A Gardener's Fertilizer

What keeps his garden so alive? It's in the fertilizer.

A Gardener’s Fertilizer

Robert Clarke

            I opened the window to hear the birds that morning. It was refreshingly bright out and the soft breeze blew the smell of garden flowers into the living room. I dusted and vacuumed the upstairs, I put a load of laundry into the washing machine, and I washed the dirty dishes in the sink by hand. After lunch I sat down on my old checkered grey clothed couch and beamed out the window as the rays of sun danced into the room. I watched as cars passed by and little birds circled the birdfeeder beside my garden. I could hear the neighbor’s children loudly playing in their backyard. It was a beautiful afternoon, but as usual, I was quite comfortable remaining inside. I waited and switched the loads of laundry and took a moment to sharpen my kitchen knives. After completing most of my daily chores, I sat down at my desk and began to read.

            A little while later I heard a knock at the door, so I marked my page and set my book down. As I made my way towards the door, I noticed that I had left the window open. I slid it shut and noticed the stillness of the night. More knocks echoed from the front door as I reached for the handle. I opened the door to a man in a tattered grey suit, wearing excessively pointed dress shoes, and thin white leather gloves. His long face harbored a crooked smile as he stared back at me, his eyes shifting wildly behind me. I greeted him as politely as a neighbor and invited him inside out of the chill of the night. As he made his way over to the kitchen table he pulled open what seemed to be a briefcase; a sad leather bag. He began his salesman song, and I poured two glasses of water. He thanked me graciously and kept up his sherade.

I let him go with his somewhat inebriated gesticulations for a while until I began to tire of him. He was extremely long-winded and he was taking up too much time from my nightly reading regimen. If he didn’t leave soon, I would not only miss my page quota for the second time this week, I would miss my evening shows. So I told him that I was a bit tight for money at the moment and though I enjoyed having his company, had to wake early the next day. He then closed his briefcase, handed me a crumpled card with that crooked grin, and finished his glass of water to the last drop. Moving towards the door he lifted his raggedy briefcase off of the table leaving somewhat of a wet spot on the tablecloth. And I could smell him. I hadn’t noticed it before. I looked him up and down to see that his hands were dirty brown and that his shoes had stained my carpet. As he spoke I could see his crooked yellow teeth, almost complimenting his slithering smile. I could feel his stench now as it polluted the air around me. I couldn’t let it continue. I walked over to the counter and wetted a rag, grabbed a freshly sharpened steak knife, and turned it in my hand as he slid on his coat.

 He reached for the door handle, and I stabbed him in the back of the neck, pressing the rag tightly against his mouth. I continued to twist and turn the knife in his meat, and his blood dripped down my hand onto the welcome mat. It was sensationally warm. I withdrew my freshly sharpened instrument and picked another spot on his dirty body to strike my next blow. The steak knife slid into his chest so smoothly, like a snake into its hole. It was meant for him. I held him until he shook no more. His body fell silent in my arms as I dragged my tool out of his heart. Gently I laid him upon the floor and walked over to the sink. I washed off the knife and threw it into the garbage along with my blood-soaked shirt. But his stench lingered in the air. I took a towel and wrapped it around his greasy head. I didn’t want his eyes staring at me.

I rolled him in an old bed sheet and carried him into the garage traveling across my backyard in the shadows of the overhang. As I laid his lifeless body amongst my gardening tools, I looked down on his carcass. I knew what I was going to do to him. I grabbed my saw off of the wall and unrolled the man from the bed sheet. Every four inches I cut, a chunk at a time. Slicing his fresh corpse as a chef carves a ham. I filled buckets with his remains and mixed them with my garden fertilizer. The old bed sheet I threw into the burning barrel along with the inner door mat. I went back inside, mopped the kitchen tiles, and scrubbed a bit of dirt out of my carpet. I had missed my shows.

When I awoke I brushed my teeth thoroughly, combed my hair neatly, and put on my gardening clothes. I carried the buckets out to my garden and dug a couple holes in-between the flowers. I dumped every bucket into the soil and hosed them out, first covering each hole with dark mulch. Next on my list of chores was the burn barrel. I went to my garage, grabbed a can of gasoline, and poured a healthy amount into the barrel along with the door mat and bed sheet. Then I dropped in a match and watched it burn for a minute or so. As it burned I walked my garbage to the curb and stopped to wipe my brow, for it was a bit warmer than the day before.

            I went inside, made a sandwich, and sat down on my couch with my plate. With the window opened I gazed out at my garden. The flowers looked so beautiful and well-nourished with their new fertilizer. As the gentle wind blew into the room I could smell the fresh, clean scent of tulips and wisteria. The stench was gone, and I knew that this year my garden would look the best it ever has.  

 

 

Reviews

[gryffyndoor]

I read this because I'm interested in writing horror. I think you have the beginning of a good story if you could just flesh it out (no pun intended).

"sun danced into the room" - cliche
"Moving towards the door he lifted his raggedy briefcase off of the table leaving somewhat of a wet spot on the tablecloth. And I could smell him. I hadn’t noticed it before. I looked him up and down to see that his hands were dirty brown and that his shoes had stained my carpet." I think it's okay to use "and" at the beginning of the sentence here: it adds to the chaos of the situation. But I think you need a "but" after "noticed it before" and before "I looked him up and down" to create a new sentence because "I hadn't noticed it before" is an incomplete sentence.
"slithering smile" - cliche
"It was sensationally warm." - need a better description
"The flowers looked so beautiful and well-nourished with their new fertilizer." - need a better description
"As the gentle wind blew into the room I could smell the fresh, clean scent of tulips and wisteria. The stench was gone, and I knew that this year my garden would look the best it ever has." - needs to be described better; cliche

[Living_Shadowz]

This is creepy but cool. But somewhere I don't remember where you started a sentence with "and" you can't start sentances with but you can use a comma in the word before and and turn it into one sentence. It's totally normal.