My Garden is Black

Every day, Armand tended his garden. He’d go to his cellar to cultivate his mushrooms. The Panellus Stipicus were his prize, they were bioluminescent and glowed in the dark, creating a spectacular display. “My nexus to light and love,” he called them.

For years, Armand has tended his mushrooms. He had been written up in the local paper and been touted an expert on mushrooms. With these mushrooms, Armand managed to lure the world's most beautiful women to come and dine with him.

Armand was a handsome man. Tall, with a slender build with thick, dark, wavy hair. And a silky voice like Jon Hamm. He had an aristocratic nose, like a Greek statue. His dark, piercing eyes were almost black. He dressed well, even when he tended his garden.

His home was on a grand scale, an Italian villa set high in the mountains, 15 miles from the village of Amantea, Cosenza. With towering, white-washed stone walls, covered with wisteria vines and grand, arched doorways, framed by columns. Cypress trees graced each side of the drive up the mountain. He collected artwork and tapestries. Magnificent statues graced his foyer. Large urns with exotic ferns were at each end of the winding staircase. His home was indeed his castle.

In the evenings, he dined in the finest restaurants. The owners and staff were always on the lookout for him, they all hoped for his favorable reviews. He was given the best tables. With the best view of the most exquisite ladies who came to be seen. And be noticed by Armand.

On this evening, as he dined at Pernod’s, a fine French restaurant, where he was sure to sample their mushrooms; he spotted an elegant lady, seated in a circular booth against the wall facing him. She was well dressed, wearing an off the shoulder white dress with simple pearls around her neck. She was quite beautiful. Then, he noticed the young woman with her. He licked the butter from the Morel mushrooms, carefully from his lips. She was stunning. Thick, raven curls cascaded to her waist. She revealed ample cleavage in a form fitting, black dress. She wore no adornments; none were needed.

He motioned to the waiter, “Garcon, who is that lady seated in the booth?”

“Oh, that, monsieur is Mad ‘am Toussaint. She is the heir to the Toussaint diamond fortune. She is here for the season.”

“And the young woman seated with her?”   

“That is her daughter, Elise.”

“Elise… would you introduce me?”

“Oui, right away, monsieur!”

Armand watched as the waiter spoke to them and noticed Mad ‘am Toussaint looking at him, smiling. He rose from his table to greet them.

“I hope you ladies are enjoying your meal.”

“Quite so. And you?”

“Delightful. I can say that I recommend the mushrooms, I’m having the Morels.”

Elise curled her lip and rolled her eyes while her mother laughed, “Yes, I am quite aware of your reputation. I have read the articles in the paper.”

“I am flattered. The two of you must come and dine with me at my villa, just outside the village in the mountains. It’s a stunning place. I think you will both enjoy it.”

“Why, you are too kind! We would love that. I am teaching Elise to appreciate her family background and about the finer things in life. At 16, she should be more acquainted with life.”

“Yes, Elise. Your mother is very wise.”

Elise barely looked at Armand. She continued slurping down her noodles, using her fingers to wipe the butter from her breasts and licking her fingers clean.

Armand bid them good night and returned to his table, planning his evening with the Mad ‘am and Elise in his head.

**

The evening came for his guests. Candles were lit everywhere. Fragrant bouquets filled every room. His table was elegantly set with fine China and Waterford crystal stemware and drinking glasses. The aroma of his mushrooms, sauteed in wine, also filled the air. All of which did not cover a strange, sweet smell.

His servant, Parker, was instructed to show them into the drawing room where he awaited them with champagne and the music of Beethoven’s Für Elise playing on his treasured stereo, only vinyl would do for the classics.

Parker announced Mad ‘am Toussaint. She was alone.

Armand went to greet her and kiss her hand, “Mad ‘am, I am so pleased you could come. But where is Elise?”

“Elise went with her friends into the city to see a Demi Lovato concert. I was told this was the opportunity of a lifetime. How could I tell her ‘No’?”

“I see. It’s just the two of us, then. Come, I’ve poured us champagne.”

“So many aromas in the air, what is that sweet smell?”

“Ah, the flowers, it is the flowers. I also have my mushrooms cooking.”

He quickly went to his stereo and pulled the Beethoven, scratching the record. He grabbed a Chopin record from its sleeve and hurriedly replaced the Beethoven.

As they sat down to drink their champagne and eat hors d’oeuvres, Mad ‘am Toussaint commented about the lovely paintings and old photos of women in ornate frames that graced the tabletops and sideboard.

“Who are they? These women, all so beautiful.”

“They are women I have known. Others are portraits that I have collected. I love looking at beauty.”

“Were you married to any of them?”

He chuckled, “Well, I have come close.  I did love them all but unfortunately, circumstances were not in our favor. I want to remember them as I knew them, young and beautiful.”

