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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Trash_Tia on 2024-09-17 19:42:00+00:00.

I need to talk about my sister’s roommates before I go completely insane.

A few days ago, my older sister (28) stopped returning my texts and calls.

As the youngest sibling at twenty five, I felt weirdly responsible, so I decided to check on her.

Rosie has always been stubborn, so ghosting me instead of explaining what was going on was pretty in character for her.

Still, nearly a week had gone by without a word from her—not even a mediocre TikTok, which screamed millennial.

I hadn’t had a chance to visit her new place yet.

Life got in the way, and I was struggling with some pretty intense depressive episodes when she had her housewarming party.

Mom spent three hours freaking out over her gift to Rosie—an exotic plant she’d bought online. She wanted it to be the perfect gift, but apparently, the other attendees showered my sister in expensive silverware and paperweights.

Still, Rosie is obsessed with plants, so it was the perfect housewarming gift.

I didn’t realize the severity of my sister’s infatuation until I was standing on her doorstep, face-to-face with an overgrown lily, its leaves spiking me in the forehead.

There was no flower garden—the house was too small. Instead, someone had planted flowers between the cracks in the concrete path leading to the door. I almost felt bad for stepping on them.

But when I reached the door, I noticed vines creeping through the frame and snaking up the walls. I knocked, swallowing my nerves.

Rosie had three roommates, all of whom were college friends I had never met.

I had, however, heard enough about them to feel like I knew them better than they knew themselves.

Ever since we were kids, Rosie had attached herself to various obsessions, becoming hyper-fixated with TV shows, actors, singers, plants, and now, her friends.

Every time she came for dinner, it was never about how she was or her life.

Rosie talked about her friends with a sparkle in her eye, her smile broadening every time she mentioned them—which made me wonder if the four of them were, in fact, more than just friends.

When the door swung open, I was hit in the face with an overpowering scent—too strong, too intoxicating.

It bled into my nostrils, clinging to the back of my throat, almost choking me.

Somehow, though, it pulled me in, teasing me to take a deep inhale, allowing each aroma to fill my lungs, suffocating me further. The guy who peeked through the narrow gap looked closer to my age—mid-twenties.

His sandy-colored hair was a shoddy mess, as if he’d run his fingers through it too many times, with noticeably greasy, wayward strands entangled with—daisies?

I found myself entranced by each individual flower sitting comfortably on the crown of his head. His smile was crooked and knowing, one eyebrow raised, almost like he was expecting me.

I thought my sister was exaggerating when she described him as having “plant boy energy,” but I had to agree—though not for the reasons you might think.

Yes, he was wearing a flower crown, and I was starting to think this was where my sister’s infatuation had stemmed from, but this guy was filthy.

His short-sleeved tee was no longer white, no longer any color at all—just a smear of dirt ingrained in the fabric, clinging to his visibly clammy skin.

I don’t think he had showered in weeks—maybe even months. When he swatted a fly buzzing around his head, I found myself staring at his feet.

He was barefoot, dirt caked between his toenails. He looked almost high, his pupils visibly dilated as he swayed back and forth, swinging on the door.

High on that smell, maybe?

High enough to forget basic hygiene?

I found my voice, my own hands growing slick with sweat.

“Hi,” I said, trying not to stare at his feet. “I’m—”

“Posie.”

The guy’s smile widened, his voice smooth, almost melodic, which only strengthened my theory that my sister and her roommates were unknowingly getting high off that smell.

I didn’t think he’d know me by my childhood nickname, yet he cocked his head slowly, as if I were a puzzle he was struggling to solve. I can’t fully explain it, but this man did not like me.

His smile was friendly enough, but it felt patronizing, as though he were being forced to talk to me.

He was giving off high school mean-girl vibes, his lips pricking into a smile, his eyes raking me up and down like he wasn’t covered in dirt.

He was laughing at me, squeezing his lips together to try and hide it, and painfully failing. “You’re Rosie’s older sister.”

“Poppy,” I corrected him.

His smile didn’t waver. “Interesting choice of name.”

“I didn’t choose it,” I quipped back. “Can I talk to my sister?”

He shrugged. “She’s not available right now.”

