Flower’s Final Night (short story)

 

Flower’s Final Night

(Random 2-word prompt- free, cellar)

 

                Flower scraped his spoon against the grouting between the damp stones, an attempt to wear down the cement and loosen an exit.  Grinding and grating echoed in the cell, metal against grit, and his effort sung an accompaniment to his wheezing breaths.  Rust and dust on his lungs, he coughed, then continued with his never-ending task.

                “It won’t work, you know,” muttered the old man who was chained to the opposite wall.  “Plenty have tried, none have succeeded.”  He smacked his dry lips together.  “Seen ‘em all come and go.”

                Flower ignored him.  The digging was the only thing keeping him warm in this cold dungeon.  And sane.  He needed hope.  He was going to be beheaded tomorrow.

                “You just gotta accept your fate,” continued the man.  His emaciated grimy body had its dignity concealed only by a scraggly grey beard that stretched from his chin to his knees.  Moonlight, from the grate on the ceiling, cast shadowy lines on his already lined and aged face.  “Pray to whatever gods you believe in while you can.”

                Flower paused.  “What if I don’t believe in any?”

                “Well, you’re fucked then, ain’t cha?”

                Flower rolled his eyes, then returned to his task.  He traced a line with the tip of the spoon along the underside of the stone he’d been working on.  He’d barely got anywhere since he’d started several hours ago, and the scraping and scratching was becoming irritating.  He knew he was annoying his cellmate; he was annoying himself.  He had blisters forming on his fingers.  His knuckles were chapped and cracked.  Bleeding.  So were his lips.  The constant dust dried the air, sucked the moisture from his skin despite the dampness in the cell, and it hurt.  But he carried on.

                “Please stop.”  The old prisoner groaned.  “You’re giving me a headache.”

                “I can’t,” said Flower.  “Felix needs me.”

                “Felix?  Felix?!  Is that your lover?”

                “No.”  Flower sighed.  “He’s my cat.”

                The old man cackled; it was loud and witchy, gurgly and high pitched.  It echoed against the walls of the small chamber, bounced from stone to stone.  It vibrated in Flower’s ears.  And when the discordance died down, he was disappointed to discover that it hadn’t shaken any of the stones loose and freed them both.  Or even just him.

                “He’s only a kitten,” said Flower, still scraping away at the wall.  “I’ve got a life to go back to.  It’s messy, but it’s mine.”  He stopped and turned around.  The old prisoner was staring at him, wide-eyed and incredulous, wrinkles furrowed in deep trenches on his forehead and rippling along his bald dome.  “Why are you here?  What did you do?”

                “What did you do?”

                “Murdered the King apparently.”  Flower shrugged.  “I didn’t, but the Queen...”

                “Bah, who cares about that rancid old cow!”  The old man cackled his disturbing cackle once more.  “She stole that throne!”  His voice dropped to a whisper.  “There was a good King in charge about fifty years ago, a patient and just King.  And not that dead one you killed; a living King who looked after everyone and put the country first.  But she… she!  She!!  She usurped the throne from him.”

                “Her brother?  He was King first, right?”

                The shackled prisoner shrugged.  As much as it was possible to shrug with his arms chained up.

                Flower studied the man’s features; there was something familiar about his face.  “I heard he was just as bad as her,” he said, keeping his eyes on the man.  “Worse, in fact.”

                “No!  No!  No!”  The old man barked and screamed, face reddening, beard frazzling in anger, his eyes were fiery pinpoints of rage at Flower’s insult.  “No!  That’s not true!  Liar!  No, no, no!”  Spittle whipped from his lips in frothy ropes, dripped down his chin, stuck to his whiskers.  “No!!!  No!”  The man struggled against his chains, rattled his manacles.  “Lies!  All lies!”  He tried to get up, tried to break free, tried to reach for Flower, but the strength of the metal rings holding him and the weakness of the man’s withered frame guarded Flower from harm.  “No, you filthy liar!  Liar!  It’s not true!  No!”  The old prisoner’s strength waned, and his voice waned with it.  “No.  No!  No, no no…”  Shouts become whispers.  Bellows become murmurs.  “No.  Liar… liar…”  And the man’s head dropped to his chest.  His body hung limp.

