By Gregory Ballinger

Cuthbert Creep was a keen gardener who lived alone in the countryside, where he was able to enjoy his retirement in peace and quiet. Cuthbert kept to himself, and only ever ventured into the village if it was absolutely essential. He never watched television, and only listened to the radio when his favourite gardening show was on once a week. Cuthbert enjoyed everything gardening related; he enjoyed being in the garden, reading about the garden; and when the weather was bad, he liked sitting in his favourite chair, looking out at the garden, but most of all, he liked to garden.

It was a glorious autumn day, the sun was bright, the sky was clear, and there was a noticeable chill in the air. Stepping out into the garden, the ground was a little damp underfoot and many of Cuthbert’s plants were on the turn after a long hot summer, so there were lots of jobs to do. Plants needed cutting back, leaves required raking up, and the vegetables had to be harvested and stored away for the winter. Cuthbert grew many varieties of plants, and he could name each and every one, including the weeds as they popped up, which he quickly dispatched, then removed.

The area of his garden he was most proud of was his vegetable patch, which he had planned and planted not only in accordance with the seasons, but also in relation to the lunar cycle, so Cuthbert liked to keep a keen interest in the stars. Tonight was going to be a full harvest moon, and there had been reports of a meteor shower that may even be visible to the naked eye if the skies remained clear.

Cuthbert harvested a pumpkin and a few onions at the end of the day to make himself a stew, and sat down in his favourite chair, eating and watching the sun go down over his beautiful garden. Then, after some evening reading, Cuthbert put on his big coat and walked out into the chilly night, standing in the centre of his freshly raked lawn, to look up at the moon. It was the fullest he’d ever seen, and the milky way stretched out perfectly across the sky like someone had sprinkled stardust especially for his enjoyment. Cuthbert sipped his tea and watched the steam spiral up, away into infinity.

He was about to go inside, when there was a sudden flicker from above which made him look back towards the heavens. The whole sky glittered verdant green for a moment, and then just like that, it was gone again. “Hmph,” Cuthbert said to himself, pulling a face and heading back inside to the warmth of his bed.

The next day, Cuthbert was doing his usual morning assessment around the garden, more leaves had fallen from the tree and one or two weeds had appeared, which Cuthbert quickly pricked out and tossed onto the compost heap. “Must’ve rained,” Cuthbert commented, looking at the small indentations in the soil, before going back inside to have his breakfast.

Afterwards and armed with a rake to collect up the leaves, he noticed more weeds had popped up again and he quickly pricked them out. He was about to set to work on the leaves as planned, when he noticed some more of the same weedy shoots coming out of the indentations all throughout his immaculately kept border.

“Strange,” Cuthbert thought with a frown, pulling them all out except for one, which he scooped up with some soil and prodded into a small pot to see if he could identify it. He placed the pot inside his greenhouse and finally raked up the leaves, before heading inside for a well-deserved cup of tea. Returning to the greenhouse, with his tea in one hand and his weed identification book in the other, he was surprised to see the weed had grown considerably in the short space of time and it had even sent out a few tiny creepers over the side of the pot. Cuthbert flicked through his book, but couldn’t seem to find the little plant anywhere. “Who are you, little creeper?” Cuthbert asked the little plant but it gave no reply.

Cuthbert spent the rest of the day finding and pricking out more the same persistent weed, even finding it in the gutters to his house, which left unchecked, started to splay out, sending creepers over the side. Finally satisfied that he’d regained control over the garden, Cuthbert was about to head in towards the end of the day, when he noticed the little potted weed in his greenhouse was not so little anymore. It had grown much taller, sending creepers down to the ground and a long stem straight up, with a large purple bud forming on the end. “I’ll wait for you to open, little creeper,” Cuthbert told the plant, closing the door. “Then we’ll find out who you are.”

That night Cuthbert had strange dreams about smothering creepers, wrapping themselves around his body, but he needn’t have worried, it was just his blankets wrapping around him while he tossed and turned in his sleep. The next day, Cuthbert made his usual cup of tea and scanned the garden. There was no sign of the weed anywhere in the borders, but when he turned to face his greenhouse, he nearly spat out his tea. “Blimey,” he rasped, heading for the door. The plant had choked the entire greenhouse and its creepers were pushed up against the glass, even coming out through the vents in the roof. Cuthbert forced the door open with some effort, and amongst the mass of twinning creepers found a large single purple flower about the size of a large dinnerplate.

“You really are something, little creeper,” Cuthbert remarked, looking at the vines pushing up on the glass, then observing the large purple flower. Cuthbert scratched his head and noticed with some amazement, that the flower followed the action of his hand. Cuthbert stopped and then moved from side to side and the flower appeared to track his movement. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” Cuthbert admitted, and the petals of the flower pursed together, mirroring his lips. “What is it, little creeper?” Cuthbert asked the plant, and the petals twisted again, forming a tight circle like a mouth, and with some considerable effort, the plant made a noise like the squeak of a gate. “What did you say?” Cuthbert asked cautiously, taking a step back. Cuthbert had occasionally talked to his plants before, but he’d never had any of them talk back.

