1. The Call
The call came in just before dusk.
“Possible illegal street vending,” the dispatcher said. “Corner of Main and Willow. Elderly female, repeat offender.”
Officer Daniel Reed sighed as he pulled the cruiser to the curb. “You’d think we’d have bigger problems,” he muttered.
His partner, Sergeant Lewis, shrugged. “Orders are orders. Let’s just check and go.”
The city was quiet — a late-autumn chill hanging over the cracked sidewalks. The corner was nearly deserted except for one figure: a frail old woman standing beside a wooden crate filled with vegetables.
2. The Vendor
She couldn’t have been younger than seventy. Her jacket was threadbare, her skirt faded beyond color. The lines on her face looked carved by years of worry.
When she noticed the police approaching, she straightened slowly, forcing a polite smile.
“Good evening, officers,” she said in a voice as soft as paper.
Lewis stepped forward. “Ma’am, you’re aware that selling food on public streets is prohibited without a permit, right?”
She nodded slowly. “I know, my dear. But I have no choice. My son… he’s very sick. The medicine costs more than I have.”
Her tone was calm, but her hands shook slightly as she spoke. “I grow these myself. In my little garden. I don’t steal, I don’t cheat. I just sell a few things to get by.”
Reed exchanged a glance with Lewis. He’d dealt with dozens of cases like this — petty violations born from desperation. Usually, they just let them off with a warning.
Lewis exhaled. “All right, ma’am. We’ll let it slide this time. But you can’t stay here, okay? Other officers might not be as understanding.”
“Oh, thank you,” she said, clutching her chest. “You’re very kind, truly.”
Her eyes darted nervously to the box of vegetables.
3. The Offer
Reed smiled faintly. “Tell you what — since we’re here, why don’t we buy something? Help you out a bit.”
The woman stiffened. “No, no, please don’t trouble yourselves.”
“Come on,” Lewis said lightly. “Let’s take a couple of tomatoes. My wife loves them.”
“There’s really no need,” the woman said quickly, almost too quickly. “Others will come. Early tomorrow. I promised them.”
Reed noticed her fingers twitch. Sweat dotted her forehead despite the cold.
“Ma’am,” he said, half teasing, “you’ve got to let your local officers support small business.”
Before she could protest, he crouched and picked up one of the tomatoes.
And froze.
It was warm.
Not sun-warm — body-warm.
And beneath his fingers… it pulsed.
Once. Twice.
Like a heartbeat.
He turned it in his hand, frowning. The skin was smooth but faintly translucent — almost waxy. Inside, something shifted, like fluid moving.
Lewis laughed. “What, never felt a ripe tomato before?”
Reed didn’t answer. He pressed gently — and the fruit twitched.
A hairline crack opened at the top, oozing a thin line of dark, metallic liquid.
Not juice.
Blood.
4. The Discovery
Lewis stepped closer, his grin fading. “What the hell…”
The old woman reached out sharply. “Don’t touch that!”
Reed stumbled back, dropping the tomato. It hit the pavement and burst open — and the thing inside spilled out with a wet, sick sound.
It wasn’t a seed.
It was an eye.
A small, cloudy human eye.
Lewis cursed, hand flying to his gun. “What—what are you selling here, lady?!”
The woman backed away, trembling violently. “You don’t understand,” she whispered. “I had to. He’s dying.”
Reed’s heart slammed in his chest. “Who’s dying? Your son?”
She nodded rapidly, tears spilling down her face. “They said it would work. The soil, the blood, the roots — they said I could grow life.”
Lewis barked, “What the hell does that mean?”
But Reed already saw it — in the crate. The tomatoes weren’t tomatoes. The cucumbers weren’t cucumbers.
Each was some grotesque fusion — vegetal tissue interlaced with human flesh. Faint faces seemed to bulge beneath the surfaces, mouths opening in silent screams.
He gagged. “Oh, Jesus Christ…”
The old woman fell to her knees. “I didn’t kill anyone! I just used what they gave me — scraps from the hospital, from the morgue. I only wanted him to live!”
5. The Box
Lewis grabbed his radio. “Dispatch, this is Unit 12. We need backup and containment. Possible biohazard situation—”
But before he could finish, the crate began to move.
The vegetables — if they could still be called that — shifted and writhed, rolling against each other. A low humming sound filled the air.
The old woman screamed. “No! Stop! You’ll wake them!”
Reed stepped back. “Wake who?”
The answer came with a sickening crack.
The wooden crate split open from within, boards snapping like ribs. A wet mass pushed through — vines, slick with red sap, twisting together into something vaguely humanoid.
A face formed in the tangle — pale, featureless, but unmistakably human.
“M–Mother…” it croaked.
Lewis drew his gun. “What the—”
The creature’s hand shot out, wrapping around his arm with impossible strength. Its touch burned. Lewis screamed, pulling the trigger — bullets tearing through the air — but the thing didn’t bleed. It absorbed the impact like sponge.
“Don’t hurt him!” the woman cried, crawling forward. “He’s my boy!”
“Your boy?!” Reed shouted.
Her eyes shone with madness and love. “They told me I could grow him back!”
6. The Fire
Reed grabbed Lewis by the collar, yanking him backward as the creature lurched upright. Its vines writhed, rooting into the pavement. The smell of rot and iron filled the air.
“Unit 12 requesting emergency backup!” Reed shouted into his radio. “We have— we have a biological entity—”
Static.
Then nothing.
The creature’s eyes — dozens of them now — opened across its torso, glowing faintly. Its voice came in broken whispers. “Hungry… mother… hungry…”
The old woman held out her arms. “Take me, my son. Take what you need.”
Before Reed could move, the vines shot forward, wrapping around her frail body. For a second, she smiled. Then the vines tightened — and she was gone, absorbed into the mass.
The creature convulsed. Its form shimmered, reshaping. For a heartbeat, it looked human.
Then it screamed — a high, inhuman wail — and exploded into ash.
7. The Aftermath
When backup finally arrived, there was nothing left but a burned patch of earth and the shattered crate.
No sign of the woman. No remains. No blood.
But scattered across the pavement were seeds — small, red, and still warm.
Reed crouched, staring. They pulsed faintly.
Lewis, his arm bandaged, muttered, “We’ll burn them.”
Reed hesitated. “Yeah… maybe.”
That night, back at his apartment, he emptied his pocket. One of the seeds had somehow stuck to his glove.
It lay in his palm, pulsing gently, almost like a heartbeat.
He stared at it for a long time.
Then, quietly, he placed it in a pot of soil on the windowsill.
And when he turned off the light, the seed glowed faintly in the dark — red as a drop of blood, alive as a whisper.