                Flower tried not to make his sigh of relief too obvious or too loud but sighed he did.  He’d worried for a moment that his cellmate was going to break free of his chains and strangle him dead, which may or may not be a better way to go than his beheading tomorrow.  But at least he now knew why the old man was here, and who he really was.

                He leant back against the wall and looked up through the grating.  The sky was clear, and stars, tucked within the dark firmament, winked at him conspiratorially.  The moon sat in the centre, full and luminous.  Flower studied its features, the craters and cracks across its surface, and wished he was there instead of here; there was no way he was going to escape by digging at the stones.  It was futile.  The moon was beautiful and free, roaming the heavens amongst its kin; Flower watched as a shooting star scratched across its pocked face… which was odd.

                A black shadow appeared at the edge of the opening above.  A black and white shape.

                “Felix!”

                “Not him again,” mumbled the old man.  “You talk about your boring old cat too much.”

                “No,” said Flower.  He reached out his hand and twiddled his fingers at the cat.  “Look, he’s come to see me.  Aww!  What a good boy!”

                His cellmate grumbled something under his breath, but Flower ignored it.

                Felix meowed; it was a sad meow, as if the kitten was unhappy with being abandoned.

                “I’m sorry, lovely,” crooned Flower; he wiped his eye with the back of his dusty hand.  “Daddy’s not coming home to take care of you.”  His voice cracked against his will.  “Felix…”

                “Argh, shut up.”  The other prisoner’s chains rattled.  “Bloody cry-baby.”

                “Shut up yourself, you insipid bitter turd!”

                Felix meowed; it almost sounded like the cat was laughing in response to Flower’s retort.

                Suddenly the sky lit up.  A dazzling white light consumed everything, evaporated every shadow, obliterated the gloom.  Flower covered his eyes.  Buzzing filled his ears, and the luminance penetrated every fibre of his being.  He could see it through his hands, through his eyelids.  It burned into his brain.  He could hear the old man screaming through the hum.

                And everything went dark.  The light disappeared as quickly as it came, but the old man’s horrified screams continued.

                “Quiet!”  Flower blinked through the afterimages flashing in his sight, and as his vision cleared, he realised it wasn’t just the light that had disappeared.

                So had the ceiling; the naked night sky glared down at them.  The wall had disappeared too, the same wall he’d been digging into, blistering his fingers against, for hours.  It was gone.  Vanished.

                Freedom.

                The old man must’ve realised the same thing because his cries turned to laughter, then giggles, and silence.  He was still chained to the opposite wall.

                Flower felt something press up against his leg.  “Felix.”  He picked up the purring fluffball and held him to his chest.  “Felix, my baby.”  He kissed the top of his head.  “You’re safe.”  The kitten’s vibrations were soothing, comforting.  Warm.  “Daddy’s here, Felix, Daddy’s here.”

                He looked to the missing structure.  It hadn’t collapsed; there was no debris on the floor, no loose stones, or dust.  The edges were straight cuts, as if a hole had been created with no thought to the material.  Flower hadn’t seen anything like it.

                A figure stepped into the cell.

                “What…?”  Flower’s mouth dropped open.

                A tall green man, or at least he assumed it was a man, dressed in a silver jumpsuit had joined them in the open dungeon.  The visitor had a bulbous and veiny bald head, bulging big eyes, no nose, and a slit where its mouth should be.  It studied the people in the room, looked up and down at the old man, who was glaring back, and then turned to Flower and spoke in a flat, monotone voice, “Zerq comes from the stars to offer you friendship.”

                “The stars?” said Flower.  “And who’s Zerq?”

                The creature tapped its chest with its three-fingered hand.  “Zerq and his people have watched your planet for eons from our home, Xerton, using our quantum telescopy.  We would like to offer you a chance to come with us.  A new life amongst the stars, where you can learn about us, and we can learn more about you.”

                The old prisoner guffawed.  “Ha!  You’ve got to be kidding me!  A new life in the stars?!  What a fucking joke!”  His chains rattled and shook as continued to laugh.  “And space aliens?  Right this moment as this fella here,” he nodded to Flower, “is about to be beheaded in the morning with no chance of escape?  It doesn’t make any sense.  Ha ha.  Convenient!  I wouldn’t come with you if you promised me all the riches in the world!  Or the universe for that matter!  Ha!”

                “Zerq was not talking to you,” said the creature.

                “Oh.”

