This whole story started three days ago. I was on the bus, listening to music, when I spotted a black umbrella on one of the empty seats. At first, I hesitated to take it. It may sound strange, but I always feel a little guilty taking something that doesn’t belong to me, even when it’s abandoned. However, it never lasts very long and I end up taking it home. If I don’t get it back, who will? I grabbed it as I got off the bus. It was a bit of a windfall. That day, it was pouring with rain and, like an idiot, I had come without my k-way. As I began to open it, I was surprised to see a series of letters on the handle. It was a first and last name. I concluded that they were probably those of the owner. To be on the safe side, I’ll call him Mr. O. I prefer not to give the full name. Being an honest person, I decided I’d look up his number later so I could give it back to him. In the meantime, I didn’t mind using it on the way home. After all, one man’s loss is another man’s gain.
When I got home, I quickly threw myself into the phone book, without even wiping my shoes. It took me a while to find his name, but he was a local. I have to say that I use a paper directory and not one of those on the Internet. That’s just the way it is! I’m old school. So I decided to call him on my way out again. To be honest, I’d just remembered I had an urgent errand to run. Yes, I know! I’m an airhead and clearly could have gone on my first run. But what can I say? God made me that way! Anyway! I won’t hide the fact that it was quite complicated to dial the number while holding the handle of the umbrella. The name was written vertically rather than horizontally, which was rather annoying. Fortunately, I was able to work it out and call the person.
As I recall, I waited about ten seconds before someone picked up on the other end of the line. I think it was the weirdest conversation I’ve ever had. From what I remember, it went something like this:
“Hello? Who’s calling?
“Hello! I’m calling about the umbrella!”
“That’s great! We’ve been waiting for your call! It took you a while to find the number!”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Come on, don’t be silly! You know very well this is an event not to be missed! Many would kill to attend! It’s not something to be taken lightly!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I found this umbrella by accident and…”
“Oh, please! Cut the crap! I’m not in the mood for jokes! And remember, the event will take place at the address, date and time indicated.”
“No! You don’t understand! I’m not here to…”
“Enough talk! Just follow the directions and everything will be fine!”
“What directions?!”
“On the umbrella, of course! Anyway! Be on time! Nobody wants to miss such a show! “Inadvertently”! I’ve never heard that one before!”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute! I don’t see anything on the umbrella and… Hello?”
He hung up. This guy was really weird. I took cover and looked at the umbrella more closely. I think it took me about thirty seconds to notice the markings on its long metal shaft. As the man had said, there was indeed an address, a date and a time. As for the name, I won’t give you the address. I’d like to avoid problems as much as possible. I can, however, give you the date and time of the appointment: it was the next day at 2.30pm. As I walked along, I thought about whether I should go or not. On the one hand, the guy’s call had chilled me a bit and made me not want to go. On the other hand, I had to return the umbrella to its owner. The last thing I wanted was to look like a thief in the eyes of that man! It’s in my nature; I hate making a bad impression. I think one day, my honesty will get me killed. So, as you might have guessed, I decided to go to that appointment.
As on the previous day, a torrential downpour fell on the city. This time, I was smart enough to pack my K-way. Of course, I also took the umbrella I was always holding in my hand. I managed not to forget this detail, fortunately. The road was rather long and the place was on the outskirts of town. An hour by bus separated my home from the meeting place. During this time, the rain gradually eased off. On arrival, I admired a gigantic mansion with beautiful gardens. It must be said that I wasn’t used to seeing this kind of luxury home. The guys who were supposed to be guests were probably loaded. So I made my way to the door, opened it and was greeted by a butler of sorts. He scrutinized me from head to toe before speaking:
“You are?”
“I’ve come for the umbrella. I found it on the bus and…”
“Your name, sir. Other guests are waiting.”
“What’s my name? My name is…”
I stopped dead in my tracks. I hesitated to give them my real name. I don’t know if it was the strange call or the butler, but I felt I’d better not give my name. Suddenly, the butler approached me to grab the umbrella and briefly contemplate it:
“Good to see you, Mr. O.! We were afraid you’d be gone. Please head for the garden. Mr. A. will join you very soon.”
“How many times do I have to tell you! I’m not a guest! I’ve come to return this umbrella to its owner and…”
“Forgive me, sir, but I don’t have time for childishness. Other guests are waiting. If you’ll excuse me…”
He snubbed me completely and moved on to someone else. I didn’t even have time to get a word in edgewise. These people were all really weird and I know I should have left it at that. However, part of me was curious to know what a society party was like. Plus, I was getting tired of looking for the owner of the umbrella. So it was for these moderately legitimate reasons that I stayed. I remember having to cross a long, wide corridor before landing in the gardens I’d glimpsed earlier. Surprisingly, about fifteen people were already present. As I had assumed, they were all at the top of the social pyramid. You only had to look at their clothes to know that. Their faces were clearly those of people you’d never meet on the street. However, they didn’t seem to notice me. This was rather surprising, especially with my cheap K-way on my back. Usually, it’s the kind of outfit that doesn’t go unnoticed by the wealthy. Nevertheless, I wasn’t complaining. I never liked drawing attention to myself. In the end, I hung around in the garden for about twenty minutes, throwing myself on the buffet provided. I hope you don’t mind. Stressful situations make me hungry.
