Ms. Henderson's Vegetable Garden

She had the best little garden in the neighborhood - actually it was the only garden on this small and quiet street corner that was apart of Manchester New England. Her name was Rosemary Henderson, but many in the small quiet neighborhood simply called her Rose for short. She was a delight to talk to and had an answer for about everything one could imagine. Her years on Earth gave her wisdom that many found to be a source for comfort when times began to become hard. It was her grace and love that many deemed her a warm soul and a true giant among those that lived around her. Her one and only indulgence was tobacco, which she used sparingly when she had the need for something to chew on. It was more of her upbringing raised in the south where as a child she learned about tobacco and it’s many uses. It wasn’t always to chew.

Being 97 years of age, her years of life experiences made her a time capsule of information that helped many find their way out of a trouble or a direction in life that they needed. And she cut no corners when she gave her opinion. Sometimes she could be cold and unconcerned, but it was just due to years of hard living that made her the way she was at times. But most of her work was talking to people that regularly passed by. This gave her a real satisfaction when she met someone knew.

But her most rewarding work was her garden.
Her old and feeble hands were shaped from the long years of life, the joys, the sorrows - they told the stories of her life. On soft summer evenings, she would sit out on her porch swing. Her weary eyes would, on occasion, glance over to the only spot where she seemed young, where her spirit was still vibrant and strong. She didn’t mind growing old, but sometimes she wished that time would give her an exception from death. There was still more that she would like to do but for some reason she knew that her days were growing shorter and what time she did have, she needed to make the most of it.

Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months as soon she was embraced by the cold touch of winter. Even though the long winter days and nights seemed to last forever, one thing kept her mind fresh and that was the knowledge that winter’s grip could not last for much longer and that as promised by nature, spring would return allowing her to once again enjoy the place that gave her the most joy.

But spring did finally come as the last cold touch of winter had past, giving way to the warmth of the sun and the song of a robin which landed upon the small porch swing that rested outside her window. It seemed to sing to her, announcing the new cycle of life as she made her way out of her winter slumber, walking over to the warm ground where she kept her most famous garden.

The coming weeks brought warmth and the appearance of summer as the old woman toiled for hours, as much as her frail body could muster, as she staggered in her old bones to her front porch, resting from the long hard work she had done.

"Good morning Miss Henderson." a young child said to her, walking past the old woman’s house.
"Good morning to you Sara." The old woman replied, giving the young girl a smile worth more than anything a child could have ever ask for.
But not everyone felt the same way about the old woman, there were some, one in particular who only saw the old woman for what she was - a hindrance for a great opportunity. His name was Henry Jarvis.

Henry Jarvis was a young and egotistical 30-something with all of the pomp and fair. At age 25, he was the first to get a Corporate job with one of the largest law firms in the City - Wilson, Lewis and Long.
He was making six figures, loved his fast cars and loved even more the woman that came with such perks of life or rewards as he saw it. He was the mirror reflection of vanity and pride to the old woman’s humble stature.

But he could also become very ruthless as well to get what he wanted. It was his dealings with the Johnson family that showed his true colors to many in the neighborhood.
The Johnson family was a typical African American family. Ben Johnson, his wife Ashanti and their three children, George, Jenny and Isaac moved into the area not more than five years ago from California. The family had grown tired of gun fights, crime and the pressures of living in such a large inner city such as Los Angeles. Ben and his wife decided, for their children - and in some respects, their own sanity, that they would move away from the west coast and move near family. Ben’s mother and father lived only an hour away which made it even more desirable to be near his parents, who were not getting any younger and it would give them a chance to see their grandchildren more often.
Ben and his family had only been settled in the neighborhood for less than three weeks, when Henry decided that he would introduce himself and where things would change from that moment on.

It was on a Saturday afternoon when the "incident" took place. Ben and his family were having a backyard cookout with some friends that had came over, when Henry walked up to their front door and rang the bell. Ashanti came to the door, she was already inside the house when she heard the bell ring.
"Yes, may I help you?" She asked politely.
"Hello, I’m Henry Jarvis, you’re next door neighbor. I’d like to ask you something if I may?" He asked, trying to gaze into the house as Ashanti closed the door slightly, not sure of the mans intention, when Ben came into the room.

