The Garden
“Tell them, Fox,” the girl with short, chestnut-brown hair said, her lips curling into a wicked little smile. “Tell them how you came to my house with those beautiful flowers you plucked from some secret garden and gave them to me.”
“I did no such thing,” I said, shaking my head vehemently. “There is no secret garden.” The words felt hollow, a lie that echoed louder in my own ears than in anyone else’s.
The truth was, the garden did exist—a place hidden in a pocket dimension, known only to a select few. My friends and I guarded its secret fiercely. To speak of pocket dimensions, parallel universes, and the horrors that lurked in higher dimensions would be unthinkable in the halls of Taylorville High. The other students were too preoccupied with the Cold War, the latest MTV music videos, and the mundane dramas of teenage life. The knowledge my friends and I carried would shatter their fragile sense of reality.
Even the outhouse behind my house, which served as an interdimensional hub, was a secret we kept locked away. It allowed us to traverse time—past, present, and future—and slip into parallel universes. But these adventures, like the garden hidden behind the Gates of Dawn or the one concealed in the alleyway near my house, were spoken of only within the walls of our clubhouse.
I didn’t know why I had done it—why I had given her flowers from the garden. Maybe I had feelings for her, feelings I couldn’t quite admit to myself. But deep down, I knew those feelings weren’t mutual. Even the strange girl in the garden, with her golden-blonde hair and piercing yellow eyes, had warned me. “You will fail in your venture of love,” she had said, her voice as haunting as the wind that rustled through the otherworldly blooms.
After I handed Anna the flowers at her house, I returned to the garden, desperate to find the golden-haired girl and demand an explanation. But she was gone, as though she had never existed.
“Knew it!” Richard Clark, the school’s resident rich jock, sneered. “Fox and his little band of losers probably stole those flowers from someone’s yard. Just so Foxy boy here could try to get in your pants, Anna.”
His words stung, but I kept my face impassive. The truth was far stranger—and far more dangerous—than anything Richard could imagine. And as Anna’s gaze flickered between me and the flowers, I couldn’t help but wonder if I had made a terrible mistake.
“I did no such thing,” I said, shaking my head vehemently. “There is no secret garden.” The words felt hollow, a lie that echoed louder in my own ears than in anyone else’s.
The truth was, the garden did exist—a place hidden in a pocket dimension, known only to a select few. My friends and I guarded its secret fiercely. To speak of pocket dimensions, parallel universes, and the horrors that lurked in higher dimensions would be unthinkable in the halls of Taylorville High. The other students were too preoccupied with the Cold War, the latest MTV music videos, and the mundane dramas of teenage life. The knowledge my friends and I carried would shatter their fragile sense of reality.
Even the outhouse behind my house, which served as an interdimensional hub, was a secret we kept locked away. It allowed us to traverse time—past, present, and future—and slip into parallel universes. But these adventures, like the garden hidden behind the Gates of Dawn or the one concealed in the alleyway near my house, were spoken of only within the walls of our clubhouse.
I didn’t know why I had done it—why I had given her flowers from the garden. Maybe I had feelings for her, feelings I couldn’t quite admit to myself. But deep down, I knew those feelings weren’t mutual. Even the strange girl in the garden, with her golden-blonde hair and piercing yellow eyes, had warned me. “You will fail in your venture of love,” she had said, her voice as haunting as the wind that rustled through the otherworldly blooms.
After I handed Anna the flowers at her house, I returned to the garden, desperate to find the golden-haired girl and demand an explanation. But she was gone, as though she had never existed.
“Knew it!” Richard Clark, the school’s resident rich jock, sneered. “Fox and his little band of losers probably stole those flowers from someone’s yard. Just so Foxy boy here could try to get in your pants, Anna.”
His words stung, but I kept my face impassive. The truth was far stranger—and far more dangerous—than anything Richard could imagine. And as Anna’s gaze flickered between me and the flowers, I couldn’t help but wonder if I had made a terrible mistake.