Michael opened his eyes and found only darkness. He blinked, and nothing had changed. In front of him he heard the sound of pacing footsteps, heaving, bare feet on carpet. He tried to move his arms only to find his wrists restrained, and as he struggled he came to feel the blindfold around his eyes. When he screamed for help, all he heard was a muffled whimper through the gag.

In front of him was a familiar voice, Xavier. Thank God, thank Mary.

Xavier’s voice was cracked and weary. “Ah, good, good. You’re awake. Good that you are awake.” Michael heard the shifting of feet on the rug as Xavier got in closer. Xavier continued, “I want to remove your gag, but you must promise to listen. Do you promise? Nod if you promise.”

Realization, then dread, set in Michael’s face, still warped by the gag and hidden by the blindfold, but he nodded, desperate to get the foul taste out of his mouth.

The gag was slowly, gently removed from his mouth, so he yelled. “Get me the fuck out of here Xavier. What the hell is going—”

The gag was shoved back in his mouth with great force, craning his head back and knocking over the chair. It felt like minutes as he fell, completely blind and helpless. His head hit the hard ground, just at the edge of the rug. 

“No! No! No! No! You said you’d listen! Please listen.” Xavier’s voice cracked in two as he yelled, somehow both higher and deeper than he ever normally sounded.

Michael felt the chair lifted into the air as if with ease as he was gently set back on the ground. The back of his head itched, blood slowly crawling down his neck. 

Xavier repeated himself. “Do you promise to listen?” 

Michael nodded.

“Swear to God?”

Michael hesitated, but then nodded again.

Michael felt one of Xavier’s coarse fingers brush against his face as the gag was removed once again, gently, slowly, carefully. He stayed silent this time.

“Good, good. We should, no, no. We need to talk. Do you understand?”

“You invited me to your study, I came. Your handwriting, it looked nervous, so I came as quickly as I could. Couldn’t you have just talked with me, Xavier? I would have list—”

“No! No, you’ll see why soon enough.”

Michael strained against the bindings at his wrists, tied just a little too tight, too rough. He desperately wanted to scratch the back of his neck, the blood inching, crawling down his neck, like a spider stalking prey. He said, “Then why, just tell me why.”

“The moon is yellowing. You’ve noticed, right? I don’t think everyone has, but, but the moon is yellowing? The moon is yellowing.”

“What does that even mean?”

In twin voices Xavier yelled, “It means It’s yellowing!” He took a deep breath and in a single voice said, gently, slowly, “You have to have noticed. Please, please tell me that you noticed. The moon has been yellowing, and if anyone would have noticed, it was you, right? You noticed?”

Michael felt as if the blood running down his neck had begun to spread, like a loose web, across his throat. He coughed. “I don’t…I never noticed, Xavier. The heavens have always been more of your domain. I spend all of my time in the garden.”

“But…you’ve…you’ve sent me the flower, the the the rose. You  noticed that right? That happened after the moon started to yellow.”

Michael tilted his head to the side. “The flower? I sent…I sent that months ago, as…as a gift.”

“No, no, no, the flower Michael. The flower is dying. It’s losing its petals, like a clock. A ticking rose. You noticed that, please. Please tell me you noticed how sick the rose was.” Michael heard Xavier continue to pace, now behind him.

“It’s aged, that’s all, nothing more. I’ll send you another, with instructions on how to keep it.” 

Swiftly, the blindfold was removed.

Michael screamed.

Before him was a sickly yellow rose, its vines growing out of its planter and breaking through the wooden table it was resting on. The vines had snaked down to the ground and had punctured the stonework of the room. It pierced the floor and walls so thoroughly that surely if it were to wither, the room would come down with it.

At the center of this was a single bulb, that single rose Michael had first sent, now pale and weak, with only a few petals remaining.

“Michael, it’s changing. It’s changing. Please tell me you can see that. Please tell me you see how it has changed.”

Michael’s head was held by two large, unmoving, coarse hands as he stared at the flower, the vines, the thorns…the thorns seemed to crawl along its flesh like insects.

“I did not send you that thing. I sent a single rose…red…red as an apple.”

“It has yellowed Michael, and the moon with it. Don’t you understand?”

“Why, why does it look like that?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, but you feel it too, right? In this room? You feel it?”

Michael coughed again, feeling as if the blood had crawled into his throat. He began to notice the pale yellow hue encompassing everything in the room, the table, the notes, the telescope, all the same sickly yellow.

The hands let go of his head and he heard the sound of Xavier’s heavy footsteps circle around.

Michael first focused on Xavier’s beautiful face, that perfect face…buried in the flesh of his chest, and above, growing from his left shoulder, a mound of nothing but teeth and eyes.

That second mouth, that hideous visage, that second voice said, “You’re feeling it, please tell me you are feeling it too.”

---

If you like this story, or any of my other posts, please become a Patron, or share my work with someone else who might enjoy it.