"Can I help you?" Ben asked.
The rude man pressed his position of his intentions to buy their house, even though they had just only weeks ago finally moved in.
"I know this may seem a bit out of the ordinary but I was curious, would you be willing to sell your house?" Henry asked pointedly.
Ben thought I at strange first. A white guy asking a black man who had just moved into the neighborhood if eh wanted to sell his home, he thought it must have something to do with his recent arrival, not to mention Ben was Black.

"No, we don’t wish to sell." With that Ben quickly closed the door on the eager man. Henry turned and walked away, grumbling to himself about what had just occurred.
Henry knew that within the next year a major development complex and commercial site was about to be built across the block on the other side of the street and that would mean the price of the value of homes would increase dramatically, thus assuring a huge profit to anyone wanting to buy property in the area.

This was a fact no one else knew, a knowledge only he and the corporate board knew of which would not be made public for another six months. Henry knew that he had less than six months to buy up as much property as he could, and so he focused on his first venture - Ben.

For weeks Henry would not venture over to Ben’s, not even to say hello. There was a gulf of separation between the two men, a certain dislike as well as distrust that developed over a short period of time.
But things came to a head six weeks later when a late night party at the Johnson’s turned into more than they had expected when during the night their family dog was killed, it’s dead carcass strung up along the tree that sat in the front yard. A burning cross was also set in their front yard, something that had never happened in the neighborhood - ever.
The family was devastated as well as angry to think someone would go so far as to kill a child’s pet, let alone burn a cross in someone’s yard - a symbol of hate.

The authorities questioned many in the neighborhood - especially Henry, but nothing was ever found to prove he had did the terrible acts of hate although many felt that it was Henry all along that did the evil deeds, nothing was ever proven. And with that Henry got his wish, the family, hoping to find a decent area to move to, did in fact decide to move, and within less than two days had completely moved out of the house and out of the neighborhood of hate. A cold steel sign swayed back and forth in the yard with the words "FOR SALE" placed on it for all to see.

Days later Henry made his move and within a week bought the property that once belonged to the Johnson family. Henry stood on the fresh green grass, the last of the darkened and burnt grass was now gone as he stood and gazed like a triumphant gladiator over his kill for all to see - and they did see.
For several more weeks Henry convinced more families to consider selling to him their properties and the money he offered was much more than they anticipated. Then again, it was nothing compared to the profit he would receive when he would offer several of the properties to the corporation board he worked for, ensuring himself a huge profit, making him a millionaire virtually overnight.

Henry stood outside his house, speaking with his real estate agent, gloating over his deals, when something caught his eye that he had not counted on, that in his endeavor to acquire most of the properties, he had overlooked one individual - Rosemary.

Rosemary was crouched over a row of beans, picking just what she needed. The second bag that sat near her feet was the first set she had picked, they were going to go to the family four houses down. The man of the family had just lost his job due to down sizing, although Rosemary always found humor in a term that had been more of a nice way of saying you had been let go. But her generation was founded on hard work and determination which made her part of the greatest generation in America.

Henry walked across the street toward the old woman like a serpent slithering toward its prey as he came closer toward the old woman who was busy picking the small amount of green beans. He stepped onto the soft green grass and as he did, a soft cold breeze overcame him as he moved toward her.

"Miss Henderson." Henry softly spoke. The old woman did not divert from her task as if she already knew of his presence the moment he stepped upon the grass.
"I’d like to speak with you about your property." He told her.
She didn’t answer him back, only moving her hands back and forth, from leaf to bean to bag and back.

"As you know, I’ve purchased some properties in this area and since, well, since you’re all alone and with such a large house for one elderly woman, I am sure you could agree that it might be in the best interest if you might consider selling?" He told her, anxious for a reply.
She never said a word, only humming a soft tune underneath her breath which began to visibly annoy Henry. "I just want to help you under these difficult financial times that we are in, after all, I don’t know if you knew this or not, but our property taxes will be going up later this year and I know it must be hard on someone in your position." He told her.
Still, she never said a word which clearly frustrated Him as he felt that she was ignoring him and his good intentions.

