Wicked Garden:

Dead. That was the best word Sibyl could fine to describe her beloved garden and as she gazed in through the wrought iron fence, she laughed to herself. Dead indeed.

She took a rusty key from round her neck and turned it in the lock until clicked open. She smiled with blood red lips, as she walked along the garden path, her heels clicking on the cracked stone. Dead indeed, if only they knew!

She sighed at the beauty of her garden, as she strolled through it. Skeletal tress reached out here and there, all leaves gone and cluttered on the ground in clumps, amputated limbs scattered every where. Flowers lay lifeless and decayed all over the brown grass. Blackend weeds sprung up here and there and thorns completely covered any open spaces. Beautiful indeed.

Sibyl finally found her destination, a singular gravestone covered with thorns and moss. One would think it had never been tended to. She pushed away the old, rotted flowers and put the dead roses she had picked on the way there, at the base. She smiled and straightened her black dress.

"Good evening Morgan, darling," She sang out, kissing the stone, leaving a large red smudge on it. "You'll never guess what I've done today. You're going to be very proud of me." She began to fish around in her bag and then paused.

"You remember Henry, don't you dear? The man that hurt you...well, no matter," She placed the treasure on top of the stone and smiled. It was a severed hand, chunks of flesh missing here and there, undergoing the early stages of decomposition. "Henry put up such a fight. Not like the other ones. Would you like to hear what I did? I knew you would, love.

"I went to his house a few nights ago, and asked if he remembered you. He denied ever hearing your name, but I knew better. I practically begged him to have a drink at home with me, and after flaunting some flesh, he agreed. He never even noticed the crushed sleeping pills and after a few drinks, he was fast asleep. I dragged his body to the dungeon and injected the poison, like I've done so many other times. I must not have put enough in though, he didn't die. But that was all right. He needed to feel pain...after what he did to you...he hurt you horribly, didn't he?" She caressed the tombstone longingly and sighed. She could barely feel the damp through her lace gloves.

"He never will again. I promise. Anyway, like I said, I was going to have a little fun with this one. I chained him up...remember when we were children and we used to play with them? I used your favorite ones. I took the butcher knife you tried to kill yourself with and went into the basement, once I heard his screaming. He asked who I was when he saw me, the knife was hid behind my back. It still had some of your blood on it. I told him I was your avenging angel. He still didn't remember you.

"I admit dearest, I lost my temper.

"So I let him see what was in my hand and then...welll...I made a big, bloody mess of his genitals." She laughed darkly. "You couldn't even tell he was a man any more. I knew then he would never hurt anyone again, not like what he did to you.

"It wasn't enough though.

"I wanted to see his blood all over the dungeon floor, wanted to see him hurt. So I got a different knife, the one Mummy killed Step-Father with and I began to peel off his skin from the waist down. I made a pile of the sheets and chunks of flesh and made sure he could see it.

"I then grabbed the salt from the old graveyard, the ceremonial stuff, and tossed it all over his bloodied body. Oh Morgan, you should have heard him scream. It was wonderful. So I took the axe, you remember the axe of course, and chopped off the top of his head, right about the eyebrows. All that vermilion blood poured from it, ah, it was gorgeous.

"He was dead then...at least I think he was...either way, I sawed off his hand and brought it here for you. He's still down there. Are you proud of me? I knew you would be!" She giggled girlishly.

"But alas, the night is almost over. I really should be going. Good bye Morgan, my love." She kissed the stone again and skipped back down the path, singing to herself.

And in the pale morning light, one could swear they could see the late Morgan Orwell, leering at the severed hand and adding it to a bag of miscellaneous human bones.

Either way, the next night, the severed hand was gone.

THE END!

Author's Note-- Forgive me if it's really bad...I haven't let anyone else read it and I'm horrible at judging my own writing...

Okay, so I actually came up with this story because I was staring at a picture of a garden we've had in our living room forever. I'm surprised I got this from that. I think I'm going to write some more stories about Sibyl and Morgan (before Morgan died) so if you like this, look out for that...erm...that's it.