Garden Hand & Mischief Duck, Snickering (Short Story)

The garden party was alive with laughter, the gentle murmur of fountains, and the soft strains of a string quartet. Sunlight filtered through the trees, casting dappled patches of orange and gold on the lawn. She reached out to take a strawberry tart when the music abruptly stopped—like a silver basketball sliced in half by a blade.

All the guests froze. The fountain in the center of the garden continued to flow, but in its crystal-clear waters, a pink-and-black hand slowly emerged. Its movements were graceful yet uncanny, joints bending elegantly, fingertips tracing patterns in the air that defied description. It climbed along the edge of the fountain as if reaching out from another world, exuding an unsettling allure.

Whispers rippled through the crowd. Her heart seemed lodged in her throat. Just as she tried to step back, a stranger’s voice spoke—not from the fountain, but from the champagne glass in her hand: *“You shouldn’t be here.”*

Twists, fun and surprises is await!

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