A. Colucci - Seeders

Jules listened a while longer and then shrugged. He flipped off the switch, disappointed that it was so uneventful.

The sun was beginning to set. There wasn’t much he could do until morning, so he closed the notebook and stuck it in his backpack. He felt tired and sat down on a rock, shutting his eyes for a moment. When he looked up he noticed the pine trees looked more vibrant than before, vivid green like traffic lights, while the woods were bathed in golden sunlight, the sky an unnatural violet.

From the ground, a sapling peered up at him. Its newly sprung leaves seemed especially green. He thought he’d never seen something so perfect, so alive. Jules had an overwhelming urge to touch it. He reached out and gently pinched the stem, sliding his fingers along the stalk, smooth as spaghetti and spotted black. It was a pine sapling, only six inches tall.

Jules gave a small tug. The top of the tree snapped off.

At that instant, an agonizing pain hit his throat, as if it were struck with an ax. He fell hard on the ground, curling up with his hands wrapped around his neck and expecting to feel a surge of blood through his fingers. Bright explosions flashed behind his eyes and his neck hurt so bad he thought his brain might explode from the pain.

Oh God, what’s happening ? Make it stop!

The pain did stop. It vanished completely. But the feeling of shock and horror stayed with him and, for a long moment, he kept very still. Jules held the broken sapling in his trembling hand and looked at the wound, where a green drop of liquid streaked his palm. He turned his head around to see that he was completely alone.

I did not just feel a plant’s pain.

Jules sat on the ground and thought for a moment. He could hardly remember the sensation at all and began to wonder if it had really happened. Rotating his neck back and forth, there was no remaining ache or strain. It was just a coincidence, he assured himself. He’d had some kind of seizure or muscle spasm at the same moment he picked the sapling.

You imagined it, Jules .

He had to be sure.

There were other saplings at his feet, one that stood much taller than the rest. It had a hardy sheath of bark already formed. Jules wrapped his fist firmly around the stem, but hesitated. His hand was trembling.

Don’t do it.

He knew it was crazy, but how else could he be sure? With a tug, he ripped the plant from the earth.

Jules felt his legs rip from his body. He hit the ground with an excruciating crack of bone and the icy burn of exposed flesh. The agony was so crippling, it made his ears ring.

Jesus. Make it stop!

In seconds, the pain ceased. Jules lay on the ground shaking, as saliva dripped from his open mouth. He stared at the naked roots beside him. He didn’t dare move his legs for fear they would fall off his torso. A wave of nausea and dizziness threatened to make him vomit, but having the pain gone was all that mattered.

God, it’s over, he thought with relief. I’ll never do it again .

But the dizziness got worse and the trees were spinning like before. He was gripped with panic, knowing what might be coming. With a whimper he slid onto his back, terrified he would pass out. He didn’t want to go there, not again, but soon he was falling down a black hole.

Jules heard the sound of splashing, and it made him sick with fear.

He opened his eyes and was sitting in a bathtub, a six-year-old covered in dirt. His mother was shampooing his hair, long dagger fingernails cutting into his scalp. His feet kicked up water and she tugged his arm so he fell sideways in pain.

Shut up! Stop whining!

Her nails scrubbed harder as shampoo ran down his face, stinging his eyes.

Lather! She dunked his head underwater. Rinse!

Violently pulled to the surface, Jules gasped for air, sputtering water from his aching lungs.

Repeat! She dunked him again and held him under until Jules could feel himself start to lose consciousness. Then his body jerked upward and he gasped for air, but only coughed up more water.

Repeat! Down he went again, his spine slamming the tub. From underwater, Jules saw his small hands waving frantically, his terrified father trying to lift him out, fighting off his mother’s grip. Then there was only silence and bubbles floating upward. Jules could feel the water enter his nose and then lungs, stinging, suffocating. The world went black.

Jules opened his eyes and sucked in a loud wheezing breath. He lay in the woods, clutching his heart. In his fist was the sapling with its naked, broken roots exposed.

ISABELLE WAS IN THE KITCHEN mincing vegetables for shepherd’s pie. Sean was at the stove poking a pot of boiling potatoes, a bandage behind his ear. He was his old playful self again and Isabelle pushed the incident from her mind.

“I’m famished,” Ginny said. She was sitting at the table, studying the map of the island that George had drawn.

“Another half hour,” Isabelle said and threw the minced vegetables in a hot skillet full of chopped meat. She added broth, tomatoes, and a bottle of Guinness to the meat and threw on some spices: parsley, paprika, rosemary, and thyme.

Sean picked up each bottle of spice and shook a few grains into his palm. He sniffed them and licked each flavor with his tongue. He picked up a magnifying glass and inspected them closer. Isabelle looked at her son with pride, unconsciously rubbing the bruise on her arm where he punched her. She smiled when Sean sprinkled the herbs into his glass of water and watched them float. He still displayed the same curiosity he’d shown as a small boy and for that she was glad.

Sean picked up the masher and pounded the meat in the pan.

“That’s for the potatoes,” Isabelle told him. “You can mash them when they’re done cooking. First we strain them.”

She showed him the strainer and he began counting the holes.

Ginny finished with the map. “By tomorrow we’ll be done searching this house. Then we need to look outdoors.” She unfolded the riddle and muttered, “I’ve divided the island into five separate areas so we won’t miss any spots or duplicate our efforts.”

“I wouldn’t even know where to look out there. But the kids are bored. You might send them around to search.”

“Your son refuses to go outside. He’s quite a nancy, that one.”

“Luke?”

“Seems he saw an apparition.”

“Finding a body would make anyone squeamish.”

“Oh posh. He thought he saw me in the woods, lying on the ground. That boy is having sexual fantasies about me to the point of delusions.”

A loud clang sounded as the lid of a pot hit the floor. Sean grunted in frustration, waving a potato masher in the air and looking at his mother with an expression of utter distress.

Isabelle went to the stove to see the potatoes had been mashed up in the water. It was the consistency of creamy soup.

“Ahhh-ah-ah,” Sean said and stuck the masher in the ooze. He looked at her sadly.

She smiled at him. “Why, that looks wonderful. I see we have a change in menu. We’re having mincemeat and potato soup. Good job, Sean.” She tried a spoonful. “A bit of salt and pepper.”

“Pity.” Ginny sighed. “I was so in the mood for shepherd’s pie.”

“Any idea where Luke is now?”

“Probably in my room, going through my undergarments.”

Isabelle looked to the dark window. “I hope they aren’t wandering around.”

“I told you that boy refuses to venture out of the house. One would think fifty thousand dollars would toughen him up. His little girlfriend was sure chomping at the bit.”