                Flower raised an eyebrow.  “You want to save me?  Take me away from here?”

                “No,” said Zerq.  He pointed, with a long spindly finger, to Felix, who was watching the new arrival with curiosity.  “Zerq was talking to the superior lifeform.”

                Felix meowed in response.

                “Yes?”  The alien’s eyes narrowed as he spoke directly to the kitten.  “Are you sure?”

                Felix nuzzled up into Flower’s neck, then mewed.

                “Zerq understands.”  The green man nodded.  “The offer is available to all present.  Zerq would like to know if you want to accept a new life in the stars.”

                Flower could feel Felix’s intense purrs vibrating against his body and realised that he didn’t have a choice.  If he stayed here, he’d be dead in the morning, and his kitten would be alone.  His only choice was life or death.

                “O… okay,” he stuttered.  He chose life.  “I’ll come with you.”

                 “And your friend?” said Zerq.

                “Bah!”  The old man shook his head.  “No chance!”

                Flower looked to his temporary cellmate.  “Are you sure?  You’ve been chained up in this dungeon all this time and you want to stay?”

                “Yes.”

                “Really?”

                “Yes, really.”  The man’s eyes held defiance.  “I ain’t moving.”

                “Then it is decided,” said Zerq.  His lipless mouth strained into the smallest smile Flower had ever seen.  “Welcome to the stars.”

                Everything went white, a brilliance flooded what remained of the cell.  The world evaporated.  There was a moment of weightlessness, and then Flower felt ground beneath his feet, and he was somewhere else.  He held Felix close, and as the light cleared, the endless sea of the universe, filled with new possibilities and new experiences, a star for each, opened up before his eyes.

He’d chosen life.

The End?  The Beginning.

Read the first Flower story

Secret Ingredient (short story)

 

Secret Ingredient

(Random 2-word prompt- pie, tiptoe)

 

                Flower had been waiting over an hour for the last of the lights to turn off in Old Man Grundle’s farmhouse.  He’d been waiting… hiding in the cold under the shadows of the hedgerows for far too long.  It’d been late when he’d arrived, and he thought he’d be in the clear to get what he came for quickly and quietly, without detection, but he hadn’t expected the old farmer to stay up so late.  It was weird; it was now well past midnight, and the farmer was usually in bed by the time he got here.  Or he had been every night for the last ten days or so.

                Flower stretched his legs and straightened out; he’d begun to cramp up while crouching in his hiding place.  He made one final sweep of the empty lane to make sure he was truly alone, and that no-one had followed him.  Not that anyone in their right mind would’ve waited around for an hour in the dark and chilly night, pressed against a thorny hedge, spikes digging into their back, leaves tickling their ears and neck, and he was pretty sure he’d been accosted by a bug or two.  No, he was alone.  He drew his jacket in closer against the chill.  And of course, anyone following him wouldn’t’ve known what he came here for.  Even Old Man Grundle didn’t know what was hidden on his own property.

                The secret ingredient.

                Flower scurried towards the farmhouse, breaching the grounds via a broken fence, then staying low as he crossed the small front garden.  He stepped over and around turnip shoots, meandered around pumpkin vines, and tried not to trip over the cabbages.  It was quiet.  That kind of silence you get in the depths of night when life sleeps and death stalks.  There were predators lurking, waiting.  Owls.  Foxes.  Badgers.  And him, a hunter of ingredients.

                He’d been asked, of course, what made his fruit pies so delicious, so moreish, but he only replied with a tap on his nose and a wink.  He’d only been sharing the pies with his friends and coworkers for a week, but they couldn’t get enough.

                Flower reached the pebble-dashed wall of the farmhouse, and pressed himself close, staying in its shadow, hiding from the full moon.  He tiptoed alongside, following the edge, fingering the stones as he moved.  He paused at the corner.  A hinge creaked somewhere, a door or window, above his head.  He kept still, then slowly drifted his gaze upwards…

                He couldn’t let anyone down; he had to keep bringing them pies.

                An unsecured window shutter on the first floor swayed in the breeze.  Intermittently, the wind tickled it just enough for it to titter and snicker.  Hmph.  It was laughing at him for thinking he’d been discovered by Old Man Grundle.  Flower sighed.  He was safe to proceed.

