by Obert Skye
“Bah,” she said as if she were trying out for the part of Scrooge.
“Is it still Tuesday?” I asked, sitting up.
“If you mean next Tuesday it is,” she groused.
“I’ve been asleep for a week?” I asked, sitting up even faster. My head swam and I could feel myself tipping toward her. She pushed me back as if I were a bothersome stranger leaning into her on the subway.
I lay back down. “What about Kate?”
“She’s fine,” Agatha said smugly. “She received only a few bruises and cuts. You’re lucky it wasn’t worse.”
I tried to smile.
“I know about you,” Nurse Agatha growled.
“You must know only the bad things,” I said. I figured if she knew anything good she wouldn’t be treating me so poorly.
“Is there anything else to know?” She smiled a cruel smile and breathed out. Her vinegar breath settled over me like a sticky cobweb. She looked at her clipboard intently. “You’re the product of money and greed. You’re the child who brought those . . . beasts to our peaceful town. You come from a family that’s both bonkers and bewitched, and you have brought even me more trouble than I need.”
I didn’t know what to say. “Are you reading that off a chart?”
She slammed the clipboard down on the bed. “Fun is what you think you are. Well, I, for one, won’t smile as long as you are roaming our streets.”
I wondered if she had actually ever smiled at anytime or anywhere.
She pulled out a syringe and set it on the small table by my bed. The needle looked at least four inches long and as thick as a pencil.
“What’s . . . ?”
She smiled. I wanted to point out that she had lied about never smiling at me, but I was distracted by the fact that she was dabbing rubbing alcohol on a cotton swab.
Her grin spread.
“Can’t you put that stuff into my IV?” I asked with concern.
“Tough guy like you can handle the needle.”
“Wait, I’m not really that tough,” I tried. “Can’t we wait
for . . .”
Nurse Agatha was suddenly in the mood for action. She grabbed my left arm, jammed up my left sleeve, rubbed alcohol on me as if I were the world’s most stubborn stain, and then picked up the syringe and shoved the needle into my arm before I could properly scream. As she pushed the needle in, I could feel my eyeballs rolling to the back of my head. She withdrew the needle, slapped—and I mean slapped—a Band-Aid onto my arm, yanked down my sleeve, and smiled again. For the record, her smile didn’t make her any more attractive; her face kind of looked like a big, soft melon that too many people had stuck their fingers into.
“What was that for?” I complained.
“Just in case,” she said.
“You don’t like me, do you?”
“Here at Bleeding Heart Memorial we care for all our patients,” she answered. “But, no. Ring the bell over there on the wall once if there’s an emergency.”
“I didn’t mean to blow it up,” I tried to tell her again. “I thought it was just a big ball.”
Nurse Agatha walked off. Well, it was more like she creaked off, her bones making a horrible clicking noise as she moved.
I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply. When I opened them, it was still raining, and the light in the room hadn’t shifted much. I looked up at the ivy outside the glass ceiling. I focused on it and tried to get it to move, but it didn’t. Ever since the last dragon had been killed, my ability to make things grow had been spotty at best. I had spent a number of days in back of the manor helping Thomas manicure the overgrown gardens. But my ability had not shown up at all. In fact, weeds seemed to resist my pulling them out, and any pruning I did turned out ugly and sad. In the last few weeks it almost seemed as if the plants and trees were out to get me. I kept tripping over roots that weren’t there before and finding large bits of dirty lettuce in some of my food. My father said there was nothing to worry about, and that it was all in my mind. But when I reminded him that that same mind had gotten me into a lot of trouble in the past, he said just to keep an eye on anything green.
I looked over to see the potted plant Millie had sent me.
It wasn’t there.
“That’s weird.”
I looked around, figuring that Nurse Agatha had moved it. I couldn’t see it anywhere.
“She stole my plant,” I complained to myself. “What kind of nurse steals her patient’s plant?”
