Ring Around the Rosie

Florals For All has a nice ring to it, right? That's the name of my flower shop. I love Boston in the springtime. There's a freshness and hopefulness to the air, signifying warmth and new life to come.

Just yesterday, my friend and cashier, Tiffany, asked, "Sara, have you met that older gentleman that keeps stopping by? Nice guy. Even Ray took a shining to him."

"Ray? He doesn't like anyone unless they're handing him a tip."

Raymond is my delivery boy. Sweet, smart, and funny, but guarded.

Tiffany nodded and added, "He wants to meet you, so I told him you'd be here today."

"Oh, okay, I'd better get cracking then."

The arranging room is my sanctuary, my creator space. This is where the years spent earning an art degree pay off.

I was on fire that morning, finishing an order for Rick and Sandy, and one for Lamar. Next, I called on the intercom, "Tiff, I've got that order ready for Harper. Is Ray here?"

The sliding door opened. "I got ya," Ray said, taking the bouquet. "Whoa, I like this one! Snap my picture. If I ever get married, these colorful puppies are gonna be everywhere."

I took his phone and complied, chortling. "You'd better find the right person then."

"Don't ya know it! See ya in a bit."

Back to work on the big order for Mike and Bill's wedding. I also had orders for Rachel, Marie, and Dena to finish. I had been at it another 20 minutes, when the intercom crackled, "Sara, you're wanted up front."

I slid the door open and saw a man I describe as distinguished, with a twinkle in his eye, but also—somehow—haunted.

He was sauntering around, softly humming, Ring Around the Rosie.

I approached. "Hello, I'm Sara, the proprietor." I held my hand out.

Instead of shaking it, he kissed it and said, "Ah, Sara, a name for a princess."

Tiffany bragged, "I'm one up on you, girl! I got 'Devine Presence.'"

"...and your name?" I asked.

"How clumsy of me. I am Nicholas Theodopholos Petrelis, at your service." He bowed.

"Nicholas, what can I do for you?"

"I desire a large arrangement with lots of posies and whatever else your artistic eye deems suitable. If you can prepare it by this afternoon, I will double your asking price."

I had to consciously keep from gaping. "I'll have it by 5:00."

"Very well. Also, I wish to purchase that lovely, large abstract you painted with colors swirling on a black background. Have that wrapped for me please."

I did gape briefly. I had it listed at $2,500. I recovered, saying, "Thank you for your patronage."

"The pleasure is mine." He turned towards the door just as Ray came back.

Ray lit up, "Yo, Nick! Good to see ya, man." He held his hand sideways for a side five/fist bump combo.

Nicholas left, again humming Ring Around the Rosie.

When the door shut, Tiffany cracked up, "Creepy in the best way, right?"

"No kidding."

I was glad I already had posies. Double, and he bought one of my originals.

That afternoon, when Tiffany informed me of his arrival, I came out with his arrangement, singing,

Ring around the Rosie, a pocketful of posies. Ashes, ashes, we all fall down.

I added, "I used to love playing that as a kid."

"Its origin is not nearly as cheerful," Nicholas said. "Would you like to hear it?"

I nodded; a bit uncertain I was going to like this.

"When the bubonic plague, known as The Black Death, hit Europe in the mid-1300s, often the first symptom would be rashes called 'Rosies.' They would use pockets full of posies and other flowers and herbs to ward it off or to line the pockets of the dead, whether to reduce smell or to honor their loved ones.“

I gasped

He continued, “Of course, ashes represent the cremation necessary to dispose of the bodies. All told, nearly half the population of Europe—around 50 million people—perished."

Tears spilled over. I swept them aside, trying to be professional. I croaked, "That's heartbreaking."

"Indeed."

He gestured to the flowers. "These are lovely. Thank you."

"You're welcome. Ray can carry them to your car."

"Much obliged."

That night, I went to bed with Nicholas' words buzzing in my head. It's no surprise that my dream took a dark turn.

I was inside my black painting. The swirling colors became flower petals. All around, I heard music box versions of Ring Around the Rosie, playing in different keys and distorting out of tune.

When a flower touched my arm, a rash appeared in its place, and I felt nauseous. I could smell decaying flesh.

I saw Ray and tried to run to him, but time was fluctuating, and I wasn't getting closer. I called out, but he didn't respond.

"He can't help."

Startled, I turned at the sound of Nicholas' voice, but he was rotting before my eyes, all the while humming. His skeletal form collapsed and burst into flames.

I turned back, and Raymond was now right in front of me. His skin was gray, and he was moaning. There were posies where his eyes should have been. He pulled one off and threw it at me. It landed on my shoulder, burning a hole into my skin. I cried out in pain. A posy sprouted there, with a skull in the center. I tried to pull the flower off, but the jaws of the skull snapped at my fingers.

When I looked up, there was a line of all the other people from my day: Tiffany, Rick, Sandy, Lamar, Harper, Mike, Bill, Rachel, Marie, and Dena.

All of them had posies on their eyes or in their decaying hands. They started throwing them at me, burn more hole, causing more skull-laden posies to appear.

I turned to run, but the painting was getting tipped. The colors became flames. I could feel the heat. I tried again to run, but it felt like I was in quicksand.

The painting tipped again, abruptly and forcefully, making me fall.

...and fall

Ring around...

...and fall

Flames

...ashes, ashes...

Posies

...we all fall...

When I landed, I woke up, disoriented.

I could smell posies. My head was resting on something hard.

I stood up. I was in an old cemetery. My head had been on a gravestone, the plot adorned with the posies I had arranged.

The headstone read:

Nicholas Theodopholos Petrelis, born 1838, died 1902.