On Monday, he found scattered seeds.
On Tuesday, crooked canes.
On Wednesday, tangled twine.
By Saturday, stood amongst the dusty disarray, Howard knew exactly who was to blame.
‘I’m sorry, Trevor. I should never have cheated. I swapped our marrows over. I admit it.’
A watering can nodded in agreement, then levitated. It sprinkled Howard with stagnant water until he was soaked.
Behind him, the metal plaque (a silly gift from his grandchildren) clanged three times. On it, the now ominous message ‘Never mess with a gardener.’