I flopped back down against my pillow, closed my eyes, and sighed. I wanted to go home. My head hurt a little, but other than that I felt fine, and I didn’t want to spend another day here. I could hear Nurse Agatha coming back, her feet scraping against the floor.
“Did you come to return my plant?” I asked, keeping my eyes closed.
There was some more grating sounds, but no answer.
“I’m trying to meditate,” I said sarcastically.
There was no reply. I opened my eyes and looked around. Nobody was there, the hall was empty and the sound of rain plinking off the glass above was the only noise I could hear. I closed my eyes again and tried to breathe easier. Click, click.
My eyelids sprang open. A machine next to my bed whirled and whizzed for a few seconds and then shuttered. I looked across the large room and wished the bell for me to ring for help was closer.
“It’s just the noises of an old hospital,” I whispered, trying to comfort myself. I closed my eyes and was just about to drift off again when I heard more clicking. I kept my eyes shut, reminding myself that it was just some old machine or vent.
Click, scrape.
The scraping noise was even less comforting. I wished I were knocked out or that I had some earplugs. I pretended the hospital had a helper dog and that he was the one making the noise. While I was busy pretending with my eyes closed, I felt a tug on my blanket. I was so surprised that I didn’t react fast enough. The blanket was pulled down and off the edge of my bed.
“Nurse!” I yelled, sitting up. “Nurse!”
I looked at my bare legs. I glanced around the long, narrow room. I was alone. I made fun of myself for acting like such a baby. The blanket had obviously just slipped down off my bed.
“Stupid blanket.”
I threw my legs over the side of the bed and sat up. The plastic tubing connected to my right arm was long enough for me to move a little. The room flashed bright from a bolt of lightning. It was followed directly by the roar of thunder.
“Perfect.”
The rain began to fall with greater force upon the glass ceiling. Lightning flashed again, and the lights in the hospital flickered out.
“Perfect,” I complained. “What a lovely hospital.”
The whole scene was now colored in gray, cloudy twilight. I stood up and walked to the edge of the hospital bed to get my blanket. It was sitting on the floor in a bunched-up pile. I pulled it up and climbed back into the bed. I thought about going over to the bell and ringing it, but in all honesty I really didn’t want to see Nurse Agatha again.
As I laid down, lightning flashed, followed directly by a heavy crack of thunder. I tried to remember if buildings with glass and metal roofs were safe during a lightning storm. I told myself that glass was probably like rubber and lightning couldn’t hurt it. It wasn’t the truth, but it made me feel a little better.
Scrape, click, scrape.
My blanket began to slide down me again as my heart did likewise. This time I grabbed the blanket and pulled it back up and under my chin.
It slid some more.
I jerked it up, but there was resistance. I figured it was just snagged on part of the bed. I yanked harder, and it yanked back. I should have taken a moment to realize that something wasn’t right, but instead I just kept pulling. The only thing I could think of was that my blanket was caught in part of the bed’s electrical system. The blanket pulled back, causing me to sit up. I wrapped my hands around my end of it and leaned backward. I was play
ing tug-of-war with my blanket and losing. I heaved, and the blanket hoed. I was wrenched up and forward, my body falling face-first onto the end of the bed. I could see the white tile floor. I could also see that I was completely wrong about my blanket having been caught in the electrical part of my bed. There was something green and growling down below.
“What the . . . ?”
I tried to drag the blanket up, but my position was bad, and I fell off the end of the bed and down onto the tiled floor. The tube popped out of my arm, and my right shoulder hit part of the blanket. I attempted to roll over so that I could get on my feet and run away. My attempt was thwarted by something heavy and hard smacking me directly in the forehead. I was snapped down flat, the back of my head hitting the floor. I looked up as I lay on the floor, and I could see that the potted plant Millie had sent me was sitting on my forehead. My breathing was labored, and the pot felt heavy. I really didn’t know what to do. I had been a Boy Scout briefly when I lived in Chicago, so I had learned a few knots and how to whittle before I caused some trouble and was asked to join another troop. But in those two months, I never learned what to do if a houseplant had just head-butted you.
