On this island stood a bright and flourishing city . Around the elegant palace flowed broad streets full of cheerful people buying and selling fish and shoes and toys and bread and other pleasant things . Near the western edge , the soil was rich , and farmers grew vegetables and herbs . In the center of the island was a forest , and in the center of the forest was an unusual flower . Some flowers grow in the deep woods , you know , no matter how little the sun . Deep purple violets , creamy foamflower - they can grow among shadows and dappling light . " Grew " isn 't quite the right word , of course . It had been planted there , long ago , an iron - gray rose in full blossom . Each of its hundred petals was carved in thin and curving metal , and its iron stem bent gracefully , and its thorns were sharp and precise as tiny daggers . In spring , when the real flowers were just budding , the Iron Rose stood among them , tall and complete . In summer , when the real flowers blossomed out full , the Iron Rose stood unchanged . In autumn , when the real flowers bent low , faces crumpling into death , the Iron Rose stood strong . One late summer day , a woman walked through the woods , swinging a stick in front of her to clear her path . She was a writer of stories , and writers like to walk . She wasn 't thinking about the flowers , and had murdered or maimed scores of them in her irritable passage . That 's unexpected , deep in a forest . So the woman looked down , and saw it - the lron Rose , unchanging among the blooming and dying forest flowers . She knelt to look closer . The craftsmanship was flawless . The emperor would pay in splendid gold for this . Careful of the thorns , she tugged at the rose , and it came up as easily as a piece of grass . Holding it gingerly , arm outstretched , she walked home , daydreaming what the gold might buy her - a voyage to Alexandria ? a new roof ? - and marveling at its extraordinary , intricate craftsmanship . Why , it was almost as if it had been made by magic . But banishment is not always the best weapon against badness . You are no sooner told that you may not have a cookie than a cookie is all you can think of , and it becomes the most gorgeous and desirable thing there is . Where you might have had one cookie , you find yourself sneaking off with seven . Then one day , a few months later , as a maid dusted the Iron Rose , a noise startled her . It was only one of the emperor 's cats , leaping off a suit of armor . Only a cat : but still the startled maid 's hand struck against an iron thorn , which pierced her finger - just as the magician had known would happen somehow , some way , to someone . The dark gray metal softened . Its color deepened , first to something like black , then to something like red . The chief housekeeper , who had come running at the maid 's cry , watched with her . Yes , no question : the iron was reddening before her eyes . Imagine a black - and - white photo turning into color . But that wasn 't all : the iron was softening , becoming more delicate , more vulnerable , more alive . It was no longer an Iron Rose , but a real flower , red and glorious , at the height of its beauty . It was a real rose now , in every way but one : it retained its faint , metallic , bloody perfume . The next morning , four roses crowded the silver vase . The maid laughed out loud . This time they did tell the emperor , who wondered in astonishment whether someone was playing a practical joke . A watch was set up , which watched all night , and saw nothing . But the guards must have fallen asleep , though they swore they had not , for the next morning , there were eight roses . These new roses spilled on the table and floor . The emperor said sharply , " Take them outside . " You can perhaps guess what happened . The next morning , on the scrap of lawn where the eight roses had been tossed , were sixteen roses . The morning after that , there were 32 . As a boy , the emperor had never paid close attention to his geometry lessons , but his chief counselor had . He understood that a daily doubling of the roses might have quite serious consequences . " We must destroy those roses , " he told the emperor . I will allow you to imagine for yourself how it went over the next two weeks . Despite all their efforts , the roses doubled and redoubled , like the fury of a banished magician . By the 25th day , over 167 , 000 roses filled the palace . The people of the island , who had at first been charmed by the sight of red roses spilling from the palace windows - it must be a sign of favor from the gods ! - were less pleased to see roses scattered through the streets as well . Besides , they were growing slightly ill from that strange , sickening perfume . The emperor now sat miserably in his palace 's highest tower , crowded among his counselors and servants . People began to panic , to discuss abandoning their island . But it was trading