John Brand of a lovely English garden. What could possibly go wrong?
“Donavan! Shush! … I hear something.”
Emma sat at the foot of the old brick wall decorating mud pies with the tiny rose-tinted flowers fallen from the cherry tree. Her brother Donavan was laying on his stomach, pushing toy cars along the dirt road constructed out of the loamy soil. His loud ZOOM! ZOOM! annoyed Emma, who had stopped to listen to a peculiar sound. It sounded like a voice, coming from the other side of the wall that separated Auntie’s yard from the Finch’s next door.
Emma thought it odd that just one side of the yard had been walled off. Auntie would not say why, just something about needing to keep things out.
As she placed her ear to the wall, Emma noticed a crevice filled with creeping ivy coming from the Finch’s yard. The voice grew louder. “Gray” it seemed to say.
Donavan, tired of his play and Emma’s bossing, rested his back against a tall, ivy-covered planter.
“Emma, I think I think I hear….
Too late to warn her brother, Emma could only stare in horror as the deadly vine devoured Donavan. No need to guess what the voice was saying. It clearly said, ‘I’m hungry.’”