?” There was no response. Mr. Abebe looked into his friends eyes, they didn’t even blink. He then noticed the leaves of the angel trumpet swaying ever so slowly in the breeze, all in unison. Something didn’t feel right. The hairs stood up on the back of his neck and he got goose bumps all over his body. the leaves of the angel trumpet were still swaying ever so slightly only now he noticed clusters of wisteria blossoms and the Carolina Jessamine blossoms swaying in unison as well. he began to slowly turn to survey the rest of the garden and as he did so he realized there was no movement anywhere else in the garden.There was no breeze, no wind at all. None of the other plants in the garden were being affected, even those right beside the pergola. The air was perfectly still. Yet he could detect the sweet smell of the carolina jessamine as if a cool spring breeze carried the aroma directly to his nose.

He called out to his friend one last time… “Arthur are you ok?” After a brief moment and no response he sprang into action. He grabbed Mr. Kerner’s hand attempting to pull him to his feet. His hand was frozen in place. Mr. Abebe pulled harder and was able to lift his hand only slightly. Realizing that something was terribly wrong he let go of Mr. Kerner’s hand only to feel something tighten around his other wrist. Instinctively, he looked down and saw that a vine wrapped around his wrist making its way up his arm. He yanked his hand away from the vines, took a step back and stumbled on a loose paver, falling and hitting his head on a brick.

He lay there for a few moments. When he came to It was beside him covering his entire torso with it’s stalks and leaves. There was a single yellow blossom hanging down over his nose and mouth. He could detect the distinctly sweet smell of the angel trumpet’s flower. Almost immediately he noticed that his fingers and toes were tingling. He struggled to free himself and managed to get to his feet. He stumbled out of the garden only to return moments later with a hatchet and an axe.

By this time Mr. Kerner’s body was completely covered with vines. After a few well placed swings of the hatchet he managed to free Mr. Kerner. He dragged his unconscious body out of the garden and returned to the pergola with the axe. He made light work of destroying the bench, pergola, the wisteria, carolina jessamine and especially the angel trumpet. He painstakingly removed all of the debris from the garden and burned everything in the firepit on the side of the house. While the fire raged he returned to help Mr. Kerner into the house after he began to wake up.

The next day Mr. Abebe returned to check on Mr. Kerner. The front door was open when he arrived. He walked inside expecting to see his friend sitting at the kitchen table eating breakfast. Instead he found no sign that his friend was inside the house. From the kitchen window he saw something that made his heart skip a beat. In the back corner of the garden he saw the pergola covered in beautiful vines, the bench and It. The large leaves were swaying to and fro in the early morning breeze.

Had he imagined everything? He reached for the back of his head. As he rubbed his hand over a small knot, a dull pain affirmed that something did in fact occur. Maybe he’d imagined everything after falling and hitting his head. He went to the side gate to investigate. From the gate he could see smoldering ashes in the fire pit. The axe was laying on the ground between the gate and the fire pit. As he walked through the gate and along the path towards the pergola he saw leaves, small pieces of cut vines and drag marks along the ground that he recognized as the drag marks from removing large amounts of plant cuttings, something he’d done a thousand times before while performing his usual duties in the garden. He also saw splintered wood that could only have come from the pergola and the bench having been destroyed with an axe.

As he approached the pergola he saw It standing as tall and proud as ever. The bench was still beneath the pergola. Confused, amazed and aghast at what he was seeing he left the garden. He never saw or heard from his friend again. He returned and attempted to destroy the pergola, and the plants surrounding it a few times. Each time he’d return to find that everything was replaced, as though it was never destroyed. The more he tried to destroy the garden the less he remembered about why he wanted to do so. Eventually he didn’t even remember his friend of 20 years. Mr. Abebe finally stopped tending the garden altogether. After all there’s something not quite right about a garden that re-grows itself in less than a week after being completely burned and destroyed.