I nodded patiently, though this guy was slowly getting on my nerves. His gaze never faltered, like he was drinking all of me in with just a single glance. “Can I come in?”

“It’s Noah.”

“I didn’t ask.”

His lips curved into a smirk. “It’s common courtesy.”

“Can I just see my sister?” I swallowed a yell. “Please?”

He rolled his eyes, exaggerating a sigh. “Urgh, but then I’d have to climb up the stairs.”

I could sense my smile thinning. “You’re in your mid-twenties.”

He shrugged. “Exactly. Halfway to thirty.”

“Can I see my sister?”

“She’s tied up with something.”

“Okay, then, can I come in and see her myself?”

His smile didn’t waver. “We have a lot of plants.”

“I know.”

“You miiiiiight get overwhelmed.”

“I’m fine.” I said. “I can deal with a few flowers.”

Something in his expression twitched suddenly, the quirk of a genuine smile. Whatever face he was wearing on top of his face began to splinter, making way to the boy underneath, who’s expression brightened at the mere mention of flowers.

“Do you… like flowers?”

When I didn’t respond, he straightened up, mockingly bowing and gesturing me through.

“Come on in! But don’t say I didn’t warn ya.” He winked, settling me with that infuriating smile.

When I hesitated, he danced back inside, and down the hallway. I followed, transfixed by the amount of plants.

When the door slammed shut behind me, I jumped, but Noah just laughed, commenting about a faulty hinge.

I could sense his gaze following me, immediately triumphant.

He was right. I was immediately overwhelmed by the sheer amount of green in my face, leaves tangling with my hair and prickling my bare arms.

When I had to push through overgrown leaves to follow Noah, tripping over flowering buds growing through cracks in flooring, I knew my sister and her equally insane roommate were at the point of no return.

This house was more suited to plants than humans.

I took slow steps, drinking in every flower, every mini tree, mushroom—everything that she could grow, she had.

My sister had turned their hallway into a mini rainforest. I caught a spider scuttling across my arm and brushed it off.

The further I delved into the house, the more obvious it became that my sister’s plant obsession was going a little too far.

Noah, unfazed by the dirt caked into the carpet and spider webs clinging to every wall, coaxed me into what I guessed was a kitchen. But there was far too much green—entangled vines and leaves hanging from the ceiling and sticking from the walls—to prepare food.

There was a refrigerator and an oven, but like everything else, they were caked in dirt.

I was half aware that I was standing under a giant sunflower growing from the ceiling. Under my feet, what was left of kitchen tiles had been removed to fill with fresh soil. Noah gave me a small tour, and somehow it got worse.

The upstairs was out of bounds, apparently, but I did see the stairs, and that was enough. Whatever was growing on the floor was spreading, tangled through every piece of furniture, every splash of paintwork, and eventually, had found the ceiling, spider webbing into the kitchen and beyond.

Noah was a fairly decent tour guide, though he did stop at every single fucking plant, perfectly naming it and telling me of its origins.

He led me into a lounge area that was again suffocated by plants.

I was pretty sure these kids had planted grass inside their living room to accommodate a variety of strangely colored flowers blooming from every corner. There was a semblance of a living space, with a shabby couch in front of a television screen gathering dust.

I glimpsed a girl in yellow knelt in front of the window, bathing in the rich afternoon sunlight, her head tipped back, eyes closed, dark brown curls tangled with roses flowing down the curve of her spine.

The bright yellow was her dress, a discolored curtain sculpted to an almost skeletal figure.

She was beautiful, and yet her beauty didn’t slide into the usual standards.

When she slightly turned her head, presumably to drink in the sunlight, letting it caress every inch of her face, I noticed her angular nose and crooked teeth. Somehow, though, she fit perfectly inside this room as one of the flowers.

Looking closer, something twisted in my gut.

She was in the same state as Noah. Her hair was in a matted, entangled disarray.

I could tell she hadn’t showered in a while, stewing in the exact same dress, which almost framed her, bleeding into her, binding itself to her skin.

“Noah.” Her voice was a sigh, and I detected the soft cadence of a British accent. The girl’s eyes flickered, her lips pricking into a smile. She shook her head, enjoying streaks of sunlight pricking her cheeks. This girl…

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