FICTION BY TRACY CROSS

Tracy Cross is the author of Rootwork and A Gathering of Weapons. Her horror fiction appears in Black Magick, Don’t Break the Oath, and more.

A scholarship winner and HWA member, she lives in DC, loves Prince and disco, and shares her art at tracycwritesonline.com and @tracycrosswrites.

SEED
by Tracy Cross

Mama always said it was the little things that get you.

The itching began as a scratchy tickle at the back of my throat, a place I couldn’t reach with my toothbrush. I gagged, coughed, but something shifted when I tried to move it. A hair, I thought. I could handle a hair.

But when I leaned close to the mirror and opened wide, I saw it: not hair. A small, wet leaf glistened at the root of my tongue, its surface slick under the bathroom light.

My eyes widened. I felt dizzy, staring at the open abyss that was my mouth.

The leaf trembled, bright green against soft, pink flesh. Slowly, it began to unfurl, edges curling outward like a thing waking up. Its stem throbbed faintly, almost glowing, and I felt the roots digging deeper, threading themselves into me.

I couldn’t swallow. Couldn’t breathe. My lips shook, frozen open.

The leaf quivered once more, as though tasting the air, then stretched further down the tunnel of my throat.

And I understood it wasn’t stopping.

*****

Mama told me to never swallow seeds. She spent most of her days showing me the different seeds on fruits and vegetables.

“Stacy, let me tell ya, it’s the strawberries that get ya’.” I missed Mama’s drawling nasal accent. It reminded me of real lemonade and hot summers down at the Hollerin’ Hole. She picked the little tan seeds off the strawberries with a bamboo skewer. Her fingers moved like brown spiders—quick and efficient. She didn’t miss a single seed. 

“Why?” I watched her wipe the seeds on a paper towel tinged red with strawberry juice.

“You can’t always catch them all.” She pointed at the pinkish mess on the damp paper towel on the table.

Everyone said that Mama ran off with some guy that came to town one day, but I knew better. She ran off after the town picnic where she had a lemonade. A lemonade with seeds.

People want to feel bad for me, but there are things they don’t know.

For example, I get a monthly allowance from a lawyer for Mom’s estate because she wrote a popular book that she gave the long title of Composting and Gardening Techniques for the 20th Century. I found a copy in the house with a fan letter stuck in it as a bookmark. People love their compost.

Anyway, Mama’s out back with Pa. She’d been out there the whole time while the town gossiped. She just didn’t want anyone to know so when she was passing, she made me promise not to tell.

I smiled at her when I looked out the window at the orchard.

She left me with this big old scary house and I took good care of it on my lonesome. The house moaned like it was breathing when I stepped into my bedroom. And it whispered when the branches of trees touched the windows. And Mama strung wire bells and porch chimes so I could hear anybody coming from the road.

That morning, I took my dog, Shep and walked the land with my shotgun. I laughed to myself and sounded like Mama, “Old school is the best school.”

The sun beat down on my back, along with the sweat pouring down my shirt and I was standing out back with the extra long hose filling up the tree bags with water. You know they’re full when the water spurts from the top.

“You lookin’ real good today. I’m lovin’ the way them leaves is shinin’ an’ eatin’ up the sun.” I rub the trunk of one of my favorite trees.

Suddenly Jay showed up, hands in his pockets. “Hey cuz. Wanna hit the Hollerin’ Hole for a swim? Ronnie’s comin’ too.”

I turned the hose on him, soaking his shirt. “Still being a jerk, as usual?”

He shook off the water. “Come on. You need to get off’a this property once in a while.”

I sighed, twisting the hose shut. “You’re only asking ‘cause Auntie said you can’t go unless I do.”

Jay grinned, sheepish. “I’ll buy lunch.”

“Fine. But I’m changing first. I smell like the trees.”

*****

Ronnie, Jay’s harlot of the week, was already perched in the back seat when I climbed into the car. Her magenta hair blazed against her pale skin, flimsy shirt showing off the red bikini underneath.

Ronnie pouted. “Really, Jay? I have to ride back here while she gets shotgun?”

“Family up front,” Jay said, starting the engine.

I knew that Ronnie was always secretly jealous of me spending more time with Jay than her. But she needed to understand that we were family. She was not.

Ronnie leaned forward, her voice dripping sugar. “That’s okay. I don’t mind Stacy being in front. Anyway, my mom made lunch. And your favorite—lemonade.”

“I don’t drink lemonade,” I muttered.

“First time for everything,” she sang, flashing me a smile sharp as a tack.

Jay sighed, eyes on the road. “Be nice, you two.”

I didn’t like her when Jay brought her around the first time and I still don’t like her now. She’s got the feel of a slippery old snake.

The old car rattled and groaned down the dirt road toward the Hollerin’ Hole.

“I’m gonna break my neck in here! What’s with all the bumps, Jay?” Ronnie whined, clutching the seat.

