An open door is an open invitation

Beheaded gladiolus littered the ground.  The gnarled stick raised on high, I celebrated my victory with whoops and whirls.

It was a curse, the kind no one believes in any more.  The kind frazzled adults wish on unruly children who trample flowerbeds on a summer Sunday afternoon.

The woman, her fresh-from church-face melting in the Texas heat, looked into my eyes.  I froze despite the heat.  Caught in that backyard garden that I'd sworn never to enter again - and she cursed me.

She wished me monsters.

 But enough about me, you want more...