'The pantry door to hell' by Joyce Bingham

 

The kitchen floor needed a mop. Blood stains today, merged with trails of green slime and a few twigs of Christmas tree with baubles attached. The pantry door was firmly shut, which was an advantage. It is hard to clean up when the door is stuck ajar with an abandoned body part or ogre’s club. The smell is particularly bad when the door is jammed open. The neighbours complain a lot, but I tell them it’s the poor Victorian sewers under the streets. As required, I grow stinging nettles, sweet briar and deadly nightshade directly outside my open back door to welcome returnees. Over the centuries I have been mocked for my poor gardening skills, now I am sheltering bees and other wildlife, how times change.