The Garden

Chapter 1

It starts with the earth, with the bones that rest beneath the surface, and it ends the same way. Somewhere in between is the garden.

Miranda works in the sun, as she does every day and has for lifetimes. Bare hands in the soil, pushing and pulling. She tugs up old roots and discards stray weeds as she digs, but they always seem to grow back. Black dirt builds beneath her fingernails and sweat beads on the back of her neck, like dew. The roots of her hair are slick with it. Strands of red, ringleted hair, fall in front of her face as she works. She lets the hair hang there, framing her vision. She relishes these stolen glimpses of herself, in a garden without mirrors.

Above her, perched on the leaf of a tangled rose bush, is a lithe little robin. The red breasted bird sings as she works, hopping across pink petals and watching her with its glossy black eyes. Miranda whistles back a merry little tune.

The garden itself is more like a forest. Overrun with flowers the size of trees, rosebushes that tower at ten feet tall. Climbing foxgloves and lilies. The garden is a winding labyrinth. Open glades and dense patches of tangled flora. All circulating around a central oak, an ancient beast of a tree. Its dark branches hang over the entirety of the garden, dripping with wisteria and honeysuckle. Sunlight washes over the landscape, honey-thick and bright, casting inky shadows in the undergrowth.

Only when Miranda is tired and stiff, is she satisfied with the grave. It is just deep enough to cover him. He has been strangled by the thorny branch of a white rose. He lies beside her on the grass. His grey eyes are blank and staring thoughtlessly up at the sapphire sky. His hand rests limply on his breast. Blood drips from little cuts in his neck, imprints from rose thorns, onto the soil. Thick and red like the velvet lining of his jacket. Miranda looks over his face, deep lines from age distort his skin, like the cracked bark that covers the oak tree. From the deep wrinkles around his mouth, she can tell that when he was still living, he was always smiling.

Now comes the hardest part. Hauling his body into the grave. Over the centuries Miranda has built strength in her back and shoulders, but death’s weight never seems to ease. She drags him across the glade. His limp body splays out in her arms, limbs outstretched and saintlike. When he is settled, face down, she begins to cover him over.

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Title: The Garden

Genre: Gothic

Age Range: Adult

Word Count: 50,300 total

Author: Maya Sharp

Hook: What is this garden? Why is this woman burying a body?

Synopsis: Miranda has been trapped in a supernatural garden for 3000 years. The garden murders those that visit - Miranda is left to bury the bodies and the roots of the garden eat them. Miranda begins to befriend outsiders who convince her to leave the garden, she does and begins to realise the evils of the garden. Being away from the garden she begins to slowly die. Miranda returns to the garden and burns it down. This kills her.

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I am an unpublished, young, female writer of gothic and fantasy fiction based in the North of England. I am currently undergoing a Masters Degree in Creative Writing at the Manchester Writing School and am being mentored by Nicholas Royle. I have a degree in Photography which informs much of my writing, along with my knowlege of art history - primarily Victorian art. The Garden is inspired by the Pre Raphaelite movement.