The Wicked Woods

Chapter Five

That morning I sleep in. When I do finally bring myself to getting up and putting some clothes on, Demetria's bedroom door is still closed. She's more exhausted than I am, it seems. I decide to make her breakfast to apologise for rattling her out of bed last night (and a little bit for accepting a new person into our home with little consideration for her opinions, to be honest).

I stretch and walk into the salon. "Robin? You want break-"
My sentence trails off. Nothing. The sofa is empty, though the blanket does lie messily over the side. They have slept here tonight.
"Robin?"

Nothing in the kitchen, or the hallway. I don't check the living room. With a jolt I realise they probably don't even know what happened there. If they hadn't been in it before, perhaps they went into it now and saw dried-up blood stains and... well, I couldn't really blame them if they decided to flee.

"Robin?" I yell, somewhat louder this time.

Outside, perhaps. I throw open the front door and run around the porch to the back of the house, where the moon goddess statue stands. I stop dead in my tracks.

The garden.

When we first came here only three days ago it was overgrown and wild, filled with thorn bushes and barren patches of land where nothing would grow. Strangling weeds swallowed most of dad's lovingly planted flowerbeds. But now...

"Robin," I say softly.

They look up from the berry bush they were cradling and smile. "Good morning!"

I take a tentative step forward. Leaves rustle behind me – Demetria has followed me. I hadn't even noticed she was awake. I look at her, eyes wide, and see she is just as taken back as I am. She opens her mouth and closes it again like a fish out of water. We are both at a loss for words.

The garden has changed so much it's like we've stepped into a different world. The weeds have been pulled from the cracks in the pavement, have been removed from the benches and statues and flower beds. The moon goddess is clean again and shines as if starlight has rained onto the cold marble. But more importantly, the garden lives. The rose bushes bloom even though it's so cold the petals should freeze and crack like my breath. The enormous colourful flowers stand out from the dark green branches like blood on snow, and proudly sway in the biting winter wind. My father's flower beds have been lovingly pushed and squeezed back into shape. The berry bushes have been cut into perfect circles and little white flowers carry the promise of fresh fruit. The thorny branches that seemed to swallow the house only yesterday have turned into lush green ivy that actually provide the building with some much-needed colour. It's like the garden came to life overnight. I can even see several colourful insects and a few tentative little birds start making their way onto our grounds again, crawling and hopping around with careful suspicion, as if the ground will wither and die again any moment. But for now...

"Robin," I breathe. "It's beautiful."

They smile so wide I fear their face might split in half. Demetria is still staring, open-mouthed, unable to speak.

"How did you do this?" I ask.

Robin just shrugs. "I have a green thumb. Literally, see?" They grin and hold up their grimy hands. "I was pulling weeds."

"That's not all you've been doing. How did you... this is impossible."

They shrug, blushing, a bit shy all of the sudden. "I like plants. And trees. They listen to me, sort of. They understand. I understand. Except for the apple tree. Even I couldn't get it to bloom again – and I asked to nicely."

I turn around and see the apple tree is indeed the same as it was before. Darkened, ill-looking bark and rotting fruit.

"That's okay," I say as I turn back to face Robin. "What you've done... Robin, it's more than just amazing. You're amazing. Aren't they, Demetria?"