Here is today's freebie, prompted by ellenmillion and jenny_evergreen who wanted to see the garden behind Monster House. Silverbell is my conceptualization of a fey version of bindweed, inspired by a nursery rhyme line ("with silver bells and cockle shells"). Both moly and raskovnik are mythical plants.
I sat on the back porch watching my daughter
help the bogeyman to weed the garden.
The gremlins had tracked in silverbell seeds again,
fine and dark as pepper grains,
and now the wiry stems twined around the tomatoes
and the pole beans,
tinkling with every breeze.
There was moly in the garden, too,
dangerous for mortal hands to remove,
so the bogeyman carefully touched it to shrivel the plants,
leaving just one white flower that had sprouted in a pot
in case anyone needed protection from magic.
Presently the bogeyman handed my daughter a basket,
and together they pretended to pick flowers,
meticulously bending and plucking
and depositing nothing but air.
I strolled over to the garden.
"All right, what are you two picking?"
"We're picking raskovnik,"
my daughter said.
"It opens locks."
"So that's how the bogeyman gets around,"
I said with a chuckle.
I peered into the empty basket.
"Doesn't look like you've got much, though."
My daughter giggled.
"It's invisible, silly!"
"Then how do you find it?"
"Oh, he can see it," she said,
nodding at the bogeyman.
"I have to do it differently."
Then she brushed her fingers
over what looked like a row of clover,
pinching at the air again.
"If I feel a plant under my fingers,
but when I look for it nothing's there,
then I know it's raskovnik."
Her necklace swayed gently as she worked,
its violet gaze overlooking the small garden,
her own sightless eyes closed as she enjoyed the sun.
"Shoo," the bogeyman said. "Shoo!"
His foot nudged at something I couldn't see.
"Oh dear," my daughter said,
"the gremlin's in the garlic chives again."
I recalled the pizza-belch reek
that had been dogging her presence for days.
"So that explains the smell," I muttered.