Dark Rose ✔️

Roses Are Not Weeds

I decided to work on the garden the following day, even though cobwebs of the terrifying encounter lingered in my brain. Thankfully, it was just a dream.

Just a dream. I repeated the logic until I almost believed it. At some point, I shook my head and told myself to focus on the flowers.

The garden was green and lush, filled with useful herbs and some other flowers. Besides the bold weed or dozen, all it really needed was some tender love and care. The prominent eyesores were the brittle and wilted roses only. Their stems were misshapen, and their heads were bowing as if in mourning.

Strange magic, in that their death reminded me of life. Back when I could say I had one. They reminded me of when I would give my wife white roses whenever I could. Only to come home and find them in different shades of color. I'd always ask how she did it, and she'd only ever mention one word.

"Magic," her eyebrows would tell me I was an idiot for even asking.

Lila was not much of a poker face, though. Her giggles as she tried to shoo me away from the pots of food dye sitting on the counter gave her away. I still always asked just to play along with her mischief. And yet, her answer still held some truth, for the roses I bought her always lasted longer than any I ever knew.

How I wished the dying roses could be saved by that same magic too, but no amount of care or even magic could have saved them. I knew it would be best to plant new ones. As I made my mind up to grow new ones, white ones, a feeling of peace came over me. Lila loved them, and looking at them every day would keep me grounded.

I didn't fail to notice her ghostly presence, and I could even feel her smiling at me. I wished she could always grace me with those smiles. There were moments when I missed how much in love my wife and I used to be, so much so it would pain me like an iron steaming across my heart. We used to be the envy of everyone around us, and I miss that greatly. We were truly a match made in heaven, even though the marriage had occurred because of a business arrangement. We had fallen in love with each other so fast that even our parents couldn't believe it.

In my eyes, Lila was the perfect wife. She would host elaborate dinner parties and keep the house spotless at the same time. It was like she was the definition of kindness, and with her quirky personality, she drew people in without even trying.

It didn't hurt that she was strikingly beautiful and flirtatious either. After her passing, I would often dream of our mind-blowing releases. I missed how she would moan my name while we were making love. Reflecting back, it probably had a lot to do with the fact that I had no attraction toward anyone else, and I was almost sure I never would be again.

I missed how she would send me random gifts at work. I missed how we would talk for so long while holding onto each other tightly.

When she was diagnosed with terminal cancer, I was devastated. My whole world came crumbling down around me. It was like I was being pranked or cheated. I was sure it was all a fucking mistake. Yet, while I cursed, screamed, and threatened her doctors, Lila had smiled through the tears. No matter how long she had left, she kept making beautiful memories with me. Strongest woman ever.

Sometimes, I wondered if her spirit lingered because of how much we loved each other. I didn't mind that she came to me like a ghost. All it meant was that I could have her by me for the rest of my life. Besides, no one would call me crazy because she was the last of my family. There was no one left to disclose my insanity to, absolutely no one.

I had just pulled the last stubborn dandelion when a cool breeze stroked the back of my neck. Without much thought, I got up, and my eyes ran upwards towards the attic window. To find that someone was staring at me.

The person looked familiar. It was a woman with black hair that almost hid her entire face. I could tell she was gorgeous. I smiled to myself while trying to figure out what I was actually seeing.

Is Lila now tired of just staying by my side? Does she now show herself right before me? Will this be a home for us again? Silly girl, how could you stand just being at my side until now?

By the time it took to blink, she was no longer there. Where had she gone? I brought my hand to my head. It must have been my imagination then.

Grief makes us see things that aren't really there, and it gets our hopes up for nothing. I thought to myself bitterly.

I went back to work for a bit longer and then stood from my crouching position to stretch the kink out of my back. Now that I had weeded the garden out, I could go in and have some rest. As I bent down to pick my shovel, I saw a single dead rose hiding among the other flowers like a bride shy in the bed-chamber.

Didn't I weed everything out?

I plucked the dead rose from the other blossoms. As I was putting it into my compost bag, it got yanked from me. Like an invisible hand had grabbed it right from my own. I stepped back as it fell onto the floor. Reflexively I went to pick it up, only to see it fly away to its origin. Right before my very eyes, I saw the dead rose retake root.

Is this me imagining things? I felt as if the world had just been pulled out from under me, but I tried to swallow it down. Again I plucked it, and still, an invisible force was pulling it down. It clung onto the ground and took root.

I'm not going mad! I saw it take root twice.

Fear ran down the back of my neck, replacing the cool breeze that had pleasantly brushed across my skin moments before. I plucked out the rose angrily and cut it into pieces with the small shovel in my hand. Breathing harshly, I hurled the pieces away.

But when I lifted my eyes, I saw a shadowed face looking at the rose with contempt, like it was responsible for all the misery in the world.

An angry growl ebbed from the shadow. The twinkle of its blue gaze looked over to its bush, and a subtle nod ordered the impossible to happen. The broken petals gathered and became one again, as if in rewind, the rose turned into a flower again, then it flew back into its bush and planted itself.

What the hell? I staggered back.

I looked back to see the shadow begin to recede. In its place, the woman from last night was standing there. A pair of bright blue eyes burned into my gray ones.

Though her voice was in my head, it came to me like a slap, "Your wife hates you, and that is why you are alone. You do not belong here. You have a shovel with you. Kill yourself with it."

My mind blurred. The world began to sway as if I were in a trance. As if someone controlled my motions, I lifted the shovel and proceeded to ram it into my stomach. But before it could pierce me, I felt the shovel being slapped and thrown out of my reach. I woke up from my trance to see Lila standing protectively in front of me.

My beloved wife vanished before I could call out her name, as did the horrid woman with the electric blue eyes.

I looked at the house I had bought just because my wife loved it and thought about the trouble I had also unknowingly bought for myself. I had a ghost wife who loved me in death as she did in life and maybe another ghost in the house that was homicidal.

A fearsome spirit who could replant a dead rose. One who could mess with someone's mind. I stumbled back when I saw the blue eyes staring at me from the edge of the garden. I turned and ran towards the house and up the stairs to my bedroom.

"This is no longer interesting," I told Lila, whose dripping tears told me I was most likely skewed.