My brother freaked out when I bought the wildflowers home.

“Get rid of them! Before they start blooming!” He shouted, attempting to wrestle them from my grip.

“What are you talking about?!” I demanded, but he wouldn’t give me a straight answer.

His eyes were large and fearful. “When the flowers bloom, they will bring your doom…” is all he seemed to say.

Fearing for the safety of the flowers, I locked them in my room, safely in the windowsill. My brother left the next day.

It was when I was trying to call him again that the flowers started to bloom.

I was entranced by the yellow petals and delicate way it so neatly opened that I almost screamed when a eye was suddenly staring at me from its small centre.

A perfect human eye; as if someone had plucked it out and arranged the petals about it.

Another flower, a set of teeth this time. The next one held an ear.

Slowly, each flower had revealed its horrors to me and I ran to the bathroom to throw up.

Because I knew the eyes, the scar on the ear.

Even the thin line of hair that had joined the group of body parts.

I had to look again.

My hand shook as I opened the door, mouth feeling sour and dry.

Then there was a sudden crash!

The vase been shattered as the flowers gained limbs and learned to stand; features swirling into a humanoid form both monstrous and green.

A green thorny leg.

A veiny peeling arm.

The smile of my brother - or something pretending to be him.