Rosemary quickly rose up off the ground, lifting the small paper bag up to her waist and began to walk back to the house. Henry slowly tried to walk behind her, hoping that she would eventually say something to his offer, but she did not respond to any more pleas that followed out of Henry’s mouth.

Henry became visibly angry at what he thought was a total disrespect of his intentions and was about to turn and leave, when Rosemary came out of the house and walked over to the wooden porch swing and sat down. The old woman placed a large bowl upon her lap then rested the large batch of beans she had just picked as she prepared to break them up for a nice evening dinner.

Henry thought he would give it one more chance to get her to listen to him, hoping he could sway her into selling her house and property. "All I’m asking for Miss Henderson is just for you to hear me out, is that too hard to ask?" He told her with great passion, but she kept her head down, focusing on the beans she had picked, breaking them up into three sections, placing each into the bowl.

Clearly moved by her non-attention, Henry repeated the offer. "I’d like to buy your place Miss Henderson - Rosemary. I’ll make you a fair offer, I’ll even go twenty percent over the market value just to show you I am being fair. So, what do you say, do we have a deal?" Henry said, eyeing the old woman who sat on her swing still breaking green beans.
The old woman stopped in mid break, the bean in her hand, it was the first time she acknowledged the young man or what he was asking her. "I’ve lived in this here house for over seventy years, seen a great deal of things in my time." She began to tell him. "You see all of these here houses that they’ve built up around me and along this here road?" She told him.

"Yes, I see them." Henry replied.
"I’ve been here before any of them you know?" She said.
"Yes, I know you have." Henry replied.
"Me and my Frank, God rest his soul, we built this here house before there was anything in this area. We lived a very good life, Frank even died in this very house. I even raised my garden ever since I can remember." She told him, when she began to laugh at a thought. "Frank, my late husband, he hated that garden, wanted to have a nice place to raise flowers and such, ain’t no business to raise flower’s you can’t eat I told him! But, he was a stubborn man, but a good man just the same. Mister, every aspect of my life is centered in this house, all of my memories are here and that’s where I will be when I die." She told him as she rose from off the swing, heading back inside her house. She stopped just short of going inside and turned toward Henry, who was clearly frustrated by the old woman’s decision.
"No sir, I won’t ever sell this house, not to you, nor anyone else for that matter. This is all I have to say about such foolishness - good day young man." The old woman said, as she made her way into her house and closed the door behind her.

Henry became furious as he turned around, marching across the street, back to his house, slain by the words of the old woman which had cost him a percentage of profit.
The evening brought the promise of a terrible storm as Henry was looking out his window, still stewing over the old woman’s rebuke at his offer to buy her house. He stood in front of his window, the cold beer dripping sweat onto the inside palm of his hand clouded his judgment as he watched the old woman hurry herself to her garden as the powerful storm moved in. She was busily working to straighten the large wooden pole that sat in the middle of the garden, it was where she had placed aluminum pans to scare away the crows that would pick and eat the corn she was growing in one section of her garden.

A clap of thunder and a flash of light pierced through the dark night skyline as Henry gazed out over toward the old woman’s house. A storm was brewing in the distance, yet another storm was forming within Henry, one much worse than what nature could create.
Henry knew what needed to be done, it would be dangerous and could cost him everything, but if he succeeded, he would have everything he ever wanted. He had to kill the old woman.

He hurriedly placed on a pair of old boots along with his rain jacket from the garage and walked out the side door which could not be seen from the front of the house. He was looking for something that would work to make the job quick and clean, when he noticed the large and very heavy coal shovel he had when he used to have an old coal furnace. He grabbed it on his way out into the hellish storm that was now moving into the area.
The rain fell hard as he made his way quietly over to the old woman’s house. The wet ground seemed to weigh him down, almost as if trying to stop him from doing such a horrendous act as he neared the old woman’s house.

The old woman was busy fighting the wind and rain as she struggled with the wooden pole as Henry walked up behind her quietly. He was surprised to see her outside in the storm but could see she was trying to keep the large wooden pole from falling over onto the corn it was planted in. Henry looked around quickly to see if anyone was outside or might be watching the area from the powerful storm that had now arrived.
The old woman did not notice the man behind her as he raised up the heavy shovel and with a quick blow to the back of her head, the old woman fell to the wet ground as the rain began to fall.

