dearest, dead.

Alfred Rudolfovich Eberling (1872–1951) - “Tamara and Demon”, c. 1910

During the new moon, the well gives us blood. It’s the only thing the roots in Grandmother’s garden will eat anymore. It clots in the irrigators, even at full spray. I used to only have to clean them every week or two, now I do it daily.

- Grandmother’s Garden, Kitty Horrorshow

But as the arms tightened, there was the sound of sharp splintering and the birch into which the axe had bitten toppled. It struck the ground directly behind the wrestling men. Its branches seemed to reach out and clutch at the feet of Polleau’s son. (…) –and over its tumult he heard the roar of the great forest:

“Kill! Kill!”

- The Women of The Wood, Abraham Merritt

He was lying, face upward, at the foot of the strange orchid. The tentacle-like aerial rootlets no longer swayed freely in the air, but were crowded together, a tangle of grey ropes, and stretched tight, with their ends closely applied to his chin and neck and hands. She did not understand. Then, she saw from one of the exultant tentacles upon his cheek there trickled a little thread of blood.

- The Flowering of the Strange Orchid, H.G. Wells

The wolf told the woodcutter how the Wood hated him, for slashing and mangling its branches, day after day, year after year, cutting, chopping, and hacking at the flesh of the trees with his axe. And so as punishment, the Wood had taken his daughter.

- Unwell, a Midwestern Gothic Mystery, Jim McDoniel, Jessica Best, Jessica Wright Buha & Bilal Dardai 

So, with grim determination and with the skill that years of experiment have given me, I grafted a stem of this carnivorous plant to my upper left arm. (…)The original flower resembled a lily somewhat, so I was not surprised at the new lily that finally materialized. But I did wince when I discovered that the opening of the lily was a perfect replica of a boneless human mouth.

- The Moaning Lily, Emma Vane

She was out in the garden when I found her. Out in the rose garden, in her long nightgown. Lying on her stomach. I thought she was dead. She looked dead. Her lips were blue. I touched her hand, it was cold. There were rose-vines growing over her ankles. In loops, thick, covered in thorns. Her ankles were bleeding down onto the ground.