Homicidal Houseplant

I look up from my typewriter, irritated at being pulled from my writing. Standing up, I walk across my loft apartment and open the door to see a UPS deliveryman, holding a colorful flowering plant in one arm and a clipboard in the other. He looks annoyed, and regards me for a second.

“Well?” He says, shuffling closer to bestow the plant onto me. “Take it, it’s not mine!”

“Whoa, um, yeah, sorry…” I say as he almost tosses the plant into my arms. It’s floral scent borders on pungent, and I do my best to keep my head away from the flowering bulbs. “I didn’t order this.”

“Doesn’t matter, this is where it’s supposed to go,” the UPS man says, scratching his goatee. He holds out the clipboard where there’s a paper with an X waiting for my signature. I take the pen on a chain attached to his clipboard and quickly sign for it. As soon as I’m done, he turns and walks away, back towards his big brown truck.

Closing the door, I hold the plant out at arm’s length. The stalks are all the same color but each bulb is a vibrantly different representation of the rainbow, and gives off a different scent than the bulb next to it. Looking inside the bulbs, I nearly sneeze at the bed of pollen on resting on a white palate where the petals grow from.

Shrugging, I drop the flower pot onto the table in my breakfast nook and move to the kitchen, grabbing a used coffee cup and filling it full of water. Moving back to the plant, I pour the water into the base of the plant, sighing as I do so.

“Wonder who I can pawn you off to?” I say aloud, thinking of the women in my life. My girlfriend had recently dumped me, while my mother lived in a different state. My landlady, Miss Dolan, was close enough to my age that offering a plant wasn’t such an odd gift.

“Miss Dolan,” I murmur, watching as the dark soil absorbs the water. “Yeah, Miss Dolan.”

Moving back over to my desk, I get back to work on my screenplay, typing out the scene where the hero makes a witty one-liner against the villain as he blows up the train. I know it’s clichéd but Hollywood loves this kind of crap. I must spend another hour or so on this before another knock on my door, breaks my concentration. Looking out the window at the mid-afternoon sun, I heave a sigh.

Standing up, I move over to the front door as the knocking grows more insistent. I open the door, looking out with a curious eyebrow raised.

Standing at my door is Miss Dolan in her business suit, her hair tied back in a ponytail. Her well-manicured hand was raised as if she was going to knock again. She flusters a little and pulls up her purse.

“Mr. Ramirez, I’m here for the rent,” she says with a tone that brooked no argument.

“Sure, let me grab it, one second. Why don’t you come on inside and I’ll write you a check.”

Normally she insists on waiting outside while I do this, but today seems different. She cocks her head a bit to the side, and looks at me with a glint in her eyes. “Sure, I’ll come on in for a quick moment. Just trying to find my lipstick.”

“Make yourself at home,” I say, motioning towards the breakfast nook while I move over to my desk, looking for my checkbook.

She sits down at the table and all but dumps her purse out; looking for the small tube of red lipstick she’s infamous for. Notes and compacts and pill boxes are sorted out, but no lipstick that I can see from where I’m standing. I move over to my bed and open the nightstand, smiling as I see my checkbook

Suddenly I’m pushed onto my side, landing on my bed hard as I let out an unmanly yelp from the unexpected shove. Looking up, I see Miss Dolan, sans her suit jacket, standing over me, breathing hard.

“Miss Dolan, are you alright?” I ask, not knowing what to say.

She doesn’t respond with words but a feral growl as she jumps on top of me, ripping at her blouse as she kisses me forcefully. Surprised, I move my hands to her hips to steady her before helping her with her shirt. Her breasts, bound back by a lacy red bra that does little to conceal her assets, bounce in a delightful way once they’re freed from the confines of her red silk blouse. I roll back as she pins me to the bed, her eyes gleaming as she begins kissing the side of my neck, nibbling at my skin. I nuzzle hers and move to undo her bra with fumbling hands.