I rolled my eyes back and looked up at the pot. The plant leaned forward. It was wriggling and lowering itself closer to my face. If I weren’t a rational human being, I would have sworn that the three bloodred flowers were grinning sinisterly at me.
The largest bloom cocked its head, pulled back a few inches, and then lunged at my nose. It clamped on and dug its thistlelike leaves into my skin.
I tried to scream, but the second flower jammed itself into my mouth and grabbed hold of my tongue.
I chomped down, hoping to bite the bloom off and free my tongue but I was too slow. All I did was bite down hard on my tongue.
“Owwhaaahaaaah!”
I thrashed violently, rolling over onto my side and bucking the plant and its pot away from my head. I got on my hands and knees and looked toward where the plant had been. It was lying on its side and rolling back and forth. It rocked and then flipped itself up. I stayed on all fours, watching in disbelief as it hopped closer.
Click, click.
The biggest flower bent down and chomped on the card Millie had written—grinding its petals together as if they were teeth and tearing the card into shreds. As it was chewing, the second flower wrapped itself around the plastic pitchfork that had held the card and yanked it out of the dirt. It whipped back and let it fly straight at me. The tiny tines jabbed my arm, drawing blood. The plant clicked closer.
I scrambled to stand as fast as I could. I’m not proud of what happened next, but I started to run. I ran from that houseplant like a small child running from a huge tiger. I also sounded like one—a small child, not a tiger.
“Heeeeeeeeeeellllllp!”
The plant whipped its clay pot around like a tail and threw itself into my legs. I tripped and went flying in between an empty bed and a tall counter. I crabwalked myself against the wall while trying to catch my breath. The plant righted itself and turned to look at me. All three flowers were bristling and moving. They clicked the thorns on their stems together and lurched forward balancing on the bottom front base of the pot. The pot rolled a couple of inches to the right and then rolled toward the left. Back and forth, back and forth—slowly getting closer.
“Stop!” I tried to command it, knowing that, in the past, growing things had obeyed me. “Freeze.”
It rolled nearer.
“Nurse!”
Lightning struck, illuminating the grey room. The rabid plant looked like some sort of foliage zombie under strobe lights as it moved even closer—back and forth, back and forth.
I could see a tall bottle on the counter next to me. I picked up the bottle and waved it in the direction of the plant.
“Get away!”
The plant stopped and rocked back, resting on the entire base of its pot.
“I’m serious,” I yelled.
Apparently it didn’t believe me.
Click, click, click.
I didn’t know what to do; it was now only about ten feet away. I slammed the bottle down against the counter, breaking the bottom off and giving me a jagged weapon. Small bits of glass chimed down against the floor.
“Get back!”
The plant stopped, and all three flowers cocked their heads as if to get a better look at the broken bottle in my hand.
“Yeah,” I said breathing hard. “And I’ll use it.”
The storm exploded all over the room. “Now,” I panted. “Go back.”
The plant shivered and bent forward so that all of the flowers were touching the floor in front of it. It sort of looked like it was bowing. I thought maybe I had subdued it. Instead, it whipped its potted end and slammed it down against the side of the bed. The pot shattered into a number of pieces while the dirt around the roots kept its shape. The plant quickly picked up the largest pieces with its branches and began waving them in my direction. The clay pieces were jagged and sharp, and the way the plant was acting made me feel like I was in some sort of horticultural Western.
I just stood there in shock.
Freed from the weight of its pot, the plant sprang forward, hitting me in the stomach and slicing away at my hospital gown with its sharp, pottery shards. I tried to fight it off with my broken bottle, but it simply slammed three pieces of the cracked pot against my weapon and shattered it completely.
“Nurse Agatha!”