The heavy shovel seemed to drop by itself from Henry’s hands as he stood over the body of the old woman. He was not sure if she was dead or not, only that he needed to move fast under the cover of the powerful storm that seemed to now mask his evil deed.
He quickly thought about where he would place the old woman. He could not move her to her own house, it would be too much of a risk, and he most certainly would not move her to his house as he would more than likely be the first to be questioned.
Henry thought for a moment how he was going to dispose of the body, the rain falling down even harder made it difficult to see as he looked over at the garden, when a chuckle ensued.
He quickly began digging furiously like an insane man. Roots and plants were tossed into the wet air as he hurriedly buried himself into his work as he knew the only thing that was disguising his evil deed was the storm that was still raging.

Henry stopped and took a breath, resting himself as he noticed that within such a space of time he was already well below his head in a hollow grave he had created. The place he had found was none other than the old woman’s garden!
He managed to climb out of the makeshift hole, taking hold of the dead woman, lifting her up into his arms and carried her over to the deep and dark fresh earth he had prepared for her. A thunderous clap of thunder rang out as he dropped the old woman deep into the hole. He began to fervently cover the woman with the lose dirt, when he thought he noticed something odd occur - she moved.

His heart pounded in terror as he stood silently, clutched in fear. The old woman was not dead but was merely unconscious as he stood over the makeshift grave. He could hear the old woman as she began to moan, quietly at first, then louder like a hurt cat that had been injured. Henry knew he had to do something quickly before someone actually heard what was going on. The storm was starting to calm so he only had mere minutes to finish the task.
Henry jumped into the shallow grave and struck the woman again in the head, hitting her several times, over and over and over again. He swung hard and sung swift, ending the woman’s suffering, yet she was not dead - yet.

Henry once again crawled out of the grave and continued to bury the old woman once more, this time no cry of pain could be heard as he covered the last remaining piece of human flesh and filled the hole to where it was even with the ground.
Henry turned and noticed the large wooden post that stood directly over the grave, he had not noticed it before until now, until the flash of lightening lit the night sky as a cold chill overcame him, as if he was looking at death himself.

Henry quickly began to walk across the yard and onto the street, toward his house, when, not sure if it was the wind from the storm or other unholy visitation, but he thought he could hear her once again, crying in pain, moaning out curses as he quickly ran to the garage, opening the door to go inside. He lowered the overhead door to the outside world, still eying the grave he had made that contained the old woman now as he watched it disappear from view.

The night was long. The last of the rain had fallen, giving way to the silence of the night. He slumped deep into his living room chair, positioning it toward the window where he could watch the small area of ground where the old woman now rested.

It was 3:13 a.m. when something down the hallway disturbed the mans sleep. Again the noise seemed to come from down the hallway near the kitchen as Henry slowly came to his senses. He heard the sudden sound pierce the house, it sent a shock of fear throughout his body as he sat up within the comfortable chair, leaning over to see what exactly was going on.

He turned quickly over toward the window, his eyes gazed directly at the shallow grave that he had made. A burst of fear came over him as he looked over at the ground where the old woman lied. He jumped up, quickly moving toward the window, his hands pierced against the window pane where he noticed the set of what appeared to be footsteps, massed in fresh mud that seemed to make it’s way to one place - his house.

Henry turned and fled toward the hallway, racing as fast as he could to the outer door that led outside. He quickly opened the door, a wave of cold damp air overcame him as he felt his heart pound within his chest as he turned the corner to his garage and saw that the tracks did indeed lead directly into the garage itself.

His mind was still cloudy as he took hold of the garage door and slowly opened it above his head, preparing for the worst, but hoping that it was nothing. He noticed the clumps of wet earth that seemed to shuffle it’s way toward the inner doorway that led inside the house. His mind was playing tricks with all kinds of images, but the only thought he could manage to ask himself as he went inside the garage - was she alive or not?

