“Have you seen those kids over at the Peterson house?”
“What? Why would any kids be over there? Old Mr. Peterson is a loon. My Pa says he’s lived there, like for hundreds of years.”
Jenny gave Earl a flat stare.
“Your Pa also thinks the rocks in his garden came from the moon.”
“Well, yeah,” Earl said, smiling sheepishly.
“Seriously, I saw a bunch of kids over there working in the yard last night.”
“Jenny, why would kids be in …”
“Right? Let’s go see what’s what. Tonight!”
“I’m starting to think whatever’s in there,” Earl poked at Jenny’s forehead, “is from the moon!”
Jenny swatted his finger away like an annoying gnat.
“Fine, I’ll go by myself.”
Earl frowned, and said, “Oh, alright.”
That evening, they snuck from their houses, and made their way down the block to Mr. Peterson’s place.
There were three or four child sized people lumbering around Mr. Peterson’s yard.
“Are you sure they’re kids?” he asked.
“Let’s go find out!” Jenny whispered, and headed for the yard.
Earl swore, and followed her.
“Hey, look over there,” she whispered, once Earl had caught up.
There was light coming from the open cellar door. Jenny changed course. None of the figures in the yard noticed their presence.
In the cellar, their noses were assaulted with thick earthy odors, like a greenhouse. Pots lined the walls. Some had sprouts peaking up from the dirt. The plants were bigger as they moved further in.
Jenny gasped. They both stared at a row of six pots. The things growing from them looked like small human bodies, feet rooted into the dark soil. Slowly an eyelid opened, like a large Venus flytrap, to reveal a fibrous white eye.
Earl felt wooden fingers grasp his arms from behind.