season , and the fish were running , and most of the ships were gone . The few small pleasure - crafts left on the island were now buried under tons of thorny flower . From the emperor 's high tower , with frantic semaphore , they tried to call back the last big ship to leave - a passenger ship on its way to Alexandria . No one on the ship noticed the tiny , distant flag - except one passenger , a writer of stories . But she couldn 't read semaphore , and turned back to her guidebook . It was lucky - by which I mean , our world was lucky - that the sea was there to stop the roses . They spilled out onto the beaches , and filled the shallows , and great rafts of them floated out hundreds of yards . But eventually the salt water poisoned and discouraged them enough that they stopped doubling , and began to die . The boats left quickly , and no one visited the island again for many years . The kingdom was abandoned . Even today , it is rarely visited . When travelers do stop there , they find a ghost island , populated only by skeletons wrapped in thorns . The broad streets and narrow forest paths alike are piled with dry , dusty petals . And everywhere lingers a faint perfume of blood . Hello , dear readers . I write this from my tower room , safely surrounded by shelves of crumbling books , drawers packed with carved wooden boxes holding a variety of interesting powders , and tables lined with jar upon jar of . . . well . Things . Flowers . Ah yes . It is May , and May means flowers : violets , pansies , and petunias , the colors of old bruises and spoiled butter , turning their little faces up to the beaming sun . I presume that soon some toddler will wander by , yank a few from the ground - oh , is that a silent scream , now , from the dumb little open - mouthed flower - faces ? - and carry them off in a filthy fist . Mommy ! For you ! I won 't mince words : I don 't like flowers . I don 't trust their pretty surfaces , their persuasive perfumes . When it comes to flowers , believe me : things can go dreadfully wrong . This month , the Cabinet Curators will share with you just a few of our many ( oh yes : many ) stories about the darker side of flowers . I hope you 'll take it to heart , and plow up your gardens , and salt the earth , and this year give your mother a handful of stones or thorny sticks for her birthday . Much safer than flowers , I assure you . It was just a game . Just war , we were playing war , in that field between the school and the woods . It 's so perfect for war , it has these high weeds to hide in , and mounds to climb , and big rocks like boulders you can lay behind . Allison wanted to play that day . She hadn 't wanted to play in a million years , but that day she said she was bored of what she was reading . I was so psyched . I hated her not playing . She 's one of those people that when she 's around , suddenly whatever stupid thing you were doing seems so cool and hilarious and great . I 've known her since kindergarten , and she was always so cool like that . But now we 're 11 , and , whatever . She doesn 't play with us so much any more . But this day she was bored of what she was reading , and she came out to play war with me and Tom , like we used to . So I was sort of mad about that . She didn 't play with us for six months , and then she grabs the best position , just like she always did , like she could just come back and do that . And she called being America in the war . That made you angry . Well not like angry , but just kind of mad . Anyway , so I took the second best place , a higher mound , but not near the tree . And Tom took the edge of the woods - which is actually pretty good , except you have to keep running so far back and forth . Tom 's a good runner , though . It was me , I did it . I mean - but not on purpose that it would end so bad ! I was only just playing a trick on her , because of being a little mad . We used to play that it was the opening of a cave , when were kids , even though really the hole doesn 't go back very far . Still , when you 're inside , no one can get at you . It 's the best spot for war . My trick was that I waited in the weeds on my stomach , until I saw her crawl into the hole . I know her , she always does that first , she loves it in there . Then I waved Tom over , and did that motion of " Be super quiet . " And then me and Tom moved this big rock in front of the opening , so that she couldn 't get out . We weren 't trying to hurt her , I swear we weren 't . We left a crack for air and everything . We just wanted to scare her - or I did . I wanted to get her back . Anyway . That rock was heavy , we had to lean on it and push with our legs . But the ground slants down toward the mound , so at the last second it just rolled into place perfectly , like it wanted to go there . Allison 's strong , but we knew there was no way she could roll it out herself , especially from on her stomach inside the