It had been a Sunday morning almost two weeks ago when the mysterious old woman had accosted him the market.  She’d grabbed his arm while he’d been looking at the baking supplies, glared into his eyes and whispered the secret.  He hadn’t believed her.  She’d insisted.  He still didn’t believe her, but he’d assuaged her with false affirmations.

                Flower breached the corner and edged his body along the wall to the back of the farmhouse, stepping over and around a few plant pots that’d been haphazardly arranged in the shadows, some empty, some not, but all seemed uncared for.  To his left, were fields of corn and barley, but ahead, just on the other side of the koi pond, was a small wood, and where the secret ingredient appeared every night.  Something felt off this time, not just the old farmer’s lateness, something else.  He skirted the pond, ignoring the laughing shutter behind him.  It felt like something was going to go wrong, but maybe that was just his nerves; trespassing on someone’s property was always a little scary, especially on Grundle’s farm; the old man was known for his ‘ask questions later’ attitude.  Flower hurried into the safety of the trees.

He wasn’t sure what’d compelled him to check out what the old woman had told him.  Boredom.  Curiosity.  Stupidity.  It didn’t matter.  He’d kept the first fruit pie for himself, and it was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted.  He’d come back every night since.

                Flower looked back at the farmhouse from the shelter of the woods; its lights were still out, no signs of life from within, and only the creaking shutter paid him any mind.  He moved deeper into the forest.  He could smell moss and damp.  His boots squelched through the mud, and leaves rustled as he moved further and further from Old Man Grundle’s farmhouse.

                The old woman had given him only one warning; go alone, or the magic will cease.

                A sweet aroma cut through the earthy air, as the trees began to thin out, almost as if the foliage were giving reverence to the small miracle in the clearing in the woods.  Even the plants along the ground gave way, leaving only the dry earth.  Flower stepped lightly forward.  The smell was different every night, but always saccharine and delicious; yesterday’s scent had been flowery and delicate, tonight’s was fruity and tangy.  Flower almost enjoyed the smelling more than the eating.

                He paused.

                There it was, the secret ingredient, bathed in a halo of moonlight, out of place in the forest, but waiting to be seized.  And Flower would seize it again this night.  He took a tentative step closer.  He didn’t want to disturb the dirt, ruin the wonderous ingredient in the centre of the glade.  Another step closer.  And another.  He stopped.  A creak cried out in the cold air behind him, a distant giggle… the window shutter again, though it sounded louder, bigger, this time.

                Flower inched closer to the secret ingredient.  He crouched to collect it… and froze.

                He wasn’t alone.  He had nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, as he heard a hurried rustle of leaves as footsteps rushed through the trees.  He knew who it was.  The hammer of a gun clicked by his ear.

                “You’re trespassing.”

                He swallowed hard; he didn’t know what to say.  He couldn’t move.

                “Turn around,” said Old Man Grundle.

                He didn’t.

                “I said ‘turn around,’” repeated the farmer.

                Flower’s head orbited the gun’s muzzle, slow, careful, away from his secret quarry; he didn’t want to startle the man into a premature discharge.  He smiled awkwardly as he faced his discoverer.

                “Flower?!”  Old Man Grundle lowered the gun.  “What on earth are you doing here?  It’s the middle of the night.”

                Flower shrugged as he stood; he didn’t want to reveal the secret of the pies.  He couldn’t reveal it.  It might be too late.  He was eager to turn back around and look directly at the ingredient.

                “Lost, are we?”

                “I… er… I thought I…” mumbled Flower, “I saw a kitten run into the woods.”  The old woman’s warning was playing in his head.  “I must’ve been mistaken.”  He was no longer alone.  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

                “You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you, dummy.”  The old man laughed.  “You shouldn’t go chasing imaginary cats onto other people’s property.”

                “I know I know,” he said.  “Sorry, I should probably get going…”  He wondered what he was going to do about the secret ingredient.  Was it still there?  Could he somehow wait and come back even later, in the early hours of the morning?

                “Come and join me for a nightcap first,” said Old Man Grundle.  “It’s a cold night and you look frozen half to death.  Some whiskey’ll warm you right up.”

                Flower nodded.  He’d been out in this cold for hours.  Too long.  Maybe it was time to give up.

                “Come along, my friend.”  The farmer placed a hand on his shoulder and led him away.  “You can tell me how to make those tasty pies of yours.”