He neared the doorway, reaching down to touch the soiled ground and felt the wet mud that had been laid, when he caught something out of the corner of his left view. It was a pair of boots that had been conveniently placed only several feet away from the large slab of soil that sat near the door.

He began to laugh aloud as his mind started to calm down and logic began to overtake him. It was his boots that had made the steps. It was his footsteps that came from outside the garden across the street which led up to his house. In his dream like state, he had pleaded guilty to the crime of murder and his mind was playing it’s supreme judgment upon him, thinking that the old woman had returned to takeout her revenge on the man who had committed her soul to the dust of the earth before her time.

Henry realized that someone else might notice the tracks the next morning and proceeded to remove any evidence all of the tracks that had been left.
He also took care of the garden. Stripping it away to nothing like a savage beast, littering the old woman’s yard with all of her prized possessions, hoping that any discussions by neighbors or even authorities would attribute it all to mere vandals.
In two hours it would be dawn as Henry made his final trek back to his house, assured that his late night adventure had finally come to an end and that within the week, the old woman’s house would be his as well and he could begin to plan it’s demolition along with several of the other houses he had bought prior.

Henry walked into his large living room and was about to fall into his chair, he was too dirty to fall into bed and too tired to shower. He would do that in the morning. But for now he needed sleep as he closed the blinds that overlooked the house across the street from him and turned to fall into his soft chair and fell asleep. He did not notice that there was another set of muddy footprints that led from his kitchen to his bedroom as he drifted off to sleep.
The morning brought a new dawn - a new day and a new start for Henry. What was done in the night was past as Henry made his way out of his house headed to work as if nothing had ever happened. He prepared himself for the onslaught of questions and onlookers that he figured was already out in the old woman’s yard, all taking notice of what had occurred.
But as he made his way out to his car, preparing in his mind for the best possible alibi, he noticed that there was no discussions going on, no onlookers, no gathering by the side of the road - nothing. There was no one around.

Henry became startled at first, maybe they had already came? He was about to leave when he caught an image that sent a shot of dread down his spine. His heart sank from the sight before him. The garden in which he had virtually all but destroyed the night before was in tact and as perfect as if the old woman had never left and was still tending it.

Henry placed his cup of coffee on the hood of his car without missing a beat, slowly walking across the street directly for the garden. He was silent as there were no words he could form that could explain how what he was seeing could be possible. Could he have made a mistake? He thought to himself. He walked over to a row of corn, taking notice how perfect it was, the long stocks of corn reaching high into the air. There was no way - he thought - that this could be possible. Then he wondered if he even pulled it all up in the first place. Could someone be playing a trick on him? Did someone know? He questioned in his mind.
His other thought which raced in his head was what if the old lady was still alive after all? Henry made his way straight for the old woman’s front door, he noticed that the door was not closed, he assumed it was simply due to the fact that he killed the old woman before she had a chance to go inside, so it explains the door remaining open.

In a dark and sinister way it gave him comfort to know that the old woman was indeed very dead as he made his way slowly into the house when he caught the whiff of something burning.

He paced quickly toward the direction of the smell - it was a pot of coffee the old woman had left on the stove before she was removed from this world. He grabbed the smoking pot and tossed it into the sink. Henry became very angry that he would overlook such a dangerous matter which could have caused dire repercussions on him had he not entered into the house.

Henry took a quick walk through of the house, making sure that nothing else remained that would cause him trouble or bring attention to the old woman’s disappearance. He figured that eventually people would become suspicious and start asking questions, but by that time the house would be torn down and nothing would remain, even that blasted garden he thought as he quickly made his way out of the house, past the garden and back to his car and headed back to work. But this time he would make sure the garden would be gone later that evening.

The night came once again, and once again Henry found himself in the old woman’s yard, this time determined that there would be no mistake.
Henry started at the top of the garden, uprooting everything he could go after as he ripped and shredded with such anger and hostility it was as if he was possessed by some evil creature. He trampled each and every leaf, uprooted another set of tomato plants, ruining the old woman’s month’s of hard work and care.

