“She’s definitely, like, a witch or something.” 

We stare together as the old woman shuffles about her yard, tending to her lush plants while the chain to the porch swing whines at us from overhead. Cool wind gently blows the hair off of my forehead and I let out a content sigh. 

Nick adds, “Even if she’s not a witch, she’s still weird. Kinda creepy.” He keeps talking. About the lady, baseball, his mom, how I don’t talk much. Loooooots of talking. The sky quickly fades from blue to a blend of orange and purple. Finally, he stands and says, “I should get going. See you later!” 

I watch as he rides his bike down the street and around a corner, disappearing from sight as the night tucks the day under the horizon. Across the street, the woman continues tending to the foliage decorating her lawn even as the streetlights begin to buzz and light the pavement. Even as the moon begins to peek out from behind the roof of her house, she stays out, her sunhat obscuring her face apart from a wide smile that she’s worn throughout the whole afternoon. 

I must have been staring for a long time, because she locks eyes with me. Although she doesn’t look surprised or even uncomfortable to find someone staring at her. Even with our eyes locked, her grin stays plastered to her face, her teeth catching the light of the streetlamp. 

***

I wake up to the sound of the doorbell. I roll over and ignore it, expecting my mother to receive whatever guest is at the door. 

But it rings again. 

Then I remember it’s summer vacation. And since it’s a weekday, I’m the only one in the house. 

For the third time, it rings. I sigh and make my way from my bed to the front door. There’s a long pause once I open the door. “Good afternoon, Ms. Ellaine.” 

Her smile, wide as ever, peeks from under the brim of her sunhat. “Good afternoon, dear.” She replies, her voice sounding far too young to belong to someone with such a wrinkled appearance. She holds an arrangement of flowers out to me. “Would you give these to your mother for me? They’re for helping me move in. I wish I could have given her some sooner, but winter isn’t a very good season for flowers.” 

“Oh, okay,” I mumble as I take them from her. My fingers brush against her skin and it feels like sandpaper. “I’ll let my mom know you brought these. She’ll like them.” 

Still smiling widely, she says, “That’s good.” I wait for a moment, expecting her to shuffle off the porch so that I can politely close the door behind her, but she doesn’t budge. Cicada cries and the creak of the porch swing’s chain fill the silence between us while the hot sun bakes the air and makes my peripherals dance. As I’m trying to attach my focus back to her, she says, “If you’re ever bored enough, feel free to come help me with my yard work.”

“Hm?” I wasn’t paying attention. 

For a moment, I thought her persistent smile had given way to a sneer. But when I blink, her smile is as wide as always and I wonder if the heat bent her image a bit. “I said you should help with my yard some time. I could use the help.” 

“Oh, okay,” I reply. “I’ll let my mom know.” 

She spreads a wrinkled hand to wave. “Alright, then you have a nice afternoon. Tell your friend he’s welcome to help with my yard too!” 

“Alright.” I watch as she slowly makes her way down the porch steps. Once I close the door, a sigh escapes as if it had been held prisoner. Quickly, I put the flowers in a vase of water and set them on the kitchen counter before making my way back to my room and falling back asleep.

***

“I’m home!” My mother announces as she walks through the front door and slips off her heels. “Oh, those are lovely! Where are they from?” She asks as she walks into the kitchen and lays her purse on the table. 

“Ms. Elaine. She said it was for helping her move in.” 

“Oh? Did I do that…?” She wonders aloud as she inspects the bouquet. “But that was a while ago, wasn’t it?”

“She said it’s because they didn’t bloom until recently.”  

“Hm… okay! Well that sure was nice of her. Pretty sure I didn’t help her move, though. Maybe your dad did?” She walks over and kisses my forehead and wraps me in a hug. My mother has always been very affectionate. “Anyway, did you have a good day? Sleep all day?”

“No, I couldn’t sleep that well after Ms. Elaine visited.”

“Well then what did you do?”

