Vivian Kalla/The Mossy Log
Have you heard the tale of Lloyd Frank’s ghost? Our story starts in the abandoned Rose Garden, which for a decade had been left unattended to. Rosebushes grew long, thorny arms that tangled into the weeds and overgrowth, making it treacherous to traverse. Inexplicably, the neglected flowers continued to bloom, and legend had it that the ghost of Lloyd Frank himself was looking after the blooms. Some say it was just coincidence, while others swore the paranormal was at work. Late at night, if you were lucky, it is said you could hear Frank’s ghost repeatedly drunk-dialing his ghost ex-wife, Edna Holmes, begging her to take him back because he went to a lot of effort to take care of her dumb plants.
One night, three intrepid freshmen decided to have an investigation of their own. They snuck into the garden just before 3 a.m., when the veil between the human and spirit realms is said to be the thinnest.
“This way,” said Geoffrey Rosenburg, beckoning his companions. “I think I can get a sick photo for my album cover, especially if that ghost dude decides to pull up.”
The trio felt a light breeze sweep through the garden, though not a single leaf or petal moved from its position. The headlamps they stole from College Outdoors began to flicker, as if warning the foolish investigators to turn back. Still, they continued their trek between the derelict beds of climbing roses. Suddenly, a thick fog rolled in, engulfing their feet and making it hard to see where they stepped. They braved on further into the brush, but soon enough, the fog consumed them. Now unable to see each other, the headlamps were the explorers’ only indication of each others’ location.
“Woah, dudes, hold up!” said Primrose Dankworth. “Careful where you step — we don’t want to wake the ghosts!”
“I ain’t afraid of no ghost,” said Tina Slimer, marching on.
Dankworth jumped at the snap of a twig underfoot. Slimer pointed her headlamp down to see a withered rose, crushed under her steel-toed Doc Marten. Its petals were a dusty pink, hinting it was once vibrant, warm and filled with love. Over the years, it had dried and decayed, forgotten by time.
A deep voice boomed from the eerie fog, causing Dankworth to jump again.
“HOW DARE YOU TRAMPLE MY GARDEN OF STAINED GLASS AND ROSE,” the voice said.
The gang felt the air grow colder as they whipped their heads around to identify the voice’s source. There was no figure nor shadow to be seen.
“Surely a single rose can’t be that bad,” said Rosenburg, his voice shaking slightly trying to make his response sound light and nonchalant so as not to scare the ghuzz.
“WHAT DO YOU KNOW, FOOLISH CHILD?! THE ROSE YOUR FRIEND SO MERCILESSLY PULVERISED WAS THE FIRST I GREW FOR MY BELOVED!” the voice bellowed. “HOW WILL I EVER WIN HER BACK NOW?”
Out of the dense fog, the spirit of Lloyd Frank revealed himself, finely dressed in a three-piece suit with a floral-patterned neck tie, his translucent body glowing a light lilac. The teens froze, disbelieving their own eyes.
“Huh. I guess I thought ghosts were supposed to be blue,” Slimer said.
“IT’S A COMMON MISCONCEPTION PERPETUATED BY THE DISNEY CORPORATION,” said Frank’s ghost. “I HAD IT DYED A WHILE BACK. NOW, IT IS YOUR TURN TO DIE.”
After a few seconds of deafening silence spent ruminating on the quality of the pun, Dankworth finally let out a blood-curdling scream and took off running from the spirit. This kick-started the other two teens’ survival instincts as they too began to flee. One by one, they tripped on the roots and bushes hiding in the fog. Helplessly, they looked up at Frank’s approaching form.
“AS PUNISHMENT FOR YOUR DISRESPECT AND DAMAGING MY BEAUTIFUL GARDEN OF THORNS, YOUR BODIES WILL DECORATE ITS BEDS AND YOUR BLOOD WILL FEED THEIR ROOTS,” hissed Frank’s ghost.
The thorns and bushes started growing around them, tearing into their clothes and flesh. Once the branches reached their shoulders, they slowly wrapped around their necks and tightened until all air left their lungs.
With his final breath, Rosenburg choked out his last words: “This would make a sick album cover…”
Since that fateful day, Lloyd Frank’s ghost has remained dormant, perhaps thanks to the restoration efforts to return the garden to its former glory. Still, you should never damage roses at the witching hour, or he will return to claim your soul as fertilizer for his beloved garden.
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