Piles and piles of vegetables were laid in an old container he had brought with him. He was not taking any chances this time as he finally came to an end of his destruction and looked around to see if anyone was noticing. The streets were once again clear and quiet as he packed everything tight inside the trash container and quietly rolled it over to the curb of his side of the street. He had planned it almost perfectly, although he actually never planned it at all as he realized that the morning was trash pick up day, perfect for removing any and all evidence once and for good.

Henry walked back to his door, looking out one last time at the house across the street and felt a sense of satisfaction as he walked inside and closed the door for the night.
Once again the new dawn brought a new beginning and a new chapter for Henry as he quickly got dressed in his best suit. Today was an important one for him as it was the day that he would discuss to the board his proposal for the large section of development not far from his residence. He was going to become a millionaire within weeks if the pitch went well, which he knew it would as he was at his best when he makes his pitch.

He walked outside, not even considering the trash can that sat near the curb. It was empty. With all of the distractions from what would occur at work late that morning, he had almost forgotten about the old woman’s garden. He noticed that the large trash container was empty, he thought he had heard the trash truck come by and was relieved that all evidence was now gone as he proceeded into his car and backed out of his driveway - when something out of place caught his eye. The garden was still there.

The car jerked to a stop. Henry made his way out of the car and marched over to the garden, not amused by what he clearly felt was a prank someone was playing on him. It had to be he thought to himself as he walked by each and every row of vegetables that were growing with almost supernatural speed.

"How can this be?" He said to himself, looking around to see if there was someone present he had not seen in his last few attempts to silence the garden. But there was not a soul around, this also seemed to perplex him greatly as he began to notice that for the past two days he had not seen anyone around and not sure why.

Henry began to notice the time, he was already late for his meeting and headed back to his car. As he made his way out of the driveway, he took one last glimpse of the garden, it’s beautiful presence seem to capture the house to give it a homemade atmosphere. He understood what needed or must be done and tonight he would finish it once and for all.
Evening found Henry, sitting beside his window, starring out at what had become his nemesis. The day’s meeting fell short of what he had hoped would be his entry into new financial independence but was cut short as he was told - to his bemusement that the recent change in economic times had forced the company to postpone any new developments for now. The chances of the company going after the large acreage of land was dashed. And so it was that Henry Jarvis, able salesman and brilliant mastermind of murder and terror, was now facing his own worst fear - going broke. And he only had one person or thing to blame - that bloody garden!

The more the man sat and stared the more he became enraged. He blamed the old woman for this mess he thought to himself as the evening became darker with each passing hand of the clock. He was stirred within himself to rectify his situation. Although he had lost any possible opportunity to make a profit off of the old lady’s house, he desired something more, something that money could not satisfy - revenge.
The night came quickly as Henry, taking leave of his senses and heart full of hate, walked slowly over to the garden across the street and within a few steps, he was standing in front of his enemy.

Confusion and frustration overcame him as he kneeled down to softly touch the dry earth that nestled each plant. To his astonishment the ground seemed to be warm at the slightest touch - impossible he thought as he reached in to scoop a small handful of dirt. But it was warm, unnaturally warm he thought to himself and very moist as well. But there had not been any rain for two nights now.

His mind began to search for a logical answer as to why the garden seemed to come alive, not to mention why the dirt was moist as well. It had been two days since it had rained, but the hot and dry days that they had been having would have made it virtually impossible for the garden to be this wet. Henry clinched the wet soil in his fist, when he noticed something odd - the soil gave off its liquid. He took out a lighter from within his pocket and lit the small butane filled candle. He was speechless, trembling with disbelief. He could feel his breath escape from him as fear overcame the man who was not afraid of anything or anyone as he realized that the moisture that was keeping the ground soft and damp was not water at all - but blood. A laugh broke out from the garden startling the man. It was coming from underneath the soil from the garden. He had heard that same laugh many times before - it was the old woman. Henry backed away from the garden.

He began to notice a small section of dirt that was moving as if something underneath was being pushed upward. Henry tried to scream, he wanted to run away, but something kept him from doing so. Hate would have made him strong, but it was hate that kept him bound to the very ground he was standing on, bound in its unholy grip.

