Flash Fiction: The Grim Florist

The Grim Florist © Bob Sharp
Featured in the Bare Books Anthology Volume Four

Gilly Bright was delighted to see the new horticultural shop on the High Street. According to the signage it was more than just a flower seller, it was a one-stop-shop for everything garden and plant-related. A brightly decorated blackboard claimed it was a cornucopia of botanical wonders, a place to ease your gardening woes.

The door chimed as she pushed it open, she stepped into the little shop and…. gasped.  Inside it was huge. A single aisle seemed to stretch to eternity. Wall-to-ceiling shelves crammed with all manner of weird-looking plants, tools, bottles of fluorescent liquids, and teetering stacks of bags, all hanging ominously into the endless aisle. Then there was the smell, it was almost overwhelming. It was rich and loamy, an earthiness mingled with a faint – yet overpowering – tang of decay. 

Gilly spun on her heels and grabbed the door handle, desperate to get out of the shop and away from the weirdness. The moment her hand touched the cold steel of the door handle there was a huge crash from behind her. She spun back around and watched in astonishment as a dark figure emerged from the dust of a dozen sacks of “Meal-for-Bones.” It briefly crossed her mind that she hoped the description of the sack contents had been lost in translation, but that thought vanished as the dust cleared and she saw the figure clearly for the first time.

She slumped back against the door, her eyes wide with disbelief. “You’re….”. 

“Damn and blast,” exclaimed the hooded figure. “You’d think this thing would be useful in such a shop wouldn’t you?” The figure’s red glowing eyes glowered at the scythe. “But oh no, it’s just an incumbrance, would you look at all this mess, what must you think? Anyway, ma’am how can I help you?”

“Y…Y…You’re Death,” Gilly stuttered.

“Busted!” exclaimed Death. “But I do like to be called The Grim Reaper, or just Grim if you’d prefer, it has a little more panache about it don’t you think?”

“Am I dead then?” Gilly almost whispered. 

“You look okay to me? Why would ask you such a thing?” 

“Well, because you’re Death.”

“Ah, I see where the confusion lies. No, this is just a sideline. You know every day it’s the same. It’s just reap, reap, reap. This is my way of giving a little back, sowing instead of reaping if you like. And please do call me Grim.” 

Somehow she managed to speak. “So, you thought you’d open a flower shop in Harlow. That’s a funny sideline.” 

The Grim Reaper’s shining eyes bore down on Gilly, it felt like she was being physically pressed into the door. “Oh it’s not just Harlow, it’s a mobile shop. It appears whenever and wherever it’s needed. May I assume that you’re the reason the shop is here? It’s usually the first customer, well it would be,  given they’re the only ones who can see the shop.” 

Gilly could feel her heart thumping in her chest. “No it’s not me, everything is fine. It’s definitely not me, absolutely not. I was just browsing.” Slowly and with great effort Gilly forced herself to turn around, and just as slowly her hand grasped the door handle. 

“Wait!” 

She froze at the sound of the command and letting out a sob, she turned back towards the nightmarish figure. 

“You’re troubled, I can tell.” The Grim Reaper bent over the now cowering figure. “Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong? I’m here to help, you know.”

“What’s wrong? I’m in a shop talking to Death for Heaven’s sake.”

“Apart from that, everyone feels that. No, it’s more than just fear of me. You have a gardening problem, don’t you? I can help with that, I’m rather good you know. And sorry to keep banging on about it, but the name is Grim.” 

There was a long silence during which Gilly tried to compose herself.  Then – just as she thought she’d failed completely – she was surprised to hear herself blurt out her garden problem. 

“I’m sorry,” said Death. “Can you repeat that please?”

She cleared her throat, took a deep breath, and said,  “I said, the daffodils no longer smile.”

The red eyes glowered at Gilly for a few moments, then Death threw his head back and began to laugh uproariously. It sounded like a roomful of secretaries on amphetamines rattling away at manual typewriters. 

Eventually, the laughter subsided and the figure loomed over Gilly again. “What you’re saying is impossible. A daffodil is a smile, that’s all it is. A smile on a stick. A daffodil can’t fail to smile, that’s like saying water is no longer wet. It simply can’t be.”

“Well, it’s true,” said Gilly, “My daffodils no longer smile.” 

“This I must see,” and before Gilly could object, The Grim Reaper reached out a long bony finger and touched her on the shoulder. Suddenly, they were there. In her garden, staring at the daffodils that failed to smile. They were drab, to Gilly it looked like someone had Photoshopped all the colour out of them. 

“They look okay to me, they are smiling like daffodils do,” said Grim. He looked about, “I was here, in this street, not a week ago.”

A shiver ran down Gilly’s spine. “That would be for the girl down the street, I got to know her quite well because our names were so similar. We constantly had to swap our mail. I still can’t believe she’s gone.” 

“What was her name?” 

“Jilly, Jilly Blight.” 

“Oops,” said Death. “I think I see the problem.” 

“Really? Can you fix it? Please, Grim, I could use some cheering up. Everything has been so grey and drab recently.”

Grim wiped his scythe blade. “Oh yes, I can fix it, but you know… maybe just hang off on all that Grim nonsense I  think Death is the more appropriate name after all.”