                Flower glanced back.

                The secret ingredient was gone forever; only a halo of empty moonlight coated the earth of the clearing.

The End.

Next Flower Story

Puss in Drawers (short story)

 

Puss in Drawers

(Random 2-word prompt- concern, drawer)

 

                Someone hammered on the front door, and it shook on its hinges.

                “Urgh.”  Flower buried his head in his pillows, wrapping the duvet tighter around his body.  He’d been dreaming about carousels and eggs and wasn’t ready to move just yet.  It was too early, whatever time it was.

                The hammering returned, but louder and more insistent.

“Urrrggghhh.”  Flower rolled out of bed and crashed to the floor.  It was cold, and it hurt.  “Just a second,” he croaked, or at least tried to; it squeaked out of his throat less like a live frog and more like a dead one.  He spluttered and coughed, forcing out the night’s gunk.  He tried again.  “Two minutes!”  The frog was alive, but on life support.

Sandpaper scraped his nose, and his eyes shot open to see Felix licking his face.  He couldn’t help but smile at the tiny black and white kitten, especially as he’d seemingly abandoned his usual mischievous ways and was being uncommonly sweet.

His visitor hammered on the door of his tiny studio apartment once more, and Flower wondered who…

“Shit!”  He jumped to his feet.  The landlord!  “Shit, shit, shit!”  And he wasn’t allowed pets.  “Give me a moment,” he called.  “I’ve just woken up.”

Felix mewed loudly.  The cat was hungry; so was Flower.  And he needed to hide Felix ASAP.

His brain worked quicker than he’d expected for this time in the morning, and he managed to kill two birds with one stone… or was it one cat with two stones?  Not that he would ever hurt Felix; Felix was the only good thing in Flower’s life, and he was determined to keep him safe.  And hidden.  He dished up some cat biscuits for the kitten, along with some water, then, after relocating the contents of his sock drawer haphazardly under his bed, he placed the bowls into the drawer.  Felix hopped in and went straight for the food.  He purred.

Cat breakfast.

Flower’s breakfast would have to wait.

The door knocked again.

“Coming,” he called, before turning back to the little cat.  He whispered, “I need you to stay quiet, okay?”  Felix ignored him.  “Please?  Just stay here, okay.  Daddy is not supposed to have you.”  He gripped the handle.  “Sorry, sorry.”  Flower closed the drawer.  “Sorry Felix.”

The kitten sounded content, quiet, and no objections came from within the chest of drawers.

With hands on his hips, he sighed relief.

Flower headed for his front door; it was only a couple of steps from the bed, and he reached it in less than a second.  He unlatched the lock, and it squealed open on rusted hinges.

The landlord, a tall lanky man with greasy hair, loomed over him.

“Mister Flower,” he growled, pronouncing every syllable between his plastic white teeth.  “Where are your clothes?”

“Shit, sorry Mr Houndsworth.”  He covered his dignity with his hands, “give me a moment,” and slammed the door in the man’s face.

In all the sleepy confusion, and the rush to hide Felix, he’d forgotten something very important.  His dignity.  Oh dear.  Flower threw on some trousers and a shirt and returned to the door.

“Come in, come in.”  He ushered the landlord inside.  It wasn’t a large apartment, just one room with a bed and a kitchen, then a small bathroom off to the side.  He hadn’t tidied up in a few days, he’d been busy, and he’d left dishes in the sink and bits and bobs all over the room.  “Sorry for the mess.”  He wasn’t sorry, but he felt like it was something he should say.  “I had a late night at the restaurant.”

“Just what is it that you do, Mister Flower?”  The landlord hunched closer, his voice full of connotations, and pointed at the shorter man.  “You seem to have a different job every time I speak to you.”

He ignored the question.  “Would you like a coffee?  Or tea?”  He thought it best not to give an answer to Houndsworth; he wouldn’t like what he heard and frankly, it was none of his business.  “How about some water?”

“No, I won’t keep you long Mister Flower.”  His shifty eyes darted around the room, scanning everything, every unwashed plate, every odd sock, every dusty shelf.  “Incidentally, I heard a couple of strange noises while I waited.  Sounded almost like… a cat?  But of course, it couldn’t be a cat, could it, Mister Flower, because pets are not allowed.”

