The Garden Police

I had been abusing my garden for years. So what if the supplements said plants could feel? I did not believe it. I hated gardening but the wife sent me out every Sunday, rain or shine.
"It's good for you John ' good for you and the garden.
Ok, so maybe I went a bit far with the hacking and slicing, the ripping and dicing, but it's hardly a crime is it¦?

It was a fine Sunday morning the day the Garden Police turned up. I was in the process of killing a cabbage when I felt a hand drop onto my shoulder.
"Good morning Mr. Thomas. Please, desist your mutilation.
The voice was as bright as a button and as sharp as shears. She had a wide mouth and wore a Colgate smile. With her hands now clasped in front of her and standing with her head tipped neatly to one side, she would not have looked out of place in a 1950's advertisement for Lux soap.
Apart from her gimlet eyes. Oh yes ' and the gloves.

I wondered where she had come from, at the same time noticing how she stood between me and the path leading back to the house.
I could hear Sunday morning sounds; a dog barking in the distance, the tinkling of a milk float, eggs and bacon popping and sizzling and the thought that I might not be an active participant in another Sunday inexplicably yet with a fleeting certainty, crossed my mind.
"Helen! Can you come out here please? The slight wheedling tone in my voice surprised me a little but as I looked into the dark pits of the woman's eyes, I felt the first rumblings of a deep unease.

"Mr. Thomas, she chuckled indulgently, "no-one can hear us ' we are ' how would you say ' 'in a world of our own' ' yes? You have things to answer for. She wagged her finger at me. "Machinations to ponder and actions to admit before we conclude our business.
A bead of sweat lingered on my brow and I resisted the urge to sweep it away ' if truth be known, I wanted to make no sudden moves of any kind. For all her apparent casualness, she seemed coiled and on the brink of unstoppable action.
"What have I done? I croaked. I could feel the damp earth beginning to soak through my trousers and chill my knees; could feel the mud sort of cling to me, shift, and make room for my weight to settle down a little more.
"Why Mr. Thomas, Herbivoral Homicide, Tomato Torture, Plant Plunder ' need I go on? Spittle flew from her mouth as she talked, a mouth, which seemed to elongate ' her teeth began to mesh and masticate as she pinned me down with her accusations.
"Morning John, Dave from next door said as his head passed along the top of the fence beside me. "Alright? It'll be a scorcher today, eh?
I knelt open-mouthed and speechless as he disappeared from view, the brief appearance of normality hard to take in.

"But I didn't know! How could I have known? How? I did know however that my beseeching fell on deaf ears ' ears which now seemed to me to bear a resemblance to ears of corn ' how did I miss that before? I wondered. And her gloves ' how could I have not seen the twig-like appearance, the gnarled twisted fingers stripped of humanity? Too late, I attempted to rise and failing, looked down to see my knees and calves and the first inch or so of my thighs, entwined in thin, fibrous roots ' roots which pulled at me, moving and worming their way through flesh and bone. The earth on which I was kneeling seemed to be making way for this new nourishment ' seemed to be getting ready¦
"There can be only one punishment, one verdict. You must give back what you have taken Mr. Thomas¦life! This final edict was delivered with Black Cap finality.

"Mum, can I tell Dad breakfast is ready? The sound of Kevin's voice snapped my head around; a curtain of sweat droplets kissed the grass. My upper body swayed toward the house and willed to be saved.
"No ' you know your Father likes to be alone when he's working ' I'll plate it up for when he's ready. Go get your sister from upstairs¦

"My family¦ I sobbed, looking up in an attitude of prayer. She swept her hand out as if sowing seeds.
"My family, she countered. "My family. Her voice sounded of stones and gravel. She seemed to shimmer then, and chameleon-like, started to blend into the background of apple and yew trees. Without realising it, I had sunk up to my waist and as I hitched and opened my mouth to scream, my throat sprouted and spouted roots, cress, grass and seeds.
The ground sucked greedily at me ' my arms already taken to the elbows, my chest hardly able to expand at all. I could hear the kids arguing over the last slice of toast and I wished I could be there to arbitrate. I wanted to pat the dog, hug my wife, and maybe even water a plant or two.
As the Garden Police and I became one with the garden and the soil leeched my face, I heard my wife click-clacking down the path ' probably to bring me a cup of tea. And as I swallowed of the land I thought¦.