The Secret Garden Of Martha Grim.
By Richard A. Lopez (c) 1992

Page 12....

Quinn was fighting to keep his mind on track, but the smell of the flowers, the possibility of a concussion and the beauty of the woman before him were making it very hard to concentrate. Not since Katie Cole, had he found himself so distracted, in the presence of another human being, but this was indeed different. Though her skin was the color of alabaster, her smile had a comforting warmth to it, but there something off putting. Though warmth emanated from it, there was no sincerity in it. Quinn hadn't been a cop for this long and be able to recognize when someone was trying to hide something. He just had to figure out what it was.
He decided to bluff.
"Ms.Grim...Martha, don't get me wrong, I really appreciate you helping me, and I know with what you saw, I could put Cole away in State prison for a long time. What I don't understand, is, why would he be following you for just a gardening job?"
Quinn to a drink of his tea, the taste, though soothing, was just this side of chemical.
She was still wandering amongst her plants, stroking them here, saying thing to them there, "Sheriff," she started, "I'm sure I don't know why someone like Mr.Cole would do what he does. I just know that he's an animal. I would like nothing more than to see him behind bars."
"How are you feeling Sheriff?" Her sudden question caught him off guard.
Quinns immediate response was a blank stare.
"Sheriff?" She was suddenly next to him, her hand resting on his arm, her grip oddly firm for a woman who seemed so frail, so delicate. "Maybe you should sit back down? After all, that was a nasty accident."
Quinn came back around, "What accident? I was attacked...Cole. You saw.."
He was being led to the couch again, but he was closer to the mantle. Looking at the photos, he could see the similarities in the women. They were dressed differently, yes, but that was where the difference ended.
It was like those photos you took at the county fair, when you dressed in the old time clothing, but it couldn't be. That would make her over two hundred years old, maybe more! Impossible!
She sat him down, noticed where he was looking, her grip tightened on his hand. "You're wondering about the photographs, aren't you Sheriff? Shall I tell you?"
She was speaking to him, but she sounded so far away. "You see, I could never let someone like Willie Cole touch my garden. For seven generations, a Grim woman has lived here and tended to these gardens, and only a Grim woman. No male as ever touched these beauties." She was stroking his hand again.
"You see Sheriff," she continued, "My Mother found these plants, lovely flowers, she was a botanist you see, and brought them from this land far away, its been so long, I hardly remember where it was they came from. Nevertheless, try as she might, she could not get them to seed. But I did. I found out quite by accident, how. When they first fed from me, I thought I was going to die, but the next day, it was like I had been reborn." She had become quite animated now. What was she talking about, plants?
How had the subject turned to plants, and why couldn't he move?
She was talking again..."My parents couldn't understand what was happening, they wanted to get rid of the plants, they were not producing, after all, but I knew different. Each night, the plants fed, they fed off me Sheriff, my blood was the life giving fertilizer they needed. In turn, they gave me back a little of their own nature, their essence if you will. Soon they and I became as one. My parents could never see this, and made the mistake of trying to destroy them. I couldn't have that, and well, my babies needed to eat. I found that if they took a full human source, they would only need little from me. Better still, I found something about myself, Sheriff, I had become not only part of my babies, but the vessel that was needed to deliver the nutrients that they needed."
What was going on. Quinn could hear what she was saying, but he could not believe it. Was she referring to the plants. The flowers? This couldn't be. She was standing now. Her dress had fallen to the floor. She was model perfect, her body sculpted to perfection. Why couldn't he move? He just sat and stared. And caught movement from the corner of his eye.
The plant. The vibrant colored one in the five foot vase, it moved, he knew it did! She walked over to the plant as long tendrils of vines reached up to lovingly caress her body. Turning to face him, he could see just enough to notice that the vines had seemed to enter her back.
"You see Sheriff, my babies are of a very old species, as old as this earth. They have been around since before man stepped on the ground, if it were not for my Mother, they would have perished, extinguished on a lone deserted isle far off the Marianna's that had once flourished with life, but due to a volcanic explosion, became separated, the plants forced to survive by doing what they do best. Surviving by predation."
She was walking back towards him, naked, exquisite, he tried but couldn't look away, couldn't move.
She was trailing the vines behind her.
"What you see here around you, are the survivors of that one plant that my Mother brought back. It was only fitting that her and my Father gave of themselves to further the existence of the species." She was standing before him. Placing his hands on her body. He pulled away, "No..not..not right, I need to go.." he tried to rise, only succeeded in knocking the tea setting to the floor.
Martha Grim laughed, and easily pushed him back onto the couch, straddling him.
She drew him to her breasts, holding him there, "Come Sheriff," She said, "Take this body, feed my babies...Feed me. Give me life."
She pushed him back again, this time ripping open his shirt, laying bare his chest and arms. Her hands trailing across his chest, down his arms.
Quinn found he was gasping for air, all he could do was stare. Something had happened to her hands, her nails had grown, they seemed longer, sharper, almost hollow...
Her hair flowed down, cascading like rivulets of water across her breasts. Drawing back her shoulders, her arms arched as long pointed, thorn-like nails, speared forward stabbing deep into each side of his chest.
Quinn let out a sharp cry, but that was all, as the blood flowed out of his body, and was syphoned through the tendril like vines that extended out of Martha Grims naked back, and into the vase behind her
Mournful sounds of pain and pleasure floated down the ghostly silent halls and into the mid-afternoon sky...