Sprouting Nightmares Taking Early Root
By: Greg Prince
Tags: Short Story, Fantasy, Storytelling, Fiction, Horror

He grabbed her on their tan, microfiber couch and hugged her close. Dad was a hugger, a bear of a man but kind to a fault. Robyn anticipated his next moves because when she returned from Pre-K, Dad expressed his exuberance the same way nearly every day. He couldn’t wait to see her and embrace her, then kiss her and ask,

“What did you learn at school today?”

Robyn’s answers ranged from “Nothing Dad” to describing the arithmetic and words they were learning. There were days Dad danced with her while they played music on the TV through a YouTube app, but Mom always screamed from the office,

“Turn that noise down!”

After picking Robyn up at Little Princess and Lord Learning Academy, Trisha Mwezi returned to remote work in their office, a converted spare bedroom. Mom was busy managing her company’s advertising budget and overseeing operating expenses until five or six in the afternoon. She couldn’t stand loud sounds disrupting her work.

Robyn loved Dad’s attention, but he sometimes didn’t know when to stop his tickle attacks. He started with her knees and knew just where to squeeze on the sides to make her explode with laughter. Then he would pretend he was finished, but after letting her catch her breath, Dad ambushed her underarms. Results produced devastating giggles.

Today Dad would not relent. Three days passed since her fourth birthday, and when she returned from Pre-K, Dad said,

“I forgot to give you your birthday tickle.”

Robyn attempted to escape, but Dad was strong and pinned her to their tan couch. Tickles began. At first, Robyn screamed with delight. She howled and chuckled. But the tickling went on and on. The torture of laughter lasted too long, and Robyn began to run out of air. She told Dad through hiccups,

“Stop. I can’t breathe. Dad, please…”

But Dad didn’t understand her raspy, soft voice. Robyn closed her eyes and hoped he would quit tickling her. She stopped laughing and then felt her body shiver. Robyn no longer felt the tickles but saw in the darkness. Her imagination illuminated in a red aura shimmering around black stones similar to her smooth black obsidian she always kept in her hand or pocket.

Since Mom gave her the 2-inch long piece of rock, she made sure to have it near. Her obsidian was a place of comfort and safety to help her anytime she felt nervous or unsure about anything. Mom told her,

“Rub the stone whenever your Dad and I aren’t near, and you’ll remember our love is always with you. The obsidian will help you be brave!” Robyn knew of no better present she could get for her third birthday besides the new neon pink bike dad gave her.

In her waking dream, the black rocks sprouted into glimmering, black flowers. And, their heart-shaped petals began to spasm in tremors. Robyn found them beautiful, and they spoke to her without words, saying, “We understand.”

She was part of the ‘We’ and felt one with the flowers. When the flowers began to sprout new flowers on top of themselves, Robyn felt a jolt and opened her eyes. Dad was not tickling her anymore. Where was he? Robyn searched the length of the couch and scanned the family room around her.

Dad was on the ground beside the couch. He looked unusual and was silent, but his mouth was open and his eyes focused upward. He didn’t blink, and Robyn watched him lie perfectly still for a minute before she said,

“Dad, are you faking again?”

Robyn smiled when she saw her obsidian had fallen out of her clenched fist and landed on her Dad’s chest. She grabbed her stone and said,

“Dad, you can’t have my stone. It’s magic. It can grow shiny, black flowers. I’m gonna tell Mom on you. You’re playing too much. Mom’s going to tickle you for freaking me out.”

Robyn went to her room and played with her obsidian, then colored a picture of trees, vibrant flowers, and a river under a bright yellow sun. She drew one black flower sprouting from a black stone in the green grass under the tree.