Foxgloves

Speculative Horror Flash FIction

TW: This is horror. Misogyny. Harm to kids.

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My petals are clinging to my face, I’m hot and sticky.

“I’m all dirty and sweaty and my throat is sore.”

Sister Anna comes close to my ear and holds my hand.

“It won’t be for long, precious, don’t worry. This will keep us all safe.”

The Good Men keep us safe from those nasty Howlers. Father and the other Good Men go hunting and collect stones and bones and branches beyond the wall. They make the wall higher and thicker each day. They protect us from the ones that come at night and hurl big flaming stones and spears and roar; “Monsters. You’re all monsters.”

Father said Foxgloves aren’t monsters at all, that we’re gifts from God. I’m a Foxglove, a blessed child; golden haired with amber and cherry freckles ‘cross my skin.

Father said we look as sweet as honey, us Foxgloves, but are as dangerous as a double edged sword. We poison the minds of men, destroy their bodies and souls if they even glance at our beautiful faces.

I’ve been in the Greenhouse since my freckles came in.

That’s when I got my first petals too- a fine pale fabric veil, edged with silver. Its long pieces hang down from a thin wire crown. Our bodies and faces get covered up from head to toe. I reckon even if they see our ankles the men might get hurt. ‘Course I take it off to bathe in the well but only the Sisters attend to us Foxgloves, women are immune to our poison, they don’t get cursed like the men.

Foxgloves are not like the other girls or women, we’re the chosen ones. Since the great cloud came and went, we’re the only ones still able to make babies in our bellies that come out bawling.

The Kind Sisters stay with us in the Greenhouse.

Sister Anna is my favourite. She sings Blackbird to me when I can’t sleep. The Sisters care for us, make our beds of the richest soil on God’s green earth. Feed us milk and sweet breads. The Greenhouse walls are made of glass so the Good Men can keep watch over us at all times. Because the petals cover my eyes I can’t see their faces, only the shadow of them blocking the sun.

Sometimes I hear them push their faces up against the squeaky glass or their voices whimper as they watch us at night.

It’s our duty to keep the Good Men safe from the sight of us until we are thirteen and can get our freckles removed. The sight of our freckles and pink lips can destroy every part of their mind. I asked Sister Anna why we need to remove our freckles if they are from God. She looked at me with her good eye and said if the men see us, they swell up and their body goes hard in some spots and they turn into demons. Sister Anna said to think of the men as being little babies that we must protect, just like they protect us by keeping us in the Greenhouse away from those cruel and rotten Howlers.

Before I was put in the greenhouse, at schooling, us young ones got shown a picture book from the before times with all kinds of animals in it; snakes and bugs and birds. Lots of those had freckles too, bright yellow frogs with black splodges on them.

Cone snails with purple dots all over them.

Spiders with red stains on their backs.

Poisonous all of them. Freckles on all of them.

My freckles didn’t show till I was seven, but some girls get their freckles real young. My cousin Jessie got them when she turned three. She was so little, she kept tearing her petals off her head so she went to the fire earlier than most. She screamed and screamed. I dug my fingernails into Fathers hand as she burned. He said Foxgloves feel no pain, it was only the poison putting up a fight, not little Jessie.

I’m not sure how true that is because it hurt a lot when Cara kicked me in the leg for ratting on her to Sister Anna for calling me a little pig.

The Men aren’t supposed to come into the Greenhouse. Not ever.

Last night, the hairs stood up on my legs and my arms and I just knew something was wrong. Through my petals I saw the moonlight and the shape of a boy.

He said “I just want to see what all the fuss is about.” and I felt him lay his body on top of mine, he was so heavy I couldn’t breath right. He started pulling up my petals. I tried to stop him, swat his hands away, push him off. I scrunched my eyes real tight as if that would make any difference, for even looking upon me would bring the divil out of him, I knew this, he did too.

I recognized him from the village, Owen, the butcher’s son. I hadn’t seen a boys face in a long time. He froze, his eyes stopped blinking. A fat drop of blood fell out of his nose onto my cheek and I cried out for Sister Anna.

All the Foxgloves were woken and started roaring along with me. Owen didn’t get off, it was like he’d gone deaf and couldn’t hear all of us so sad and upset and yelling at him. He didn’t move at all, just kept staring at me, until his eye turned the wrong way round and pink foam poured from his ears and dripped onto my chest. He fell on me, black stuff pouring out from his nose and mouth. Sister Anna came and tore him off me. I looked a mess, my petals all torn up. The cloth turned red and pink and filthy.

The Kind Sisters and Good Men have been preparing for my ceremony all day, I can smell the tar on my skin. My petals are still stained red.

I feel terribly bad about poor Owen. Father said I must go to the fire, even though I’m a little young, I’m a temptation and a danger to the boys and men. Once the petals catch the flame, it’ll all happen real quick.

Sister Anna says it won’t hurt but my throat feels all stingy and it hurt when Owen lay on me and little Jessie screamed for days and days.

Illustration by - Cicely Mary Barker - 1925