Mr. Lost's Roses

Mr. Lost was a calm, levelheaded man.

Despite his old age, he wasn't grouchy or sour, like most of his fellow elderly residents of Bridgeacre. He was a pleasant individual, his cheerful demeanor caused by his pride from his biggest treasure: his prized red roses. They were the most beautiful roses that the town had ever seen. The deep crimson color, accompanied by their dark green leaves, made them the most beautiful flowers in Bridgeacre. Fellow gardening enthusiasts were mesmerized by these roses, and they wanted to know his secret to growing the beautiful flowers. Mr. Lost would just say that his secret was a "home made" sort of mulch he adds to the soil.

His next door neighbor, Wilbur Warstad, was a bitter and belligerent man. He was extremely jealous of the roses, and coveted the ability to grow such beautiful flowers. He was a gardener himself, and sought to outdo any competition that dared to outshine his garden. Seeking to sabotage his neighbor, he decided to steal Mr. Lost’s special soil additive.

He waited for when Mr. Lost was out of the house to sneak in. He searched the house upside down, but he found nothing. Just as he was about to leave, he knocked over a book, which revealed a secret passage that led deep into the bowels of the house. He stopped in front of a lock pad door. He typed in four zeros, and with sheer luck, he opened the door.

But when the doors opened up, a terrible picture blurred his vision. In the middle of the room was a bloody wood chipper, and on the floor were bits and pieces of flesh and bones. There was blood on the ceiling, the walls and the floor. Wilbur wanted to leave. But all of a sudden, he felt a stabbing sensation on the back of his neck. Slowly, he stumbled back before becoming unconscious. He woke up chained above the wood chipper, and beneath was a smiling Mr. Lost.

“Howdy, neighbor,” said Mr. Lost.

“J-Jerry, get me the hell down from here!” Wilbur screamed from the top of his lungs.

“But, how would I make manure, Wilbur?” he said as he slowly approached the lever.

“You know,” he continued, “I usually perform these...delicate, operations on animals. They gave me such good results, but I really want to try it with humans. You should feel lucky. This will be the first good thing you have done in your life.”

He finished with a pleasant smile. He pulled the lever and sent old Wilbur down the wood chipper. Wilbur thrashed and screamed, but it was all in vain. Mr. Lost just stood there with the same grin as before, as the wood chipper chopped Wilbur into a bloody goop of flesh and bone.

The next week, Jerry’s garden grew new beautiful roses.