He watched in his horror a dark form slowly emerge out of the ground, he knew deep in his heart what or who it was, but rational thinking was all but gone.
The old woman climbed out of her makeshift grave and stood silently, not taking notice at first the young man standing before her. She reached down with her maggot infested hands, her skeletal finger tips caressing the small vine of ripened tomatoes as she seemed to sing to the plants, which also seemed to come alive, swaying back and forth with each word she uttered.

The old woman’s eyes glanced around, still not noticing the young man standing off in front of her when Henry gathered enough strength to move ever so slightly and fell backward.
The plants shrieked a high pitched tone, Henry, not able to handle the loud chorus, closed his ears with the palm of his hands when the old woman jerked her head up and over to the young man and leaped into the air, landing near his feet. She shuffled and jerked herself over to him, her rotted face gliding up to his face, Henry could smell the rotting flesh that she gave off which sickened his stomach with each smell. "Why Henry, you’ve come to pay me and my garden a visit?" The old woman said in a deep and very dark tone.

"Wh-what do you want from me? You’re supposed to be dead! You’re supposed to be dead!" Henry screamed at her.
"But I am dead Henry, dead and buried - by your hand." She told him, pricking his nose with on of her long fingernails.
"I just wanted the house that’s all, I wouldn’t have killed you if you would have just sold me the house." Henry told her, pleading for his life from the unholy demon before him.
"But you will have the house Henry, for all of eternity you’ll share it with me, we’ll both tend to it - forever." She said.

She caressed his face with her rotted fingers, reaching down to his throat and Henry pleaded mercy. But no mercy would be shown.
The old woman stood over him and silently looked down upon the man who had killed her. She cackled and laughed once again as Henry shrieked with terror, kicking and shuffling, trying to get away from the dead woman’s ghost.
The old woman smiled, her eyes turned toward the garden then back toward the young man as she reached down toward Henry. The last image Henry would see was that of her feeble hands reaching down toward him as he tried to scream but could not.

The next day brought a new change to the small community and new life to the neighbors that seemed to live and dwell in this safe and quiet little street corner of the city.
Children could be seen playing in the streets, enjoying their summer break from school. Teenagers could be seen washing their cars or mowing the lawns as life on this small street corner almost over night seemed to come alive once more - or had it always been?
A little boy, not more than eight years of age, was riding his bike up the street. He was like any other eight year old boy, full of spunk and adventure as he peddled his way past several houses, when something grabbed his attention that made him slow his bike down to come to a rest. He had stopped at the garden. It was his hunger that made him stop as he walked over to the row of wonderfully yielded tomatoes as he grabbed one of the delicious looking large red ripened goodness and bit into it, satisfied at his discovery.

The boy casually made his way around the garden, noticing rows and rows of it’s grown treasure. When something caught his attention. The young boy glanced up and quickly stopped eating. The image before him was terrible to see as the boy took a step back from what was before him. He would have run, but in his mind he realized that no true harm could come to him as he looked up at the large wooden pole. On the pole sat a figure, it was dressed in ragged clothes, its head wrapped in a bur lack sack, the image gave a chilling look to any that would venture over to view it.

The boy realized, as a crow flew in and landed near an ear of corn, that it was nothing more than a scarecrow as the winged creature, frightened of the image, took flight, never to come back to the small spacious garden that was protected by the constructed image.
The young boy walked back to his small bike, not noticing that within the ragged clothes, underneath the rotted fabric, was Henry, his eyes gouged out, his mouth filled with soil, as he sat high against the pole that would be his home for eternity as the young boy peddled his way back up the street to be seen no more.

In a small section in the City of Manchester New England, there is a small garden. It’s rich structure is filled with vegetables of all sorts in this tiny little section of town. In the center of the garden sit’s a large wooden post, adorned at the top is a symbol of terror to all that look upon its ghastly image. The image is one of a scarecrow.

Many have remarked of its almost life like presence, a human structure that oversees the garden as if placed there to guard against unwelcome intruders.
No one is quite sure who now keeps and tends the garden as it’s former owner disappeared many months ago, rumors speak of an untimely demise on a stormy night. But others maintain she has never left and that to this day oversees the place she regularly tends that many have pleasantly come to call, Ms. Henderson’s vegetable garden.