Parker appeared at the doorway and announced, ‘dinner is served.’

As they sat down to dinner, Mad ‘am Toussaint was eager to continue her questions about the women. Armand reached across the table and patted her hand.

“Enough about the women. Tell me something about Elise. What does she like? Does she have a boyfriend?”

The Mad ‘am laughed out loud, “Elise is a teenaged girl. She loves all the things a girl that age loves. She loves her music, being with her friends, makeup, and pizza. Does she have a boyfriend? No. Elise has boyfriends. She collects them like shells on the beach. They can’t keep her interest long enough for me to even know their names.”

“Is she chaste?”

“Chaste? I hardly think that’s a subject to discuss with you. Our relationship is such that we don’t discuss sex but somehow, I doubt she is having sex. She doesn’t have the attention span for it.”

“A young woman such as Elise should be attending classical music concerts, eating fine foods, keeping company with a well-established, older man, not boys. I could teach her, mold her.”

“I try but she is young. Too young for older men. I was young once; I know what it’s like. Surely, you remember what it was like to be young?”

Armand dropped his napkin on the table and rose slowly, “Thank you so much for accepting my invitation to dinner. We shall have dinner again, with Elise. Now, I must retire. I must prepare for a business trip which will keep me away for a fortnight. When I return, I expect to see you both for a special evening.”

“But you didn’t give me a tour of the house, never showed me your garden, your mushrooms!”

“No one goes in there! My basement is off limits. Again, I bid you goodnight.”

“You know, garlic would add more flavor to your mushrooms.”

“I. Abhor garlic.”

He turned and left the table without seeing the Mad ‘am to the door. The evening left Mad ‘am with many unanswered questions, ‘Who is this man, Armand? I must find out more about him and why the intense interest in Elise.”

**

Mad ‘am Toussaint didn’t waste time in researching Armand. He had a net worth of €800 million, had lived in the house only five years and there was no trace of him from before that time. In the five years he lived in the house, six young women from the village had gone missing: open, unsolved cases. Rumors of a curse or a Nosferatu began circulating, leading her to research vampires.

She returned to the villa three days later, when she knew he would be gone. Parker answered the door and told her he would not return for two weeks.

“Oh dear, I lost an earring when I was here. Would it be alright if I came in to try to find it? It’s a family heirloom.”

“Alright then, but don’t touch anything. He knows when things are out of order. I have chores out back to tend to. Please see yourself out.”

He walked past her, and she waited until he was out of sight. She brought a mallet, a small hatchet, screwdriver, and rope in her oversized bag, in case she came across locked doors. She went straight for the photographs in the drawing room and took them out of their frame to examine them.

On the back of each photo were written names and dates, “Lucille Lucetta, 1898…”

“Dear god, how old is he? What is he?”

She wandered around the house, looking for the door that would lead her to the basement. She thought it curious that a man as handsome as Armand had no mirrors. She noticed that smell again, sickeningly sweet, like syrup that’s been in the cupboard too long. The smell led her to the door of the basement. The blackness was overwhelming, and the sweet smell became stronger along with a musty, dank smell. The only light was coming from the luminescent mushrooms.

Her flashlight revealed the extent of the space they consumed in the massive basement; the basement must have covered the entire footprint of the house. She shined the light around to see if there may be a light switch or window. She could see there was a window, high up in a wall which had been boarded shut. She moved her light downward and saw two shiny, black coffins. The lids were open. The interior of the larger one was covered in black and red satin, the smaller one, in white. In the smaller one was placed white roses and a handwritten card, ‘Für Elise.”

Her heart was pounding rapidly as she made her way around the room, there were at least a dozen more coffins, but these were plain, wooden boxes. She moved the lid with the screwdriver from her purse from one of the coffins and inside was a rotting corpse where mushrooms were growing from the body. She peered into three more and found more of the same! She noticed something carved in the stone floor at the end of each box, it was hard to decipher the writing, but she could make out a name, ‘Lucille Lucetta.”

“The man is an abomination! He’s repulsive! I must stop him!”             

She looked around and found enough empty crates to make a stairway to place against the wall with the window. In her bag, she took out the mallet and small hatchet and began hacking away at the boards on the window. At last, she could smell fresh air and gazed at a starry sky.

**

The day arrived when Armand returned home. Mad ‘am Toussaint and Elise were enjoying the warm, afternoon sunshine in the town square, eating lemon gelato. Everyone was out that day, the streets were filled with people.

Suddenly, an earth-shattering howl split the air! The howls grew louder and longer as the sun glowed brighter and stronger. People were running, this way and that, making signs of the cross with their hands. They were shouting, ‘Armageddon! Armageddon!’

Elise was frightened and held onto her mother. Only Mad ‘am Toussaint sat, smiling, continuing to lick her gelato.

“He shall not have you, my Elise. I know how much you hate mushrooms.”