The Tunnel

The flowers talk to me.

Don’t ask me what they say, you won’t like it. They have dirty minds and even dirtier mouths. Well, they don’t actually have mouths; they think their thoughts at me, but still.

I’m sitting in the middle of a field in my pj’s in the middle of the night, bathed in moonlight, when they tell me something shocking. There’s a secret passageway in the middle of the field. I’m sitting right above it.

You have to check this out! They say. You’ll be so fucking flabbergasted by where it goes. 

“Yeah, I guess,” I hedge. “I could check it out.”

Please, Poppy! I just want you to check it out! There’s a note of laughter to the voice inside my head. I’m not sure I like it, but they’ve never lied to me before.

I sigh and get to my feet. My joints are stiff, so I stretch them out. I wince as each joint cracks in the night air. I’ve been sitting too long.

Hurry! The flowers urge me. 

I don’t stop to think why I should hurry. The tunnel has been there for years, so it should still be there for several years to come, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

I find the entrance and raise the trap door. It’s partly overgrown with grass and some more flowers who also urge me to hurry. I hop down and switch on the flashlight on my phone.

I swing the beam around to see where I am. It looks like a dungeon.

The sudden sound of the trap door swinging shut startles me, and I rush back to the entrance. I bang on the trap door, but it doesn’t budge.

Serves you right, you nosy bitch!

My mouth falls open at the sound of the flowers mocking me.

This is what we do to people who try to glean our secrets!

I’m still pounding on the trap door when the first of the vine-like roots snakes around me, pinning me in place as more wind their way around me. 

I hope death comes swiftly, but I fear that the flowers are not that kind.