And, often as not, he would talk to the flowers around him. In particular, he would chat endlessly with a magnificent pink rosebush, gently brushing its petals and feeling its long sharp thorns.

“Charles, come here...come here and look. Michael is talking to that rosebush again.” Michaels Mother was watching him from the large window that overlooked the garden as she summoned his Father, Charles, to the window. Charles knew why he was being called to the window. It seemed like every time he laid down on the couch to rest, his wife was calling him to the window

Outside, Michael was sitting by the rosebush holding a pair of pruning shears, saying something and pointing to the shears as he spoke.

“ Oh that boy worries me so, what is he saying? Charles, go out there and get him and give him a good whipping, this has got to stop!” Charles looked out the window, bewildered. “ Aw, just leave the boy be,” he said, " he’s only playing some silly game, he ain’t gonna cut them flowers, he loves them flowers. Just let the boy be!”

Charles returned to the couch. “ All I know is, that boy is going to be in a mental institution if he keeps talking to that rosebush. It’s not normal.” Michaels Mother left the window as well, shaking her head as she went back into the kitchen.

Outside Michael was still bent over the pink roses. “I told you once that I was going to kill you if you don’t tell me where Scotty’s bones are. I mean it, so tell me, where did you bury Scotty’s bones?” Michaels little dog, Scotty whined a bit and wagged his tail as Michael questioned the rosebush. He raised the pruning shears again so that the rosebush could get a good look at it. “ See these? I’m going to cut you up, I mean it. You better tell me where Scotty’s bones are. Where are they? Mamma said Scotty can’t have any more bones ‘cause she just gave him those, so tell me where you hid them.” The rosebush seemed unconcerned.

“Are you sure this is where you left them Scotty?” Scotty wagged his tail and licked at Michaels hand. “ See? Scotty knows you took them, so you better find them before I cut you!” The rosebush swayed a little in the afternoon breeze and soaked in the sun of the summer day, never once answering.

Michael stood up and kicked the rosebush as several pink petals floated slowly to the ground. “Alright, you asked for it. I’m coming back after supper and if you don’t tell me then I’m going to cut you up with these scissors.” Michael walked toward the house, Scotty close behind. The rosebush stirred and then was motionless once more.

At dinner, Michael was quiet, his eyes looking up from his dinner plate, repeatedly, through the window and at the roses in the garden. Finally his Father spoke.

“ Mike, why do you like to talk to the flowers son...”

“ Cause.” He didn’t look up at his Father.

“Cause is not an answer boy, why do you talk to them, ...what do you say?”

Michael didn’t answer.

“Do they ever talk to you?”

After a moment of thought, Michael replied “Well, not all the time, but some of the time they do. ” His Father breathed a deep sigh and his face showed the strain of the conversation. He tried to remain calm as he leaned closer to his son. “ I see son. What do they say to you when they talk to you?” Michael leaned his head back and shut his eyes as if trying to remember the flowers exact comments. “ Oh, I can’t remember” he said. “Just stupid stuff dad, you know like, uh, dumb stuff, but that pink rosebush out there stole Scotty's bones dad, he took them and Scotty don’t have no more bones..” His Father looked at him oddly, but tried, again, to remain calm. “Why would the rosebush take Scotty’s bones son” he asked. “ Roses don’t like bones. I’ll bet Scotty buried those bones. He knows where they are, don’t worry, he’ll get them when he wants to.”

“ No dad, that pink one told the other ones that Scotty was always digging’ around by him and that he was going to get even with Scotty someday, and that's why he took his bones....”

Charles could hear no more of it. “ Alright Mike, that's enough. Just drop it. I don’t want to hear another word about that rosebush and I don’t want you telling anymore of these crazy stories, you understand?”

Michael put his head down, starring at his uneaten dinner. “Yes sir.” he said.

“Good! Now eat your dinner and forget about that rosebush!”

After dinner, Michael’s Father returned to the couch and was soon fast asleep.

His Mother was in the kitchen doing the dishes.

Michael went outside, with Scotty close behind.

“Well Scotty, I guess I’ll have to get your bones back by myself.”

The evening sun cast large shadows and the pruning shears loomed over the pink rosebush like a giant winged monster, ready to devour.

Michael leaned over the bush once more. “ I’m back. I told you what would happen if you didn’t tell me!” He took one of the stems of the bush and placed it between the sharp blades of the pruning shears. “ This is your last chance, are you going to tell me where the bones are?”

The rosebush remained silent.

Michael applied pressure to the pruners until the skin of the stem was cut....

When Michaels Father heard the scream, he leaped from the couch and ran outside to the garden where Michael laid in a pool of blood, the sharp pruning shears stuck neatly in his throat.

Neither Michaels Father or Mother noticed as Scotty pulled two large bones from the feet of the rosebush. They were too much terrified at the ghastly sight of Michael laying dead and of the pink rose that was hanging just over his head, dripping something red from a cut in the stem.

John Malcolm Pouch 2005