The Lady at the Garden

If there’s one thing I can say about my family, it’s that we’re tightly wound together like a pack of old socks, maybe not the fanciest, but warm and worn in. That’s me, my mum Melinda, and my dad Oliver. Well, more Melinda’s opinion than ours, but let’s not split hairs.

We live in Lexxton: a quiet-ish town with twice as many tongues as brains. Rumours here grow faster than garden weeds after a thunderstorm.

Oliver, bless him, ran this dinky coffee shop that somehow brewed magic in a cup. The place always smelled like sweet roasted heaven, and no one could beat the blend he made with them long fingers of his. Funny enough, he looked like a twiggy scarecrow with a constant slouch and a lopsided grin, always ready with a daft joke for anyone who’d listen.

Melinda though…eh, she was a force of nature. She had twice her husband's body count—of course I wouldn't dare say that in front of her but, oh well— with squinted green eyes that squinted even more behind her thick specs. And when she peered at you, it looked like she were analysing your soul.

She's a tall brunette with shoulders back and chin up, and she moved like she was the queen of Lexxton, when she was in her prime though, not now. She'd helped Oliver at the coffee shop, kept the books tighter than a miser’s purse, and somehow managed not to kill any of the moaning customers.

Then there was me. Their most prized possession and only daughter.

Uh huh, their one and only golden girl. Ha. And their enchanting business was eventually passed down to me.

They didn’t want much. Except that what they wanted was for me to be happy, successful, social, maybe even married. I mean, is that too much to ask? Apparently, for me, it is. Because I could barely manage any one of those.

Since Melinda and Oliver took me in from the orphanage at age ten, they did all they could to give me the best. But even the best gifts don’t fix what’s already cracked inside.

Still, I never complained.

***

The orphanage hadn’t been a nightmare, but it sure weren’t a dream either. I was the kind of kid who didn’t bother nobody, kept my head down, and never made a fuss. You’d think that’d earn you peace, right?

You're dead wrong.

Turns out, even quiet kids can become punching bags. Hence, they all came at me for different reasons. Some came at me like I’d nicked their last bit of hope, or from the frustration of being abandoned. There were kids who were just angry, probably as a result of puberty. There were also kids who were desperate for control. Kids who thought it’d make them look cool.

And kids who just wanted to live long enough to see another depressing day.

Of course I took the hits. Sometimes I dodged, but mostly I didn’t.

Although I never once hit back, except for that one time...and even then, it took me by surprise. I never knew why, but revenge felt empty, like biting into a pastry only to find it’s filled with air.

Whenever she showed up, though, things changed a bit.

This lady, appearing like mist from nowhere. She’d saunter into the garden, the one at the far corner of the yard, like it was her personal sanctuary. She, obviously, didn’t belong there with the way she looked and moved. No way she belonged with us. She stood out a bit too much, shimmering and strange, like she’d slipped out of a storybook and into our grey little world.

She was tall, thin as ivy, with a pointy nose. Her hair cascaded all the way down past her waist like a silken waterfall kissed by moonlight, that made me wonder when she last had a haircut. Her skin looked almost too smooth for reality, like polished porcelain, with a shimmer that danced in the daylight. And her eyes? Pure emeralds. Bright and unforgiving. The kind that made you forget what you were saying mid-sentence.

She wore this long maroon dress under a thick black coat that swept the ground, and boots that clicked rhythmically on the garden stones. Her every move felt...intentional and slow. As if the air bent around her in response to her control. And the way she breathed it, like she were drinking in the scent of the earth itself. It made you wonder if she were part human at all.

The nuns whispered about her. Said she came only on weekends and that she never spoke. Just stood, still as a statue, and breathed in the smell of wet grass like it was the most pleasant thing.

Weird, right?

***

One dreary afternoon, the others had found something better to do—probably stealing biscuits or causing chaos—so I crept into the garden with my sketchpad and crayons, pretending I had artistic bones.

Then it happened again.

She appeared from the very edge of the flowerbed. But this time, she looked... kinda different, in a good way. Her gaze flickered like candlelight, scanning each flower like it were precious. She took a long breath, her coat flapping slightly as the breeze wrapped around her. The wind felt charged and electric. Like it recognised her presence.

My eyes stayed locked on her for a couple of minutes, and that’s when Harry happened.

The little toerag bumped into me like I were invisible, then started wailing like I’d done him wrong. A VERY classic setup. I braced myself as the others came swarming, like flies round a jam jar.

A kick landed on my arm, and I heard a crack. My body trembling but my eyes stayed open. Fixated on the ethereal lady as she kept taking in air, and releasing warmth onto the flowers.

My teeth clenched as another foot stomped on my spine. I gasped in pain, but not a word escaped my lips. I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction they craved.

But then...

The lady whose eyes were closed, suddenly opened those green lanterns and turned towards us slowly. Purposefully, her eyes met mine across the garden. For a second, the pain melted and was instantly replaced with a hot burn at the back of my throat. I couldn't breathe.

Then she smiled knowingly and my insides churned at that delicate crease on her cheeks.

She started walking towards us. Each step silenced the garden, like even the wind paused to watch her.

"That looks fun," she said, voice soft but with a mischievous edge. "Mind if I join in?"

The kids flinched. Then like roaches in torchlight, they scattered, limbs flying in every direction. Gone in an instant.

She stopped above me, eyes trailing slowly down to the beaded necklace around my neck, and then the huge grin she had on, dropped.

I stared up at her own necklace which was glinted gold, with a...I think, coiled serpent pendant? Whatever it was, it looked elegant and menacing. Our eyes met again, and I clutched mine and shoved it inside my dress.

She must've thought I'm the weird one. How annoying.

“You held on, young one,” she said gently, and stretched out a hand as her smile returned .

I ignored it. Kept my fist wrapped round my wrinkled sketch of a parrot. My throat was dry, and I felt parched from the struggle with the other kids earlier.

"May I?" she asked, still patient as her eyes lingered on the folded paper in my clenched fist. I ignored her again but loosened my fingers just a tad, unsure why. She took the crumpled page like it was made of glass.

“Ohhh, you draw?” she gasped, eyes wide with excitement. “This must be a cockatoo! It’s absolutely stunning!”

How cliché, I scoffed, loudly, You think you can fool me? I looked up and shot her a glare sharp enough to kill a mood.

The wind around us dropped, as if describing the range of emotions I felt within.

“Liar,” I spat, standing up. “Better luck next time.”

And with that, I stomped away. Her chuckle was soft and shimmering, and it followed me like the winds. Curling around my ears like a melody I couldn’t shake. I closed my ears and hastened my steps.

Then she said something really weird that rung into my eardrums despite the distance,

“It wasn't a dream, you know. You just probably don’t remember.”

What the heck does that even mean?

I halted in my steps, confused and irritated. And turned abruptly towards her, ready to serve her a piece of my mind.

But... the garden was empty.

The breeze had returned, and it buried the sound of my sketchpaper fluttering to the grass behind me.

She sure is one strange lady, I said to myself as I walked back into the building.