She sneezes, suddenly and unexpectedly, and looks around in surprise. Her eyes are unfocused and her hair is tousled. I stare at her as she sits up on my hips and looks around. “Where am I?”

“You’re in my loft,” I say slowly, somewhat confused.

“I am, aren’t I?” She looks down at me with glassy eyes, caressing the side of my face. She slowly begins to grind on my lap as a grin spreads over her features. “Are we doing what I think we’re doing?”

I smile, resting my hands on her hips. “I think so.”

“But I would never do it with a guy like you,” she says, rolling her head back as she moans throatily.

“And why is that?” I ask, reaching a hand up to cup a bound breast.

“I like my men strong… and athletic… and successful… basically everything you’re not.” She said, taking my hand and bringing it up to her face, kissing my palm. I cup her cheek as she leans in low, sniffing me.

“So what are we doing then?” I ask with a smile as she reaches behind her and undoes her bra.

“A mistake,” she replies before pouncing down onto me with a growl.

Thirty minutes later she’s lying in my bed nude, her hair undone and clothes scattered to the four sides of the loft. I’m being clutched possessively by her, forcing me to lay here with her as she snoozes. I just watch her, moving a blonde lock off of her face so I can admire her tanned skin. Her eyes suddenly flutter open, looking at me with an intensity that I recognize as Miss Dolan.

“Carter,” she says, her voice low and slow. “Why are we in bed together?”

“You jumped me, I don’t really know.” I smile, leaning over her on my elbow.

“I did, didn’t I?” She asks herself, thinking back on the strange turn of events. “I just had this sudden urge, you know?”

“I’m not complaining,” I laugh, leaning back and crossing my arms behind my head.

Her face breaks into a sneaky smile. “I have another urge right now…”

I jump as I feel her hand drifting up my thigh, her manicured nails raking across my bare flesh. She slides under the covers without another word and kisses down my smooth stomach. I look up at the ceiling and thank God for what is about to happen, settling in for the show.

I scream as she bites into my abdomen, her hands moving up and pressing into the spot, drawing blood. Before I can even stop her, she’s opened a hole in my stomach one she is forcing a hand into the tight opening, sliding in two fingers, then three as she pulls out softer meat for her to eat. I grab the back of her head and pull, but she pushes forward and bites the side of the hole, causing it to tear.

It’s big enough for her fist to enter it now, which it does, allowing her to grip onto my innards and begin pulling them out in coils, draping them around the bed as if decorating, kissing my hands and arms with her gore-drenched lips while popping torn strips of greasy meat into her mouth. Her grip on me is iron, no matter how much I wriggle or try to move, I just can’t seem to get out of bed. It’s as if my muscles were failing me! I roll my head to the side, whimpering as she ducks back beneath the stained sheets to where she can drink right from the source, I see the flowering plant. It’s blooms are wide open, petals drawn back as if it’s receiving rain for the first time in a very long time.

I howl in terror as the flat palate beneath the petals splits open in a mockery of a mouth, thin tongues extending out into the air. Miss Dolan emerges from where she’d been licking the length of my intestine, blood smeared over her cheeks and nose. She looks over at the plant and smiles, throwing off the covers and walking over to it. I groan as I see the torment she’s unleashed upon my lower half: a hole in my lower abdomen a foot wide with teeth marks all around it, along with missing bits of flesh all over my legs. My genitals have been removed via her claws, and have disappeared down her ravenous gullet, leaving me a bleeding mess.

Crying, I look up at her as she carries the plant over. Still too weak to move, I just shake my head over and over as she grips the plant by the main stalk and uproots it, dirt and all, before repotting it in my stomach.

“There, you look much better now,” she says, covered in blood, naked in the waning sunlight. She begins spinning in the fading light as I stare up at the plant, its bulbs moving to look down at me as its roots extend into my chest from their spot in my gut. I pass out before I can really do anything, but I do hear a loud crack behind me, like a body dropping from a gallows, or someone jumping from my balcony onto the road two stories down.

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