The Hollerin’ Hole was an old, abandoned concrete reservoir, filled with water and deep. It’d been around since before Mama and will be around after me. It’s just something that everybody knows about in town. Anyway, somebody had bolted a ladder to the wall so we could climb down and swim.

We pulled up and Ronnie jumped out before Jay even cut the engine. I started to get out when he caught my wrist. “You be good, and it won’t do no harm to try some of the lemonade.”

Ronnie poured a cup full of lemonade from a bottle she had in the backseat. She passed me the full red cup. I scowled and took it. Looking at the bits of pulp floating around inside, I knew it was fresh.

“C’mon, Stacy. I’m sure she didn’t leave no seeds in there.” He let me go, but his look across the roof of the car said more.

I sighed. I was tired of them making fun of me and being a loner. Maybe if I drank this, they’d stop teasing me.

“Yeah, be nice, Stacy,” Ronnie chimed, slamming the trunk.

A towel smacked me in the face. “Hey!” I yelled, knowing that no one would apologize, certainly not my cousin, who did it.

“You got no reason to have beef with her, you know. She’s always been nice to you.” Jay said, laughing at the towel hitting my face, “Cousin.”

“That’s yours, right?” Ronnie said. “He’s just givin’ you your towel.”

I wiped my cheek with it and muttered, “Shoulda stayed home.”

Then, I drank the entire cup of lemonade and gave him the cup.

“See, nobody died. It’s all good.” Jay smiled and slid the cup over to Ronnie.

*****

The Hollerin’ Hole was loud with kids diving and splashing, echoes bouncing off the concrete walls. For a while I almost forgot myself and swam until my arms burned.

Ronnie pressed another cup into my hand. “Here, just for you.” Lemonade, with frozen lemon cubes floating on top.

I opened my mouth to refuse, but Jay snatched it away. “Ronnie, she’s got that thing. And she already drank a cupful.”

“My fault.” Ronnie tipped half onto the ground, still smirking as she handed it back.

I snatched the half filled cup before I walked off and settled on a log with my plate. A boy named Corey plopped down beside me, burger in hand.

“What’s this ‘thing’ they talkin’ about?” he asked through a mouthful.

“I don’t do seeds,” I said, staring into the pale yellow drink.

“Why not?”

“It’s just a thing.” I pushed the cup toward him. “Mind getting me a Fizz Pop instead?”

He grinned. “Want another burger too? Ronnie’s mom made some real good cheeseburgers.”

“I’ve still got all this.” I pointed to the plate balanced on my knees. “Just another Fizz.”

Jay and Ronnie stared at me from across the way. I raised the cup and drank the lemonade, again to prove that I had no problem with Ronnie, her stupid lemonade or Jay.

Corey jogged off and came back with the bottle, dropping down next to me again. “So the seed thing?”

I took the soda, cracked it open, and didn’t look at him. “Eat your burger, it’s gonna get cold.”

*****

A few nights later, when I was brushing my teeth, something felt off.

Shep pressed against my feet, warm and steady, but my own body wasn’t steady at all. It started like a hair snagged in the back of my throat. I gagged, scraped at it with my toothbrush, but the bristles only drove it deeper. My throat convulsed. The sound that tore out of me was wet and raw, more like retching than coughing.

I leaned over the sink, spitting froth and blood. Still there. Still pulling.

I shoved two fingers down my mouth. They met something slick, ridged, not hair at all. I pinched it between my nails and yanked. The thing slid forward an inch, ripping at the root of my tongue. It felt like it pulled the complete inside of my throat out with it. A dark cord, pulsing, threaded with veins. It writhed against my fingers, alive.

I hollered like no one would believe I could, feeling like my throat was raw from the tiny plant being yanked from inside me. My vision swam. My jaw locked wide, my lips cracking as I tried to scream, again. In the mirror, I watched another cord swell, bulge, unfurl—like a sprout breaking soil.

Shep whimpered low, then let out a sharp bark that rattled the bathroom tiles. The sound made the thing twitch inside me, rooting deeper. I gagged harder, bile spilling over my chin, but it wouldn’t let go.

And in the glass, behind my reflection, something else shifted—shadowed leaves unfurling where there should have been none.

*****

After I ripped part of the plant out, I still itched in the same spot. My throat was sore and I rubbed the outside of it where the pain seemed to grow. The next day, that thing danced around and tickled the back of my throat. No matter how many times I reached for it, I could feel it brush against my finger then shimmy away.

“Should I go to the doctor about this itch?” I watered the plants in the garden, stopping to ask a huge elm, “Dad?”

Of course I know plants can’t talk, but these are special.

“Drop a leaf if I should call a doctor.” I looked up at the tree and patted the trunk.

I heard Dad’s voice, “Go.”

When I started walking away, a leaf fell on my head.

A sign.

*****

When I brushed my teeth that night, I found it. I reached back with tweezers and pulled out something. I dropped it in the sink and stepped back.

It was a tiny seedling.

What. In. The. Living. Hell.

I stared at it, blinking to bring the thing into focus. My lips moved but no sound came out. Nothing felt right.

