Nightmare Magazine, Issue 137 (February 2024) by Wendy N. Wagner

Author:Wendy N. Wagner
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Adamant Press
Published: 2024-01-31T22:47:03+00:00

©2024 by H.B. Menendez.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

H.B. Menendez is a librarian and a writer of (mostly) speculative fiction. Born and raised in Florida, she now lives in Texas with an excellent cat and a small houseplant jungle.

To learn more about the author and this story, read the Author Spotlight

The Mourning of Sam Lillow, the Gardener

Adriana C. Grigore | 595 words

* * *

CW: death.

* * *

I used to have this illustrated version of Beauty and the Beast when I was little, which more often than not I used to retrace the drawings than reread the story, but I do remember it was my favourite version of the tale because it reserved several beautiful pages for the scene with the rose theft. The roses curled like vines around the snow-strewn garden of the decrepit castle, and somehow all that decaying beauty filled me with a sense of peace, as if saying, imagine how quiet that must be! It seemed to be the kind of quiet that could only exist in between stories, there to be disrupted, to be mourned. But someone must keep the roses growing even when there are no princes in the castle, so you could say that was my gift to Sam Lillow. She gets to see the garden in every act of the story, but also watch it reborn from the ashes every time.

—ACG

curses take root from root to root

is what they said

when they came for the tree

the tree that had shaded her since she was a baby

running around after her mama’s mud-stained slacks

watching her cut rose from rose, splice shoot from shoot

root to root

split, split, crack through time

half of all that’s in a tree is time

it all caves beneath a blade

Sam watched her days trickle out

like sap

watched her days seep into the wooden handle

of the axe

watched the tilting tree and thought of mama

at least the handle is one of us

the garden sang

trickle, trickle, trickle

how the roots do wither

as my true love waited

as all my days abated

(the curse sputtered down watch it sputter down watch it bubble black and blue out of the old ash tree watch the curse sizzle on the ground watch it simmer in the ground watch it stick to a dozen feet watch it seep into their feet watch it reach their shoots watch it eat their roots)

trickle, trickle, trickle

how the roots do wither

as my whole life waited

as all your love abated

split, split, crack through time

half of all a garden grows is time

it all blooms beneath a spade

Sam felt the roots crumble down

like ash

felt them spread like mould beneath the garden

of the castle

felt the echo of decay lower down the valley

the handle too was one of us

the garden wept

curses take root from root to root

is what Sam said

when they came to the fire

the fire that was her only light and warmth by evening

as she gathered seeds from decaying corpses

as she replanted rose after rose, nursed shoot after shoot

root to root

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