“Uh, it’s just… um… one of the cupboard hinges.”  Flower laughed nervously.  “Like the front door.  It just needs a bit of oil.  Squeaks something terrible.”  He laughed again.

“Which one?  I’ll get my handyman on it right away.”

“No!  Umm.  No,” he said.  “No need to trouble yourself.  I’m sure I can fix it myself.”  Flower grinned.  “Not to worry.”

Houndsworth’s eyes narrowed.  “If you’re sure…”

“Yes, quite sure.  Very sure.  Certain, in fact.”

Felix meowed from within the drawer.

“What was that?”

“Oh, did I say cupboard? I meant floorboard.”  Flower jiggled his foot up and down; he let out a squeak from the side of his mouth and prayed the landlord didn’t notice his poor imitation.  “See?”  He squeaked again.  “Just needs a little TLC.”

“Hmmm,” murmured the landlord.   “If you say so, Mister Flower.”  He entwined his fingers.  “Any other issues I need to be made aware of?”

“Not that I can think of.”  This visit needed to be over.  Now.  “I’ll call you if anything comes up...  promise.”  He didn’t really understand the purpose of these inspections anyway; it wasn’t as if landlords didn’t find a way out of giving back the deposit at the end of the rental term.  And yet, he still complied with the silly contract… mostly.  Felix was going to stay here with him no matter what, contract be damned.

“What’s that?”  Mr Houndsworth extended a bony finger to the kitchen counter.  “Is that…?”

“Cat food…”  Flower grabbed the packet and hugged it to his chest.  “Yep, it’s cat food.”  He didn’t know what compelled him to do what he did next, maybe desperation, maybe stupidity, but he shoved his hand into the packet, grabbed a fist full of the biscuits and threw them into his mouth.  “My cat food,” he garbled as the dry biscuits soaked up all the moisture in his mouth.  “Yum, so tasty.”  The pellets were a little bland on his tongue, but a strong meaty aroma permeated up the back of his nostrils; he tried not to gag as he chewed on the saliva-drenched chow.

The landlord’s mouth dropped open in reply, an eyebrow raising as if the man’s jaw was on a seesaw with his forehead.

Flower forced himself to swallow.  “Want some?” he croaked.  He struggled to keep it down.

“What… I… No.”  Mr Houndsworth’s face turned green.  “Excuse me…I… I need to…” He darted into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

The noises from within the other room triggered a response in Flower and he vomited into his own kitchen sink, dirtying the unwashed dishes further.  He swilled his mouth with water.  Several times.  But couldn’t get the taste from his tongue, and some soggy chunks persisted between his teeth.  Urgh.

Felix was worth it.

He took the opportunity to check on the little kitten, while Houndsworth was occupied, and slid open the drawer.  The cat was asleep and safe, the vile food he’d been given consumed; he stirred at his owner’s presence.  Felix meowed.  He wanted attention.

“Just a little longer,” whispered Flower.  He pet the kitten behind the ear.  “And then you can come out.  Promise.”

The cat raised its nose, sniffing the air; Felix could obviously smell the cat food on Flower’s breath.  He couldn’t help but laugh in reply.

“It’s okay, Daddy’s not gonna steal your food,” he said.  He kissed Felix on top of his head.  “I just had a little taste, that’s all.”  It was a taste he would never forget.  He tickled the kitten under the chin.  “Be a good boy, yeah?”

Flower closed the drawer, slowly and carefully, and just in time to hear the toilet flush.  He moved to the centre of the room, hands behind his back and fought the urge to whistle nonchalantly.

Mr Houndsworth lurched back into the room, shoulders hunched, and face drawn.  His eyes narrowed, and he glared down his nose at the short man.  “Mister Flower,” he intoned, “are you sure don’t have a cat here?  There is something suspicious going on, I know it.”

“No sir.”

“Then why do you…”  The landlord put his hand to his mouth and swallowed hard.  “…why do you eat…?”

“The cat food?”  Flower forced a grin; he could still feel bits of the stuff in his teeth.  “I’ve liked it since I was a kid,” he lied.  “Can’t get enough.”

“Hmmm.”  The tall man’s brow furrowed.

“You don’t believe me?”  Flower’s stomach swirled.  “I… I could eat some more.  If you want me to?”  He heard something thump in his chest of drawers and found himself suddenly sweating; he could sense that Felix was about to go on a mischievous rampage and get him caught out.