Why was this happening to me? My hand went to my throat, tight and aching. I wanted to faint but gripped the sink, retching hard. Between the stomach pains all day and drinking gallons of water without relief, it all made sense—the thirst, the itching.

I was imagining more seeds inside me. Sweat poured down my face, my knuckles white on the porcelain. No! It has to be the only one. I don’t eat or drink seeds, just like Mama tol’ me.

I called the after-hours clinic. A woman answered, her voice too calm. “What seems to be the problem?”

“I need an x-ray. There’s something wrong. I pulled this out of my throat.” I held up the seedling on a tissue, my hands shaking, describing it to her. “It looks like a seedling. Two leaves, a stem, roots hanging.”

A pause. Then: “You say that this came from inside you?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t do anything over the phone,” she said. “But I’ll send a message to your local doctor. He can see you first thing in the morning.”

I coughed hard, feeling something shift deeper inside. “Please. I need help now.”

I’m sorry,” she said gently, like she was closing a door. “We can’t help you until tomorrow, but you can always go to the nearest emergency room.”

The line clicked dead.

I sat there in the dark, nostrils flaring, arms tight across my chest.

Tomorrow felt a long way off.

*****

I pulled Mama’s old rust-bucket of a car into town at dawn. Doctor Holliday was already waiting at the clinic door, his white coat ghostly in the rising light.

“I got an urgent message about you,” he said. “Let’s get you inside.” His hand pressed between my shoulders, steering me down the hall.

The x-rays didn’t take long. What came after did. They stuck me in a small, cold room until the nurse finally waved me in.

Doc sat behind his desk, a manila folder fat as a phone book in front of him. He flicked on the lightbox, and the film glowed.

“Stacy,” he said carefully. “I want to show you something.”

My lungs filled the sheet. Only it wasn’t just lungs. Dark tendrils laced through them, curling like veins but thicker, rougher. A bud sat dead-center, pale as bone, ready to bloom.

My lips trembled. My stomach dropped. I started shaking uncontrollably. I wanted to run, but what would I run from, myself?

“I’ve never seen anything like this, but you’ve got some plants growing inside you.” His voice cracked. His fingers trembled on the pointer. “They are at varying stages of growth. If you look here, you can see the roots are wrapping around your organs. If we touch it, it’ll squeeze the life out of you.”

I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. My chest itched, tickled, like the film had already come alive inside me.

“Aw, shit,” I whispered.

The bud on the x-ray seemed to pulse, as if the machine had caught it mid-beat.

“It’s advanced,” Doc murmured, wiping sweat from his lip. “Too advanced. We might try burning out the smaller seedlings with a laser, but the larger one…that’s wrapped too deep.”

The walls pressed closer. I pulled on my clothes, my body not my own, and stumbled toward the door.

Behind me his voice followed, muffled, desperate: “You need an operation…”

I didn’t look back. The building shrank in the mirror as I drove home, but the bloom inside me kept growing.

*****

“Stupid Ronnie knew what she was doin’! Why you tell her about it?” I snapped at Cousin Jay on the phone.

“I ain’t know! I was tryin’ to protect you!” Jay yelled back.

“You killed me.” I said, dryly.

I ended the call.

My nails bit into my palms and my body felt tense as I paced the house, trying to calm the storm in my chest. At last I pulled on my denim shorts and white shirt, stepped outside into the bruised light of dusk. Shep padded beside me, ears flat, tail tucked, but he didn’t make a sound.

I stared at the orchard in the distance. Mama, Pa, and soon me. A family reunion. The three of us together again, hidden from the town that whispered. They wouldn’t know I could hear them long after.

I wanted to run outside to the graves, but my legs felt heavy, each step sinking deeper into the earth. By the time I reached the apple tree, my calves burned, my skin itching like roots pressed against bone. I pressed myself to the trunk.

“Mama, I tried. I really, really tried. I don’t wanna die.”

Her voice curled down from the branches, soft and certain.  “You won’t die, baby. You’ll live on forever. Right here with me and your father.”

Above, the leaves hissed, not with wind but with breath. I swallowed hard. “Does it hurt…when they pull the apples off?”

A pause. Then: “It’s a little pinch. Nothing you won’t learn to love.”

“The lemons…will they sting?”

Suddenly the time for talk was over. Something coiled around my waist—rough bark, slick sap seeping through. My skin burned where it touched. I gasped, but didn’t pull away. My feet prickled, toes burrowing into soil on their own.

I clung tighter. My fingers sank past the bark as though the tree were soft flesh. Warmth spread through me—thick, sweet, choking.

Shep barked once, sharp and panicked, then bolted, tail vanishing into the dark. I didn’t chase him. Couldn’t. My legs were already gone. The tree was inside me, or I was inside it.

“Mama,” I whispered, though my lips had stopped moving. “Don’t let me go.”

Her laugh rustled through the branches. “Never, baby. Not ever.”

And as the bark closed over my arms, my mouth filled with the taste of apples—sharp, juicy, and green.