"The Crimson Flower"

It was a beautiful morning in March. As I walked outside of my house, I could feel the soft breeze of the blowing wind, and I could see leaves being pulled from the trees around me by that wind, in which the leaves slowly traveled away.

I needed to visit a man named Mr. Mortem on that day; my house was owned by him. We needed to discuss rent and payment, as two businessmen would. The house I was living in was very small but nice. It was all I needed. There was a huge field in the back of my house, where I could see mountains in the distance. This field was technically public property, but I felt that I had it all to myself.

As for Mr. Mortem, I have heard, before I met him, that he was an incredibly wealthy man. It has been said that he lives in a mansion with thirteen stained glass windows and three splendid floors. I have heard that he has many, many gardens in his backyard. Regardless of these rumors, I would see what his property would look like later this afternoon.

I began walking to Mr. Mortem’s house by taking a path in the field behind my house. The path headed South, and it eventually led to a pretty forest, full of pine trees. Although it was only March, I could hear birds chirping in the distance.

I eventually reached an industrial part of town, where I walked past a busy street. I was then walking beside many small stores, and the last store I walked by sold items for proper burials. After observing this last store, I ended up walking on little pieces of black coal and past a railroad, where there was a small field on the other side.

I walked through the field and past yet another forest. I eventually reached a big street, walked West, and then turned left to walk South again. In front of me, I saw a house as wide as the sky and as tall as the canyons. There was a long, skinny path leading to the house that cut in the middle of a long lawn. I walked this path, and to the front door of the house I approached.

I noticed there was no door bell to ring, so I quietly knocked on the door. There was no answer. I waited for a minute or two.

I took a second approach of knocking on the door, louder this time. There was still no answer. It seemed to be very quiet at this house.

About a minute later, I knocked for a third time. No answer. The silence was even quieter. I waited for over three minutes, but suddenly and unexpectedly, the door did open.

A servant greeted me. She was a short woman who had straight, black hair tied up in a bun. She exclaimed, “Welcome! You must be Mr. Fatum.”

“Good afternoon. How do you do?” I said.

“We are both having a fine afternoon. Thank you for asking,” the man replied.

“I assume you are Mr. Mortem,” I said.

“Yes, and this is my wife.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” she said.

“It is an honor to meet you,” I replied.

“So, Mr. Fatum, I know you know what we are here for,” Mr. Mortem said. “We are here to discuss your monthly and yearly payments for the house. I must confess that I will no longer own the house in thirteen months. But in the meantime, I ask you to pay your rent.”

Why would he plan to own the house in only such a specific amount of time?

“Yes, of course I will pay the rent,” I replied.

“You will pay $1,200 by the end of this month.”

“I see, and I can certainly agree to your request.”

“Glad to hear. Now, I am interested in getting to know you. Would you like to go on a walk with me in my backyard?”

“Yes—I certainly have the time to do so.”

Mr. Mortem led me out of the house, while his wife stayed in the dining room. When Mr. Mortem showed me his backyard, I was left speechless by what I saw. In front of me were endless rows of gardens, with such a variety of plants and flowers. There were many paths that crossed through these gardens, and Mr. Mortem and I started walking on these paths.

“So, Mr. Fatum, how have you enjoyed the new area you live in?” said he.

“It has been alright, but it is very quiet around here.”

“It is very quiet around here indeed. I only see people around the industrial area of the town.”

“Yes, I passed along there as I walked to your house.”

“Interesting.”

The servant called Mr. Mortem from a distance. He casually looked back at her, and then looked back and said to me, “Hold here a second, Mr. Fatum. I will be right back.”

He walked away. I walked a little to ponder at the flowers in his gardens. I became so distracted by this beauty that I ended up walking farther away from his house. I eventually reached large fields containing tall oak trees, which were spread out. I started walking along these fields, and I soon reached a tiny, flowing creek. I placed my hand in the creek to feel the fresh, living water. Right after that, I realized I walked too far from Mr. Mortem. I quickly went back to where I was before.

However, I saw no one around. I did not see Mr. Mortem or his servant. I went back inside the house to see if I could find them. I went in the dining room to see if Mrs. Mortem was there, but in vain. Where was everyone? 

I looked round the house but could find nobody. I decided to look in the front yard, and I found the servant carrying Mr. and Mrs. Mortem’s mail. 

“Excuse me,” I said. “Do you know where Mr. Mortem is?” 

“He is looking into the backyard to find you.” 

“I was around there. I must have accidentally lost sight of him.” 

I looked in the house scrupulously, but I could still find no one. I decided to walk upstairs to the second floor. I turned right, where I opened a closed, wooden door. I pushed the door and it moved slowly, making a loud, obnoxious creak. 

Immediately, I saw what looked like a dead body covered with blankets on a bed. I looked up and noticed Mrs. Mortem was there, standing over the still body. She looked incredibly troubled and distressed. Looking down to the ground, she said, “You must have heard the news.” 

“What news?” I replied. 

“Let’s talk in the dining room downstairs,” she expressed with a sigh. 

We went to the dining room, and she made me and herself some tea. She explained everything like this: “Yesterday, at 3:00 a.m. in the morning, my husband suddenly died. I do not know what happened to him. I do not know his injury. I do not know the cause of his death, but nonetheless, my feelings for his death are impossible to describe.” 

“Wait,” I replied. “I saw him alive today!” 

She gave a confused and somewhat cold look at me. “I do not know what you are talking about,” said she. 

“I saw both of you together today. Your husband was discussing house payments with me.” 

“That was over a year ago. The house you live in now belongs to you.” 

I was utterly confused. I was so puzzled that I vomited on the spot. I soon realized that I must have been in the future, and my house must have indeed belonged to me thirteen months later, as Mr. Mortem had foretold. 

Despite this shock, what felt worst of all, more stressful than my confusion, more disgusting than my nausea, was the melancholy feelings I carried in this very moment. I felt so overwhelmingly distressed ever since I started walking in this mansion. Every aspect of this house, every feature, every design, grieved me, and overall, I never enjoyed the town I lived in. It was so mysteriously silent, so silent that I felt the pain of being alone. The loneliness I felt choked me, entangled me, made me unable to breathe the breath of life. I felt I was living in my own world, and the presence of Mrs. Mortem being alive only made me faintly more comfortable. Woe to this wretched town. Woe to the Mortem estate.