The Garden: Part One (special preview)

I had worked as a gardener most of my life. My father was a gardener and I worked with him when I was young. I started taking on my own jobs, building up my own reputation. I had a knack for flowers that people began to vie for. I could name my own price and people would pay it. 

It can all go away so fast. After some rumors got out, I was no longer the gardener everyone wanted. I struggled to find work, having to turn to odd jobs and miniscule pay to make ends meet. So when I received a somewhat strange offer for employment, I took it.

My new employer only contacted me through the phone, although sometimes it sounded quite choppy and hard to hear him. He lived remotely, out on an island somewhere. The job would pay well, but there were stipulations I would have to live by while I was there.

It would be for six months at a time, but those six months would pay me for a full year. It was hard to say no, especially since I had been down for so long lately. Amazing how rumors can spread like fire and burn everything you had, even the things you thought fire couldn’t reach. 

I was ready to leave, though, and leave the charred ground behind. The boat that was chartered to take me to my new home, my new work, was small and dingy. It looked like nothing more than a small fishing vessel. The captain of the boat looked like a human manifestation of the boat. Someone small, bent, sunbaked and slow. He didn’t say much, only grunted at me where to put my luggage and then where I needed to sit during the trip. 

The day was grey with a chill in the air, nothing out of the ordinary, really. Out on open waters, though, the grey became dark and the chill turned unbearable. I had brought a coat with me but it was in my luggage, so during the voyage to the island, I was huddled over, clinging to myself to remain warm. The captain would not let me inside where he was so I could warm up.

After hours in what felt like a silver abyss, I saw light. A beam crossed over my head, slicing through the fog then circling away. I stood up to get a better view. The waters sloshed onto the rocky shore. Above, the lighthouse was like a ziggurat suspended upon the fog. 

The captain hobbled from his keep, coming to stand out on deck with me. He stared up at the lighthouse, his chin jut out, and his hazy eyes looking towards it in a childlike awe. He then snapped towards me, his callousness returned. 

“Never lose sight of the lighthouse, boy. Never lose sight of it.” He then hobbles back inside, guiding the boat towards the dock. I don’t know what he means, I suppose it’s just crazy old sailor talk. I was going to be on land, why would I ever need to keep track of the lighthouse?

Once I get my luggage off the boat, he doesn’t wait long to leave. The boat pulls away, vanishing back into the grey. I’m left alone, unsure of where to go or what I am supposed to do. I just stand there at the dock, looking towards the water and then up at the massive lighthouse. It still looks like it is hovering above the ground and not tethered to the world of man or even heaven. Strange thought, I suppose, I don’t consider myself poetic, but I cannot describe just how strange this all is.

I see headlights through the fog. They come closer and closer until they’re shining right in my eyes. I block my vision with my forearm as the car honks its horn.  I squint through the bright lights as a man steps from the car.

“Gather up your things, Mr. Brone.” The deep, stern voice is the same one I had heard on the phone.

“Mr. Barkridge.” I step forward, extending my hand. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. Thank you for this opportunity to work with you.”

My new employer is like some gargoyle in the shadows. He’s taller than me and wearing what looks like only black. His shoulders curve forward, creating an arch to him that makes his body appear concave in the fog. 

He takes my hand, although he doesn’t seem to want to. He grips hard and his fingers remind me of a spider’s legs. They’re long, gangly, and have coarse black hair on the knuckles. Not usually something strange, but in the fog, with this lighthouse, even a baby doll would seem strange. 

“I take it you have followed my stipulations accordingly?” Mr. Barkridge asks. His voice is what I imagined as a child the old leather bound books my grandfather had would sound like, could they speak.