cave . We were just going to leave her for a minute , I swear , just to scare her , just to get her back for taking the best place and calling being America and never wanting to play anymore . But she got so mad when she realized - she started yelling at us , using pretty bad words . So then we couldn 't let her out right away , or it would be like we gave in . She didn 't stop exactly . It was more like . . . the yelling changed . Because at first she was mad , but then she got suddenly so quiet , it was more like she was talking to herself . I thought it might be a trick she was playing back on us . I put my ear up to the crack to listen . And I could hear her voice , like arguing . I heard her say " Stop it , don 't , " a couple of times . I thought she was totally messing with us . I don 't know . Maybe . But more like she was really , really scared . She sounded so scared that it scared us . We started pushing at the boulder . But it was a lot harder now . It had rolled down so easy , but moving it up - and plus she was screaming these terrible screams , screaming for us to move the rock . And we were yelling " We 're are , we 're trying , we 're trying , just wait ! " Then she stopped screaming . And it was so weirdly quiet , but me and Tom kept talking to her , saying " Almost , Ally , we almost got it , " like that . And finally we pushed the stupid boulder out of the way . And there 's no way she could not be there . We 've all been in that tiny cave a million times , since we were little . Back then we could at least fit two of us at a time , but we can 't even do that any more - the rock narrows down to nothing . I mean where could she go ? But she was gone . Both of us stuck our heads in to be sure . And I said , " Do you think it 's like a trick ? Is she tricking us ? " But Tom didn 't answer . He looked like he was going to throw up . He said , " I 'm gonna get someone , " and took off running . He 's fast . I went in , I crawled in on my stomach , and - and it was different . It was really different . Where the cave used to end , it didn 't end any more . It got taller and wider , instead of smaller and tighter . And it went down , and down and down . OK . I know . That 's what it always was before . But I don 't know what else to say . That day , it kept going , and it went down . And I went down with it , to find Allison . The walls and ceiling and floor were all dirt . I could see that , because there was this cold pale light , like moonlight . Only there wasn 't any moon , because I was underground , so I don 't know where that light came from . And things were growing from the dirt of the walls and floor and ceiling . All around me , on all sides of me , were these little green stems , and they were sort of gently waving and twisting in the air , and reaching for me , like grabbing at my shirt and pants . It was disgusting . It was the most disgusting thing I ever felt . But I kept walking , and they ripped out of the walls and floors while I walked , but I kept walking down . And then the passage got wider , and taller . And - I don 't know why I looked up , I must have heard something ? I don 't know . But for some reason I looked up , and I saw what I thought for a minute was a tree hanging down . I thought it was that old dead tree , but hanging upside down . And then I saw something tangled up in the roots , that wasn 't roots at all . Up above me , pulled up tight against the earth , something was wrapped up in the viny roots like a moth in a spider 's web . And it was Allison . It was Allison , and she was - I know this sounds dumb , but it was like she was becoming part of the tree . Like the tree was absorbing her . These long snaky roots , all green and dark , wrapped around her , under her arms , around her neck , around her legs . Her mouth was open and - That wasn 't the worst part , though ! The worst part was that she didn 't look dead . She should have been dead , but she looked alive . Her eyes moved , I swear they did . The rest of her all wrapped and cocooned in those roots and vines , and her mouth - but her eyes moved , and they looked at me . And the look in her eye , the way her eyes were , I can 't sleep because my brain keeps thinking about it , and - I can 't sleep because I ran . I didn 't stay and try to save her . I saw her eyes looking at me , and I got so scared , and I ran . I ran back up that long steep dirt passage , and the little green vines grabbed at me , and I just ran . My parents basically won 't let me out of the house since this happened . But last night really late , I sneaked out of the house . Or I guess it was early this morning . I just went out the window , I had to go back , I thought I might try . . . . Anyway . When I got to the field it was just being dawn , that gray light and all . But someone had filled up the cave entrance with cement . We did that . It was a public safety issue . It 's horrible you