The plant moved its petals again and this time the sound was less squeaky, and clearer, more defined. It no uncertain terms, it whispered, “Water.”

“I’m sorry?” Cuthbert asked, giving the plant his full concentration, not noticing one of its creepers twisting around his leg like a green serpent.

“Water,” the plant repeated, tilting it’s flowerhead to face him.

“Water,” Cuthbert parroted back, raising a finger, but then went to move and found he couldn’t because the creeper had coiled around his leg like a snake, squeezing tighter and tighter.

“Water,” the plant continued to demand, towering over Cuthbert as he bent down trying to unwrap the vine.

“I’ll get you some water, but you have to let me go,” Cuthbert pleaded to the plant and almost instantly, its grip loosened. Cuthbert crawled backwards away from the greenhouse and slid the door shut, while the purple flower inside appeared to watch his every movement. On his way to the tap, Cuthbert pricked out a few more little weeds he’d missed in the lawn, and each time he did, the purple flower let out an ear-piercing shriek that rang through the air.

The flower watched Cuthbert turn the tap on and fill up the watering can, bringing it over. As Cuthbert got closer, the greenhouse strained under the pressure from the plant, and the creepers coming out of the vents, twisted towards Cuthbert, trying to reach him. “You want this?” Cuthbert called out, pouring some of the water onto the grass. “If you can understand me, where have you come from?”

The flower looked at Cuthbert and then turned, pointing a creeper to the sky. Cuthbert looked up momentarily and remembered the flicker from the night before. “What do you want?” Cuthbert called out.

“Water,” the plant whistled back.

“No, what do you want?”

The plant looked at Cuthbert and formed the word, “Home.”

Cuthbert frowned and backed away from the plant as the pressure grew and the panes of glass suddenly gave way. Cuthbert dropped the watering can and within moments the creepers were all over it, wrapping it up and pulling it back towards the centre. Lifting it up, the flower began to water itself, while Cuthbert watched from a safe distance. Once empty, the creepers moved towards the tap, wrapping around it and turning it until water gushed out. Cuthbert watched in horror as the plant grew exponentially, spreading out, while the flower grew even taller. “Home,” Cuthbert repeated, under his breath. “Not in my garden.”

Cuthbert went to his shed and grabbed his most potent tub of weedkiller and armed with his sprayer, he set to work, spraying the plant nearest the tap. The flowerhead back in the greenhouse screamed and while some of the nearest creepers writhed away, the main plant remained monstruous, resembling something more like a sea creature rising from the depths. It stretched up, as tall as the house, with some of its tendrils as thick as tree trunks, digging into the ground. Cuthbert sprayed as much as he could, but it was futile against the beast, and once empty, Cuthbert retreated back to the house to ponder his next move over a cup of tea.

In no time, the creepers were pushing against the windows to get inside, and seeking salvation, Cuthbert tuned in his favourite gardening show on the radio, and straight away a panicked voice was saying, “Do not let it go to seed, do not speak to it, do not water it, do not feed it, the only way to stop it is to remove the flowerhead…”

“Remove the flowerhead,” Cuthbert considered, heading out the backdoor to the shed to find his axe. Armed and feeling confident, a strange humming sound stopped him in his tracks. Looking up, the sky had turned black, as every conceivable flying insect in the area descended upon the purple flower, attracted to the heady scent it was giving off. “Buzz off!” Cuthbert yelled, as the swarm of insects set to work, pollinating the flower.

Cuthbert watched helplessly from below, until they all flew off on their own accord, over the garden fence, out of sight. Cuthbert couldn’t wait any longer, he came forward swinging his axe, slicing through the creepers and trying to get near to the flower, which was already starting to change, forming a strange seedpod. With the flower itself now gone, the creepers appeared to be blind and Cuthbert, through sheer effort and determination, managed to smash his way through. Climbing the green tower of angry vines, Cuthbert eventually made it to the top, where the seedpod was hardening into a bulbous tube, pointing at the sky.

Swinging the axe, Cuthbert sliced the seedpod clean off, then brought it down again, striking the plant straight down the centre, and causing the plant to wilt under his feet and lose the will to fight. Sensing victory, Cuthbert climbed over the enormous fallen plant and up onto the roof of his house, raising his axe like a conquering hero.

The victory however was short-lived, for looking over the countryside, the fields were filled with green creepers and awash with purple flowers and tubular seedpods, exploding like gunfire, launched their seeds high into the beautiful autumn sky. Like hail, they rained down from above, covering everything, while Cuthbert shook his head, despairingly, “Looks like you’ve found your home after all, little creeper.”

Author Bio: Gregory Ballinger is an avid reader, writer and time traveller. When Gregory is not reading or writing, he often travels back to the 1800’s in England where he likes to spend his time in country gardens as an ornamental hermit, contemplating life in the cosmos. Gregory also likes cats.