“Cleaned.” I respond, wiggling out of her hug. 

She wraps me back in another hug and peppers kisses on my face, earning a scowl from me. She laughs and finally lets go. A moment later, our gaudy red wall phone rings, startling her. “Hello? Yes, this is her.” As she begins conversing on the phone, I slip out of the kitchen and make my way to my room. 

I take a seat at my desk and lean forward with a sigh. A figure across the street catches my eye and makes me jump. I gawk at Ms. Elaine piddling around her yard again, the night creeping from behind her house. Suddenly, she stops and lifts her head, staring directly at me. My skin prickles uncomfortably as her toothy grin glints in the streetlight. Quickly, I draw the curtain and sit on the edge of my seat, unnerved. 

Creepy.

***

“Dude, it’s so hot.” Nick tells me as he walks into my room unannounced. I roll over in my bed and grimace against the bright light. “I’m gonna borrow your bathroom.” From the bathroom, I hear the faucet running. A moment later, he walks back in, his dark curls sopping wet. “Wanna hang out? Mindy was asking.” 

“Mindy?” I sigh as I sit up in my bed. Scrubbing my face with my palms, I ask, “Why?”

“She probably likes you.” Nick tells me as he pulls back the curtain in front of my desk. Across the street, Ms. Elaine is shuffling around her yard, as usual. 

“Close that, man,” I tell him as I recall the prickly unease I’d felt the other night. Without waiting for him to do it himself, I reach over and close it. 

“Okay, well are you gonna hang out with us or not?” 

“What’re you guys doing?” 

“Gonna go to the creek and swim.” He tells me as I take a drink of water. 

“Okay. How far is the creek?” 

“Like a thirty minute bike ride? I don’t know, man, are you gonna come or not?” 

In response, I turn back over in my bed. “No. Too hot.” 

Nick shrugs. “Alright, I’ll let them know.” As he says this, the doorbell rings. “You want me to get it?”

I sit up in bed, recalling the other day when Ms. Elaine had brought the bouquet of flowers. “No, I’ll get it. My house.” 

Nick follows behind me as I walk to the door. Instead of hovering behind me while I greet whoever it is behind the door, he walks into the kitchen to make himself a snack. “Ms. Elaine,” I greet her with a wary smile. 

“Hello, dear,” She replies, her smile as wide as usual. “I saw your friend go in, so I thought I’d bring the two of you a snack.” With this, she pushes a small container into my hands. 

“Oh, thank you.” I take it from her and open it. It’s filled with cookies cut in the shape of flowers. 

“You and your friend enjoy those, dear.” She encourages me while the cicadas fight to drown out her voice. 

“We will.” I tell her, closing the container’s lid. 

“Make sure I get my tupperware back, alright?”

“Right. I will.” I reply, trying to back into my house so I’m not faced with her wide smile anymore. “Have a nice day, Ms. Elaine.” Before she responds, I close the door and set the container on the kitchen counter.

While eating a sandwich he’d put together, Nick asks, “That from the old lady?” 

“Yeah.” 

“You gonna eat ‘em?”

“No.” 

“Good call. Probably poisoned or something.” Nick tells me, nodding. 

“Probably.”

“You still staying home or did you change your mind?”  

I glance at the container of cookies. “Changed my mind.” 

***

“Where did this container come from?” My mom asks, waving a plastic container in her hand.

Looking up from my food, I reply, “Ms. Elaine brough some cookies the other day. It’s hers.” 

“Oh, okay. Were they good?”

“Yeah.” That’s a lie. Well, not a lie, per se. I didn’t eat them, so I don’t know. 

“Well that was nice of her. Make sure you take it back to her. Oh, and when you take the container back, why don’t you take her some flowers or something. As a thank you.” 

“I think she has enough of those.” 

