Rachel Yan (11) | STAFF REPORTER
The plants rustled restlessly as the door swung open. A pair of feet came into view, descending the stairs. They belonged to a young girl of seven or eight, followed by a boy of the same age.
“These are daddy’s secret plants,” she whispered to the boy.
“What if he finds us here?” the boy asked nervously.
“He won’t be back yet.” The girl dropped a silver key into her pocket. They stood before the flowerbed and examined the plants.
“They don’t seem more magical than the other plants,” the girl said, a note of disappointment in her voice.
The plants nudged each other, sparks leaping between their microscopic feelers. The signal rippled through the flowerbed, spreading the message to each plant. It’s the gardener’s daughter.
Should we ask them? Who will do it?
The pea plant straightened. “Greetings.” The voice grumbled from its pod.
Cries of surprise filled the air.
“Please do not be alarmed. Your father is right about us being special plants. We’re paradisiacal plants, so we can talk.”
“I’m Susan,” the girl ventured. “He’s Timothy.”
“Nice to meet you,” the pea said. “Can you please help us? We’re very thirsty. Your father has been forgetting to water us.”
Susan nudged Timothy. “Get them some water from the sink.”
Not much longer now. The plants hummed with anticipation.
Timothy returned with a mug of water. “Just pour it on the soil,” the pea said.
Susan reached out, then frowned. “Why does daddy keep you down here? Don’t plants need sunlight?”
“No, we’re special plants. We don’t need as much light. Now, please water us.”
Water splashed over the flowerbed from the upturned mug.
The plants burst from the soil, stalks and tendrils darting out of the ground and whipping through the air. The children screamed and ran as the horrible chorus of the plants thrummed in the air. Get them.
They curled around Susan, leaving Timothy to scramble up the stairs, crying.
“The daughter of our captor,” a foxglove hissed, its petals curling. “How perfect.”