did that . I wish you 'd let me in one more time . I wish so hard that you would . But I guess you won 't . This is the thing , this is the main thing I wanted to say . That tree , that dead tree - it has little buds on it now . Every creepy twisty black finger of every creepy dead black branch , they all have these tiny curling greeny - gold leaves now . Now that tree is full of leaves , all those different colors of green . Now that tree is alive again . And I know it 's her . It 's Allison . That tree ate Allison , to make it alive again . Only she isn 't dead . She 's still alive down there , because her being alive is making the tree alive . And I think she 's going to stay alive , as long as the tree is alive . And you filled the hole up with cement , so she can 't ever get out , and we have to do something , we have to dig that tree up , or blow it up , or burn it down , we have to , if you don 't do it I 'll do it myself , we have to - Calm down , son . Just calm - can I get some help here ? Will someone call his parents again , please ? Calm down , would you - Steve , turn that off . Like that awfully hot day when she really wanted ice cream , and she heard the truck , but she didn 't have any money . But then - oh , it was so lucky - the ice cream truck broke down just outside her house . All the ice cream was melting , so the ice cream man shouted , " Free ice cream ! Free ice cream for everyone ! " And she got as much ice cream as she wanted ! But later that same day , Simran had the best luck . A woman had bought those exact same shoes , just in Simran 's size , for her own daughter . The woman had saved and saved for months to buy the shoes , because she knew her daughter had her heart set on them . But - lucky for Simran ! - something must have distracted the woman , because she left the package on the roof of her car . When she drove past Simran 's house , the shoes fell right into Simran 's yard , and the woman drove on , never knowing . Or : in 6th grade , Simran liked this boy Jeremy . But he was the most popular boy in school - the cutest , and the funniest , and the best soccer player - and he never noticed her ; you know how that goes . Well : Jeremy was in a dreadful car accident . That wasn 't very lucky for him , because he broke both legs . But it was very , very lucky for Simran , because he was in a wheelchair for many months afterwards . No more soccer for Jeremy ! And after a while all his cute , popular friends got tired of sitting around with him , and they ran off to play soccer or ride bikes to the mall . Then Simran had Jeremy alllllll to herself . Now poor little Emily : she was not so lucky . Back in second grade , their class play was " Sleeping Beauty . " Simran wanted to play Sleeping Beauty herself , of course - but instead , she was cast as Sleeping Beauty 's mother , a boring role where she only had one line ( " Oh ! How long have I been asleep ? " : blah ) and wore a stupid costume made out of a paper grocery bag with jewels drawn on it in crayon . That same day , Emily ran into some very , very bad luck indeed . Something dreadful happened to her - no one knows exactly what , but it must have been quite bad , and quite terrifying . She was missing for three days . And when she reappeared , her black hair had turned pure white , and her blue eyes had emptied , and she couldn 't stop trembling for three days more . It 's funny , actually , when you think about it . Simran 's friends aren 't lucky at all . Her family isn 't so lucky , either , and neither are her neighbors - sometimes they 're pretty unlucky , actually . It 's almost like Simran uses up all the luck in her part of the world ! But he never got a chance to call Animal Control , because that night , his house very unluckily caught fire and burned to the ground . The family got out okay - well , except for the dad . He was blinded in the fire . He never saw again . Another time , Simran 's little sister , when she was only four , was watching some dumb baby show right when Simran wanted to watch Animal Planet . Simran told her very nicely that she had to change the channel , but her sister kicked up an unpleasant , screamy fuss . Her sister might have met some bad luck right then - it 's quite bad luck to scream around Simran , who doesn 't like screaming at all - but just then , their dad came in and swooped Simran 's sister away . He took the little girl into his room and shut the door . He talked to her in that quiet - but - super - upset voice that parents use to tell small children to stay away from fire , or not to run into traffic . He said : " Look at me . No : look at me , and listen . Never argue with Simran . Never , ever , ever argue with Simran . Do you understand me , honey ? Say that you understand me . Just do whatever she says . " But it 's okay , because Simran 's always lucky . When Simran wants something , what she wants comes to her - one way or