She glances out the window at the flourishing garden across the street. “Probably. But still, you should take something over to say thank you. Why don’t you see if there’s anything she needs help with.” She looks out the window and stares at the old woman piddling around her garden in the blistering heat. “She is awfully old… You know, it’s a wonder she hasn’t had a heat stroke with how much she’s out in the sun.” 

“Yeah. It’s scary.” She laughs, but it wasn’t a joke. 

***

Standing at the gate to Ms. Elaine’s fence, my eyes search for the usual figure among the lush foliage. “Miss Elaine?” I holler, wondering if she’s hidden by some large shrub of some sort. “Hello?” 

“Over here, dear!” She yells from somewhere I can’t see. “Come on over!” 

The excitement in her voice puts me on edge. I make my way around to the back of her house where a small gazebo with flowers crawling up to the roof bloom. As I stand there I can feel a headache creeping in from the overwhelming scent of flowers. “Aren’t they lovely?” She asks. 

It feels like her smile gets wider every time I see her. “Mm. Here’s your cookie container back, by the way.” 

“Thank you, dear.” After taking the container from me, she wipes nonexistent sweat from her brow in an exaggerated fashion. “My, it sure is hot, isn’t it? Would you like to come in for some cold lemonade?” 

At the mention of it, the heat seems to swell, the cicadas seem to get louder, the smell of flowers seems to get stronger; all adding to my onsetting headache. “I’d hate to trouble you.” I lie, feeling nauseous. 

“Don’t be silly, dear!” She grabs onto my shoulder and it feels like I’m being branded by the heat. I look from my arm to her face and her Cheshire grin and eyes squinting against the sun stare back. “It would be no trouble at all.” 

My vision begins to swim in the heat and the sweat rolling off my skin quickly becomes unbearable. After a long pause filled with only the cry of the cicadas and the rustling of flowers in the wind, I reply, “Just for a bit, then.” 

As we enter the house, I search for photos, or anything of personal value that might hint at what she’s like. But there’s nothing. No photos or paintings or anything to give the house much personality. Unlike the outside of her house, it’s practically bare.

“Take a seat anywhere.” 

Slowly, I take a seat in the only dining room chair. I fold my hands in front of me on the table. Despite the heat outside, my fingertips are cold. “Here.” She places a ceramic mug nearly overflowing with lemonade in front of me. 

“Thank you.” I turn in her direction and see glass cabinets lined with nothing but ceramic mugs all wearing an identical flower print on them. Turning back to the mug in front of me, I see this one is the seemingly only plain one. When I pick it up, the ceramic is warm. I look at her again. “It’s warm.” 

The lone kitchen light flickers overhead before steadying with a much dimmer light. “The fridge doesn’t work.” 

I rub my fingers along my palm. They’re still cold, but the room feels like it’s boiling. 

“Aren’t you going to take a drink, dear?” She asks, her teeth glinting in the low light. “You look awfully sweaty.” 

Ignoring the question, I look away from the mug of lemonade and towards the cabinets full of mugs. “You have a lot of mugs.” 

“I do.” 

“What kind of flower is on them?” 

“Daffodils.” 

“What do those mean?”

“Rebirth.”

“Why do you have so many?” 

“For drinks.” 

“Do you have something other than lemonade?”

“No, dear. Now, drink up.” Before I can prolong the conversation any more, she folds my hands around the mug and lifts it to my face. “Before it gets cold.” Her strong, wrinkled hands force the brim of the mug closer to my lips. When I refuse to open my mouth, she uses her other hand to force my mouth open. Giving me no time to make a sound of protest, she pours the hot liquid down my throat. 

It is most definitely not lemonade. 

I cough and sputter, trying to get the liquid out of my system once she lets go. My limbs are heavy and my vision blurs. Unable to move, I watch as she holds her mug in front of her eyes with a wide smile. A daffodil identical to the ones on every other mug blooms on the ceramic. 

As my consciousness fades, the last thing I see is her usual wide smile with huge, excited eyes to match. “You’ll make a lovely addition to my garden, dear.”