Gemotions

“Oh, hey there.” The words were barely a whisper, a croak from a dry throat. He wished he'd never answered the door. It was Mr. Peterson, known for his eccentric gardens and even more eccentric theories about plant life. He'd been giving him the eye lately.

“Wonderful yard you have, just bursting with potential! I was thinking… the sunlight is just perfect. A few tomatoes, maybe some squash? Just a small area, of course.” Mr. Peterson's gaze swept over the pristine lawn, his eyes practically gleaning. He felt a cold sweat break out on his forehead. It felt like a nightmare.