Chapter 5 - Into the Roses
Clara didn't hesitate. Ignoring Evelyn’s frantic cries to stop, she turned her back on Martha and bolted across the lawn toward the sprawling maze of the south garden. The moon was obscured by thick, churning clouds, plunging the flowerbeds into near-total darkness. The sweet, heavy scent of blooming roses hung thick in the air, masking the earthy smell of damp soil and decay.
Her heels sank into the soft mulch, but she kicked them off, her bare feet tearing across the grass as she navigated the thorny labyrinth. She knew this garden intimately; she had played here as a child, unaware that she was dancing above a shallow grave.
"Clara! Come back inside!" Martha’s voice echoed sharply from the patio, closer than Clara expected. The steady crunch of footsteps on gravel followed right behind her.
Clara ducked beneath a low-hanging trellis of climbing crimson roses, sharp thorns snagging the delicate fabric of her off-white halter-neck dress and tearing a long gash down her side. She didn't care. She pushed forward until she reached the center clearing—a quiet, secluded alcove surrounded by towering boxwood hedges where Martha’s prize-winning white roses grew in unnatural, blood-fed perfection.
Dropping to her knees in the dirt, Clara began clawing at the dark, undisturbed earth beneath the largest rose bush with her bare hands. The pain from her burned finger flared instantly, mixing with the sharp prick of thorns hidden in the soil, but she scraped frantically at the ground.
"Looking for souvenirs?"
May you like
Clara froze. She slowly lifted her head. Martha was standing at the entrance of the hedged alcove, blocking the only exit, the heavy garden shovel resting casually across her shoulder.
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