Whispering Willows

Sure enough, behind the splintered door was the dark tiny room. There was hardly any luminescence, with the exception of chipped black paint freeing light through the glass walls. This part of the greenhouse was purposely made dark, but for what reason? Irelle takes a step into the room, her boot mushing into something soft. Squinting down, various shapes of brown domes lined the entirety of the ground and corners. Irelle crouches, and cautiously touches one. It was mushrooms. Just a room full of edible mushrooms. At first, Irelle could not understand why Halman was so adamant about her not having access to this room. Perhaps it was to give the mushrooms adequate darkness and moisture to grow? Maybe walking around in the tiny room disturbed their growing process? Mushrooms were fragile, after all. Irelle leans in to take a good look at all of the mushroom heads, bearing weight on her foot. A crack.
Normally, hearing a crack in dirt could be anything. Perhaps broken glass from one of the greenhouse panes, or a twig, but this crack sounded like something more dense than glass or wood. It gave into the weight. Irelle lifted her foot, stared at the print, and started to dig into the wet dirt with her fingers. Strangely, it was not as compact as the rest of the greenhouse, this dirt seemed softer, or malleable. Definitely nothing suitable for the other types of produce Halman grows. Maybe this was to suit the mushrooms? A poke. Something solid. Irelle dug her fingers through the dirt, pinching the solid object, and prys it out of the ground. Wiping away the caked dirt, she discovers two objects in her hand. Half of an old model of glasses, one that Mr.Finnigan the gardener would wear, and piece of a green checkerboard handkerchief, with the name Eloise stitched in it. His wife’s name.
Wiping her eyes, Irelle stares at the items again. There was no way this was real. Mr.Finnigan had left with his wife to retire, that was what Halman had said. Hell, Mr.Finnigan himself had said he was leaving his gardening position to live in Idaho where family was closer. Etched into the ear rest of the half-glasses was the exact date that Mr. Finnigan married his wife. The handkerchief only made Irelle’s eyes tear. Mr.Finnigan left last week, and Halman had only built the dark room just three days after. It was too much of a coincidence. Too much. Irelle pocketed the broken glasses and handkerchief cloth, and slid her foot across the dig site, making the dirt seem undisturbed. Replacing the door with care, Irelle quickly exits the greenhouse, making sure to pick a few tomatoes that halman asked for. Her mind was racing. First the diary, then the dated dresses, now Mr.Finnigan is growing the same mushrooms her and Halman eat for dinner, with the fertilizer being himself.