another . So her luck sort of makes up for everyone else 's bad luck , at least in her opinion . People say love is life , is the great thing , makes the world go round , all that . It 's a powerful thing , that 's for sure . And it can lead you to some dark places . And I 'm not talking about being sad when you break up , or whatever . I 'm talking a lot darker than that . This thing happened just a couple of years ago . I still think about it all the time . This boy I knew - he lived in your neighborhood , actually , on one of those streets named after a tree - this happened to a boy I knew . His parents are friends of mine , or they were at the time . They moved away , after all this happened , and no one around here hears from them any more . Jack was twelve years old , and he was in love with a girl named Mindy . Both of them were dark kids , him with a sweet smile that he only broke out once in a while , and her with a hilarious little frown and a determined walk . People who say you can 't really be in love when you 're twelve ? They don 't know what they 're talking about . Those kids were crazy for each other , and tender of each other , and nothing came between them . She went to his cello recitals and he went to her soccer games ; and every night , before they went to sleep , they would video - Skype each other from their computers to say good night . But one day she got sick , and it was the bad kind of sickness , the kind annoying girls who are into tragedy do reports on in health class . The kind you don 't get better from . The second time Mindy went into the hospital , her parents got her a smart phone , so that she could Skype and text with her friends - which mostly meant Skype and text with Jack , of course . And he sold his best comics , did extra chores , and begged his parents and aunts for early birthday money until he could get a smartphone , too . Just a used one , but it worked . The last time Mindy was in the hospital , she and Jack Skyped and texted for hours every day . He fell way behind on his schoolwork , but his teachers knew , so they cut him some slack . She was in intensive care , and they wouldn 't let non - family - members visit . But at night Jack would sit on the edge of his bed , staring into the little screen , fingers texting away - or else staring at the grainy , moving Skype picture of her , sickly - pale against white sheets under the yellow hospital lights . Day and night he would talk to her softly , words no one could hear but her , and she would whisper back to him . But of course , in the end , Mindy died . Most of the school came to her funeral . I went , too . They buried her with her soccer trophy , and her colored pencils - she was a really good artist , Mindy - and her bright purple phone , with the stickers on it from some band she liked , and the head of a unicorn she had drawn herself with black magic marker . I saw Jack at the funeral . He didn 't walk past the coffin when his parents did . He sat in the very back corner , staring at the ground , holding his phone in two hands in front of him , staring at the empty black screen . What happened next I found out about in pieces . Jack 's parents had me over for dinner a couple of weeks after the funeral , after the kids were in bed . Jack had a little sister who was almost three , then - her name was Eleanor , but they called her Booshie for some reason I never quite got . Anyway , Booshie got out of bed that night , came wandering down in her pajamas with a smiley stuffed possum she liked . " Booshie ! " said her mother . " Back to bed , young lady ! " Her mom got up and kneeled down by Booshie . " You 're having a dream , sweetheart , " she said . " Come on , I 'll take you to bed . " " Honey , you didn 't see Mindy , " said her mom . " Jack 's talking to someone else . Listen to me , " and she held the kid gently by her little pajama 'd arms : " Don 't make up stories about Mindy . Ever . You can 't ever make up stories about Mindy , Boosh . Do you understand ? " She didn 't yell it , her voice was calm , but Booshie must have picked up something in her tone , because she burst into tears and started shouting " I sorry ! I sorry ! " Her mother scooped her up and took her upstairs . Jack 's dad and I sat around in a weird silence for a while . " How 's Jack doing , after . . . everything ? " I said , finally . And after that I started hearing stories about Jack , from other parents in the neighborhood who heard stories from their kids . About him skipping classes , about him dropping out of orchestra . Sitting alone at lunch , typing furiously into his phone . Some kids claimed they saw him sitting way out in the empty soccer field at lunch , leaning against the goal , holding the phone in front of his face and talking , all excited , like he was Skyping with someone . " But he doesn 't have any friends , my kid says , so who was he texting and Skyping with ? " they 'd