Just as I was wolfing down the umpteenth small oven, a man arrived to the applause of the guests. I assumed it was the famous Monsieur A. Not wanting to stand out, I decided to applaud with my mouth full. To describe him a little, I’d say he was in his late fifties, and his most obvious physical feature was his hair and thin grey moustache. He also wore a suit and tie, which, in my opinion, suited him like a glove. You could tell from his appearance that he was a charismatic man. Perhaps that’s a trait shared by all mid-life billionaires. After the applause, he took the stage to deliver a speech of sorts:
“My dear friends! Today is a day to remember. After years of hard work and maturation, you and I can finally enjoy the most dazzling spectacle of our lives. I can’t hide the fact that I feel a certain nostalgia as this event approaches. For generations, a jealously guarded secret has been passed down in my family. My great-great-grandfather once travelled the world in search of flowers whose characteristics make other exotic plants seem bland by comparison. It was on a trip to an island near Oceania that he met a very peculiar tribe. They worshipped a plant whose pollen had invigorating properties when inhaled. Naturally, after a bit of research, he found a way to bring it back home to cultivate it and enjoy its benefits. Unfortunately, his contemporaries all took him for a madman, and he was soon ostracized from society. It’s infuriating to even think about! However, I now know that all his efforts were not in vain. Thanks to him, we’re going to enjoy an extraordinary experience, one that will be forever engraved in our minds. In his memory, let’s give him a big round of applause!”
Everyone started clapping in unison, except me, of course, who reacted two seconds too late. After the applause, Mr. A. spoke again:
“Without further ado, let’s start hatching these famous plants! Remove the tarpaulin, please!”
I imitated the other guests and walked over to a tarpaulin I hadn’t noticed. One of the butlers removed it to reveal hundreds of very unusual flowers. They were all made up of a large number of red petals with razor-sharp tips. Mr. A. then nodded and another butler walked over to a lever on a wall:
“Ladies and Gentlemen! Open your umbrellas!”
Everyone complied and Mr. A. began a countdown:
“Five! Four! Three! Two! One! Open the valves!”
Suddenly, sprinklers high above us sprayed plants and guests with a purple-colored liquid I didn’t recognize. As a stream of the liquid trickled down our umbrellas, we stared intently at the flowers in front of us. After a few minutes, their petals began to open and release a sort of scarlet pollen that invaded the entire garden. Guests exclaimed with delight as they inhaled deeply to inhale the pollen. I tried in vain to hold my breath as long as possible. I’m not naive either. I had no reason to take this guy’s word for it about the benefits of this flower. Unfortunately, I ended up inhaling the pollen.
At first, I panicked that it would have harmful effects on my body. Then I started to feel better and better. It was strange, but I’d never felt better in my life. I even felt like I could do a jump and fly through the air. I don’t know if that was good or bad, but the fact is that I felt soothed. Nevertheless, it didn’t help my small bladder problem. That’s what happens when you have one glass of champagne after another. So I slipped away to the little corner. It was hard to find your way around this mansion. The corridors all looked the same, and there was no butler to show the way to the bathroom.
As I passed through one of the corridors, I heard a noise. At first, it was barely perceptible, but as I went on, the noise became louder and louder. Finally, when I reached one of the corridor doors, the noise became perfectly audible. I felt chills as I heard it. It was moaning. It was as if someone was being burned to a crisp. I turned my head to either side of the corridor to check that no one was there, then plucked up my courage and opened the door. I almost screamed in terror.
As I entered the room, I saw a man connected by dozens of very fine pipes to some kind of large white machine. The man looked practically bloodless, and for good reason: the pipes were pumping out all his blood. I don’t know by what miracle, but he managed to direct his livid gaze at me and speak in a dry, hoarse voice:
“Help me…”
“Oh my God! Stay with me! What are they doing to you?”
“They… They took me…”
“Why are they taking your blood?!”
“The… The flowers…”
He suddenly directed his gaze to the room’s only window. As I approached, I saw that it overlooked the garden where the guests were. After that, I turned my attention back to the machine. A large metal pipe protruded from it and extended inside one of the room’s walls. It was then that I had an epiphany. The window was exactly where the sprinklers had been earlier. Making the connection with everything I’d just seen, I felt like throwing up. Nevertheless, I pulled myself together when I saw the poor man again and reassured him:
“Don’t worry, sir! I’ll get help! I promise!”
I discreetly left the room, closing the door behind me. I made sure no one saw me in the corridors, then headed for the main exit. When I finally found myself outside, I immediately ran to get far enough away from the mansion. After that, I called the police, who took about an hour to arrive. Unfortunately, it was already too late.
All the guests had disappeared without a trace, as had the man connected by pipes. The machine and the flowers were gone. Even the names of Mr. A. and Mr. O. were false and belonged to people who had died recently. The only proof I had was the blood of the bloodless man that covered the umbrella and the garden floor. It was later discovered that he was a garage owner who had disappeared a few months earlier in the area. To this day, I feel guilty for not staying with him. To think that I’d promised him he’d be all right. Just thinking about it haunts me. However, what terrifies me even more is knowing that somewhere in the country, another unfortunate person is being tortured to grow these cursed flowers.