The Story of Heather, Part 1.

This story takes place in what most think of as a more innocent era, roughly sixty years ago, and – in part – became a legend.

Heather loved to feel as though she was creating something. She took well to hobbies that produced something beautiful; painting, gardening, sewing. She had a talent for those things, and – while not unsociable – was a solitary girl, for the most part. Her friends, she mostly saw during classes or at school events. Her parents were aware of how blessed they were, to have a daughter who didn’t see the appeal of ‘wild teenage years’.

She had always been a sweet girl, if inclined towards naïveté. Full of trust and disinclined to see the ‘bad’ in people, it came as a shock to both mother and father when her behavior began to…change.

It began when people began clipping Heather’s flowers, right from her garden. Neighborhood children, if she had to guess; she was guilty of the same, in her childhood, plucking pretty flowers from gardens without realizing they were the property of the people who lived there.

What struck her as strange was that the flowers would inevitably be delivered to her. A cluster of purple lilacs were left on her doorstep, first, from the tree in her backyard. She’d noted two days beforehand that a number of them had been clipped off the branches. She didn’t think very much of it, though, even putting them by her bedside in a vase of water.

The trend continued, however, with everything she planted. Morning glories, white and yellow tulips, lavender. First, they’d be taken in patches. Then, every single flower would be plucked from the soil, and left in clumped bouquets on her doorstep.

Her parents assumed the trend stopped; Heather had started ignoring the bouquets, leaving them to dry up and wither on the patio, but she still seemed…vigilant.

The flower-thief was still taking them from her gardens, leaving her with a sense that she was being targeted, somehow. Why only her flowers?

She felt silly – it was such a minor gesture, a small thing, yet it was making her feel almost victimized. Heather forced laughter over the issue, and gradually pulled away from her hobby, spending more time with friends.

One friend, in particular.

He had the reputation of being a ladies’ man, according to her friends, but he’d been nothing but sweet, with her. She was enthusiastic over the idea of dating him, but less so, over what he thought their first date should entail.

She felt a little uncertain when he parked the car, the radio blaring a report about an unknown individual being seen lurking one of the neighborhoods – he turned it off, and began to touch her.

The report, her reluctance, and the nerves that always close to the surface made her too jittery; she wasn’t sure whether she was imagining noises outside the car, or if they were truly there. Hanging her consent over him as a reward, she persuaded her date to check outside the car, just in case.

All she could think to do, while watching his chest be split open and heart torn out, was lock the doors.