say . " He never had any friends , really , but Mindy . " Maybe six months after Mindy died , I had dinner with Jack 's parents again . Their downstairs bathroom was broken , so I went upstairs . And at the top of the stairs , I heard the strangest thing : this voice , only it almost wasn 't a voice - it was like a voice made of static . Whispery , jagged static that had somehow made itself into a girl 's voice . " Love , " the voice was saying . SSshhhhh , hiss , zzt , szzshhhh : Love , love , love , love . It was coming from Jack 's room , and his door was just cracked open . I walked up to the crack and peeked in . I know I shouldn 't have , but that strange , staticky voice unnerved me . Jack had his back to the door , so I could see the phone he was staring into . What I saw - it 's hard to explain , how it hit me in the stomach , how it made me stumble back . It was a face , I knew that . It was the face of a girl , but it was the wrong color , purplish and gray , and it was only . . . I don 't know how to say it , but it was only pieces of a face . Or maybe the whole face was there , but some of the pieces were in the wrong place . A brown eye had slid down too close to the mouth . And the mouth was too wide , as if the lips were peeled back , exposing too much of black and grinning gums . And that voice , that whispering , hissing voice , saying " love , love , love . " I stumbled back , I stumbled down the stairs . I told Jack 's parents I wasn 't feeling well , and I went home . And I tried to forget about it , tell myself I misheard , I mis - saw - though for the first few days , that gray , grinning , lopsided face made it hard to sleep . So we 're almost at the end of this story , which is this . A few months later , I was out late , walking our dog . We 'd been out to dinner and stayed later than we 'd planned , so it was almost midnight . I don 't usually walk out beyond the Safeway , on these walks , but the dog hadn 't been out all day , and he wanted to keep going . . . and I forgot , to tell you the truth , I forgot what 's out there . No streetlights , for one thing . No streetlights , but the yellowy light of a low full moon rising just over that little hill . . . that hill that 's part of the cemetery . I 'd forgotten I was walking past the cemetery . And just at that moment , when the sight of all those gravestones in the moonlight was making my skin go cold - just when I was telling myself not to be ridiculous , but still , still wishing I were home - just at that moment , behind me , I heard it again . I heard that voice , that whispering , hissing , staticky voice . I froze . My dog pulled forward and whined . I turned around . He emerged out of the darkness like he was a piece of darkness himself . He trudged down the road , his shaggy head down , staring at a glowing screen . " Jack , " I said . He looked up . He had changed since I saw him at Mindy 's funeral . It wasn 't just the moonlight . He was taller , and thinner , and his face was gray , and his eyes were huge and black in their dark circles . " Jack , " I said again . " I was losing the signal , " he said . I wasn 't even sure he was talking to me . He seemed to be talking into the night , or over my shoulder , or to the moon . " I was losing the signal , I thought it was almost gone , " he repeated . " But then I figured it out . It 's way stronger out here . " He smiled , a wide and unnatural smile . " It 's way , way stronger out here . " " Jack , " I said , as he passed me . He started to run . " Jack ! " I shouted . " Come on , man , don 't - " But he had already disappeared into the dark . I should have followed him . I know I should have , or at least called his parents . I 'll know that for the rest of my life . But I felt so cold all of a sudden , chilled right to the bone , and I turned around to walk home . I did look over my shoulder , once . I saw a small , shaggy - haired figure up on that cemetery hill , outlined against the moon , kneeling over a grave . So anyway . That 's the story . They found him the next morning , lying on her grave , face down . The grave was half dug up , as if he 'd dug down with his bare hands . His fingernails were torn and bloody . He couldn 't get through the wood of her coffin , but his hand was pressed flat against the lid . He was dead . And the weird thing was that when they found him , his phone was still on , was still hissing gray static , like an old TV - like something was still trying to get through . They opened her coffin to make sure her body was all right , and found that her bony hand was pressed up flat against the lid , too . You can imagine how her parents felt about that . So anyway : love . It 's not all pink hearts and flowers . It 's not all sweetness , the way you might think , the way they try to make you feel like it is , on Valentine 's Day . I guess that 's all I wanted to say . 2 responses so far Pages : « 1234567 »