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Suddenly, a noise startled her. It came from outside, near her prized rose bushes.
Grabbing a torch, she went outside to investigate, convinced it was some animal prowling around.
But what she saw left her paralysed with terror. The flowers she had cared for were twisting and contorting unnaturally, as if an evil force was controlling them.
The thorns were growing at an alarming rate, tangling together in a sharp, living mass.
She recoiled in horror, stumbling and falling to the ground. At that moment, the mass of thorns began to crawl towards her, emitting a chilling hiss.
The once beautiful roses had transformed into a deformed and terrifying creature.
Paralysed with fear, she watched helplessly as the mass of thorns drew ever closer, threatening to envelop her and tear her mercilessly apart.
In her mind, the words she used to repeat to herself echoed like a macabre taunt: ‘The roses always come out after all.
Just as the thorns were about to reach her, a ray of morning sunshine broke through the clouds, bathing the garden in light.
The thorn creature shuddered and began to retreat, shrinking back until the roses returned to their original form.
Trembling with fear, she retreated into her house, vowing never to set foot in that cursed garden again.
For after all, some things were best left to rest in peace.