Houndsworth sighed.  “No,” he snapped.  “But if I find that you’ve been lying to me, I will…”

“I would never!”  Flower needed to get rid of the other man immediately.  “Is that all?  I’m sorry, Mr Houndsworth, but I need to get on with my day.”

“Fine.”  The man begun to turn to leave but…

“Wait!”  Flower noticed something by the front door, something that wasn’t meant to be there.

“What is it?”  The landlord paused.

“I… I…”  A small black and white furball had escaped his prison and was sat next to the door frame.  Felix was cleaning himself, unbothered, with one eye watching the drama unfold.  “Can you take a look at the cupboard door for me?  The one I told you was squeaking?  I think it might be the hinge.”

“I thought you said it was…”

“While I’ve got you here.”  Flower grabbed Houndsworth and pulled the tall man down to the unit beneath the kitchen sink.  He flung open the doors.  “It’s this one here; it doesn’t seem to be on correctly.”  He pointed at one of the hinges; it didn’t matter which one.  “If you could just take a quick look?”

Flower peered over the landlord’s arched back and checked on the kitten.

Shit.

Felix had gone.

Flower’s eyes frantically scanned his apartment, searching over and around the messy floors and surfaces.  Where was he hiding?  What was he doing?  If Houndsworth saw him, Flower would be in big trouble!  Maybe he’d imagined Felix by the front door, maybe he was still safely back in the drawer.  Maybe.  Probably not.

He didn’t notice the landlord had been speaking to him.

“Pardon?” he said.

“I said it all looks fine to me, Mister Flower.  It’s not even squeaking.”

“Oh.”  Where was that damn kitten?  “Thanks.”

Mr Houndsworth unfolded upwards, and Flower heard the man’s joints click and clack as he straightened out and faced him.  “Anything else?” he snarled.

“No sir.”  And then he saw it.  His mischievous little beast was tight-roping along the edge of the sink behind Mr Houndsworth’s back.  If the cat had emerged just a few seconds earlier, he would’ve been caught just as the landlord stood.  “I… er… can’t think of anything.”  He took hold of the lanky man’s arm and yanked him to front door.  “Let me see you out.”

“Hey, watch it, Mister Flower!”  He shook off the short man.  “I don’t need an escort.”

Flower stepped in front of the be-kittened sink just as the landlord turned toward him; the view was blocked.  “Apologies.”

“You’re acting very strange, Mister Flower.”  Mr Houndsworth’s eyes narrowed, something they’d done quite a lot since he’d arrived; perhaps the man needed glasses.  His expression was accompanied by a frown.  “But everything appears to be in order.”

“I’m just tired,” he replied.  “Arrrgghhh!” Needles clawed into his back, climbing and clinging to his shirt, pricking the skin beneath.  Felix!  “Just cramp, urgh.”  He gritted his teeth.  The kitten might be cute, but he was being a bastard right now.  “I’m… ok.”  He wasn’t.

“Hmmm.”  Flower didn’t think Houndsworth’s face could scrunch up anymore, but it did.  “If you say so, Mister Flower.”  His features unclenched.

Flower nodded.  Felix continued to crawl, centimetre by centimetre, and he could feel his eye twitch as he tried to hide the pain.

“Don’t forget about your rent on Saturday.”  The landlord opened the front door and stepped outside into the hall.  “I don’t want you to get behind again.”

“Mmhmm.”  Felix had reached his shoulder blades; it would only be a couple of seconds before he breached his shoulders and emerged in full view of Houndsworth.

“Understood?”

“Mmhmm,” Flower repeated; fur tickled the back of his neck.  “See you… Sat… urday.”  He closed the door in Mr Houndsworth’s face, cutting off the landlord’s farewells.

The ordeal was over… until next month’s inspection.

Flower let out a long sigh.  He reached behind him, gently removed Felix from his shirt and hugged the little black and white kitten close to his chest.

“Good boy.”  He planted several kisses on top of Felix’s head and the cat meowed with each one.  “You’re safe now.”

“Mister Flower,” called a suspicious voice from outside.  Shit.  The landlord, he was still just beyond the door and must’ve heard everything.  “Was that a cat?”

Flower didn’t reply, and the only response was a squeaky floorboard.

The End.

Next Flower Story