The plant was going at me like a tiger trying to claw its way into a bag of meat. I pushed it away and received three long scratches on my right arm. The wounds burned like fire and caused my body to react like a maniac. I kicked and screamed, my left foot punting the plant onto the bed. All the soil at the base of the plant exploded into the air. I could now see
the plant’s thin roots dangling like cooked ramen noodles. I scrambled up and tried to run again toward the door.
The plant leapt from the bed and wrapped itself around my legs.
I didn’t know whether to scream, “Ahhhh,” or “Agatha.”
I went with, “Aaaaaagaaaathhhha!”
I wriggled forward on the floor, futilely clawing and grabbing at the slick tile. I could see the bell against the wall and above the desk. I suddenly wanted nothing more than to push it and have the entire staff run in and rescue me.
I kicked my legs in a desperate attempt to shake the plant off. All it did, however, was cause the plant to leap from my legs onto my back. I could feel the clay shards cutting through my gown and slicing my skin. I got onto my knees and tried to reach behind me and pull it off. As I reached out, the plant swung its noodlelike roots around and mashed them into my face. My eyes and nose were suddenly filled with dirt. I couldn’t see clearly, and I could feel the plant now ripping up my shoulders.
It took everything I had to get to my feet and stumble toward the desk.
The plant pulled itself around my right side and began going at my face, its thorns digging in wherever they could. I fell to the desk and threw my hands against the wall searching for the call button. My left hand hit the button, and I pushed it. Even through the rain I could hear the muffled bell ringing somewhere down some faraway hall.
I pushed it again.
The flowers bit down on my hair and violently pulled my head backward. It felt like my neck was going to snap as I fell behind the desk.
“Heeeelll . . . !”
The smallest flower shoved itself into my mouth to silence me. I bit down and tore the bloom completely off.
The plant got angrier. It tore at me with a newfound aggression and anger. I felt a chunk of my hair being pulled out and the roots of the plant were frantically trying to wrap themselves around my neck.
“Helllp!”
Apparently nobody was coming. My whole body now burned from the deep slashes, and blood was dripping and smeared all over. I huddled under the desk as the plant continued to slice me up. I was just about to accept my fate when my elbow h
it the large trash can under the desk. I tried to open my eyes to see if it was big enough to crawl into. I managed to get my left eye open enough to see that it wasn’t just a trash can; it was an industrial-strength paper shredder.
My mind instantly came up with a plan.
I threw my head back against the top of the shredder, hitting the on button. The machine whirled to life as I grabbed the roots that were currently trying to strangle me. I yanked them back as hard as I could and shoved the plant’s roots down over the long, thin opening of the shredder. Before the plant could react, I mashed the roots into the slot, hoping that at least one of them would catch.
It was better than that, the shredder got hold of a large wad of the noodly roots and quickly began to pull the rest of the plant in. The flowers and branches all dropped their clay pieces and began to writhe and wriggle in pain. The small, thin branches were frantically trying to grab hold of me to keep from being pulled in and shredded up. Some pulled my hair, and one of the flowers bit down on my left ear. But the machine was too powerful.
I pulled myself away and watched as the shredder chewed up all of the roots and began pulling in the base of the plant. The machine struggled for a few moments on the thickest parts of the plant but then got up to speed and sucked in the rest of it. The last part to be pulled in and ground up were the two remaining flowers. I think the biggest one was screaming. I tried to think of some cool comment to say, but all I could think of was, “Plant that.”
I waited a few seconds to make sure it was really all finished, and then I reached over and turned the shredder off. I collapsed, lying down on the floor with my legs sticking out from under the desk. My entire body was cut up, and there was blood all over me and on the floor where I had dragged myself. I slowly caught my breath wondering why nobody had come when I rang.
The doors pushed open. “What, what?” Nurse Agatha said stomping in. “There’s no need to ring the bell more than once. I’m not a cow, you can just . . .”
She stopped talking and looked around. She gazed at my empty bed and then down at the floor. I watched her eyes follow the trail of blood to where I was.
