Hank Murphy spotted the strange weed growing near the end of a row of yellow crookneck squash.  He raised the hoe to chop down the offending weed, paused for a moment, then had a second thought.  He kneeled down for a closer look.
A closer inspection revealed that it was a strange plant indeed.  Hank, a retired auto worker, was only a backyard gardener and knew little about plants. For all he knew this might be a common weed in Florida. 
He and Gail, along with her invalid Uncle Charlie, had left Detroit for their dream house in the country in northeast Florida.  They got the old farmhouse for a bargain, but spent a chunk of their savings to have it renovated.  It was bounded on three sides by pines and palmettos, with Farm Road 1138 running in front of the property.
Hank had seen lots of plants in Florida that didn’t grow in Michigan, and this was probably just another one.  But he decided to leave it there to see what developed.  He was hot and sweaty and decided to call it a day.
Corky, their little mixed spaniel, greeted him as he entered the house.  He pulled a cold Pepsi from the refrigerator and joined Gail, who was watching TV in the living room.  She had taken an interest in tracking storms and was watching the Weather Channel. 
“What’s Hurricane Belle doing now?”  He plopped down on the sofa beside her.
“She’s east of Miami moving northwest.  If she stays on course, we could get a direct hit.” 
“Suppose I’d better go into town tomorrow and get some emergency supplies.”
“Not a bad idea,” she said.  “All finished fencing the garden?”
“I got all the posts in the ground.  All I need to do is staple on the mesh wire and it’s done.  It should be good enough to stop those wild pigs and other critters that like to visit our garden.  By the way, you should see the strange weed that popped up in the garden.”
Uncle Charlie hobbled into the room with the aid of his walker.  “Don’t know why you damn fools chose to move down here in this forsaken place.  Wild animals come out of the woods.  And snakes, too.  I’m scared to leave the damned house.”
“You were always complaining about the ice and snow up in Michigan,” said Gail.  She turned to Hank.  “What about this strange weed?”
“It’s kind of like an upside down celery with a little green bulb on top.  Little tendrils, sort of like earthworms, were growing out of the bulb and squirming around like they were alive.  I left it there to see what happens.”
“Just another one of them infernal Florida weeds,” said Uncle Charlie.  “Can’t we get something else on the TV besides weather?”

The next morning, Hank was surprised to find that the plant had nearly doubled in size.  It was almost knee high and the bulb was the size of a softball.  The tendrils had grown larger, and a little cup--like a suction cup--had developed at the end of each tendril.
As he watched, one of the tendrils started moving.  It was snaking out of the bulb and reaching out toward the nearest squash plant.  He was both horrified and fascinated as the tendril found a rat hiding under the squash plant.  It entwined itself around the rat and fastened its cup to the rodent’s throat.  The rat struggled for a few seconds, and then was still.  The tendril remained attached to the rat for a few more seconds before detaching itself and withdrawing.  Hank noticed a raw, bloody spot on the rat’s throat.
Hank jumped as he was startled by a noise behind him.  He turned to see Gail coming to join him.
She laughed.  “Didn’t mean to scare you.  Goodness but you’re jumpy this morning.”
“I just watched this thing suck the life out of a rat,” he said.  “It must be related to the Venus fly trap or something--but I never heard of them killing anything as big as a rat.”
Gail stared at the plant.  “My Lord.  It is a strange weed.  You should ask some of the locals about it.  Maybe they know what it is.”
“Thanks but no thanks.  It’d probably be something common around here, and I’d be the butt of their jokes for years.  Guess I ought to chop it down, but I’m curious.  I’ll wait a while and see what happens.”
They returned to the house to find Uncle Charlie watching the news.  Corky was curled up in front of the TV.
“Damned hurricane coming,” he said.  “We didn’t worry about the damned things in Michigan.”  He cursed and went into a coughing spasm.  Corky got up and left the room.
“Damned dog.  If I had the strength I’d boot the mutt out of the house.”
“Don’t talk like that, Uncle Charlie,” said Gail.  “Corky’s a good dog.”
“You think more of that mutt than you do of me.  I’m going to my room.”  He fended off Hank’s efforts to help him up, struggled to his feet, and hobbled out.
“The old man’s starting to get on my nerves,” said Hank.  “He never shows the slightest appreciation for us taking care of him.  We ought to put him in a nursing home.”
“I know, but I made a promise to Mom before she died.  And keep in mind that the doctors have given him less than a year.”  She got up.  “I’ll go into the kitchen and fix lunch before you go into town for supplies.”

The next morning the sky was dark and the wind was picking up.  Hank headed for his garden patch to finish the fence and check on the strange plant.  As he approached the garden, he was astounded to see that the plant had reached his own height, perhaps a little taller.  The bulb on top was  as large as a basketball, and the tendrils were snake-like.  The suction cups were as large as tea cups.
Hank stopped dead in his tracks when he saw a dead wild pig lying near the plant.  He could see a raw, red spot on the animal’s throat.  He turned and hurried back to the house.
“My Lord, Hank, what’s the matter?  You look like you’ve seen the Devil himself.”
“It’s the plant.  That thing killed a wild pig.”  He picked up the phone book.  “I’m going to call the county agricultural agent.  Maybe they’ll know something.”
The agent listened to Hank’s account of what had happened.  “If you’re not putting me on,” she said, “I can tell you for certain that there’s no such plant native to Florida--or anywhere else that I know of.  I can’t help you, but I’m going to give you a number to call.  It’s the U.S. Government Agricultural Experimental Station--not too far from your place. I hear they’re doing genetic experiments over there, and it may have something to do with your plant.”
The U.S. government agent, Stan Watson, listened politely, and then denied any knowledge of the plant.  “Of course, we’ll send someone out to investigate,” he said, “but we’ll have to wait until this storm blows over.  In the meantime, don’t worry about the plant, but I’d advise you to stay clear of it.”
The agent hung up, and a few moments later the phone rang.  “This is Stan Watson at the experimental station.  I’m calling you back from my private cell phone.  The official phone is bugged, so I couldn’t say much.  But I felt that you should be warned that the plant you have is extremely dangerous.  We’re not really sure of what it’s capable of doing.  And, Mr. Murphy, be advised that this conversation never took place.  I’ll deny that I called you back.”
“Nothing will come from me,” said Hank.  “But I’d like to know just one thing.  How on Earth did that thing get in my garden?”
“The only explanation is that a bird somehow got into our facility and ate some of the seeds, then dropped one in your garden.  It needs an ideal place to take root, and your garden provided it.
“I’d like to remind you once more that I never called you back.” 
Hank hung up and turned to see Uncle Charlie standing near, leaning on his walker.
“I overheard your talk about that plant,” he said.  “I think you’re either hallucinating or you’re nuts.  Ain’t no way a plant can kill a pig.  Those people are gonna have a laugh when they come to check it out.”
“I don’t give a tinker’s damn what you think, old man.”
“You don’t give a tinker’s damn about me--period.  You’d be happy to see me buried, wouldn’t you?”
“Look--I’m sorry, Uncle Charlie.  With all that’s been happening, my nerves are on edge.”
Gail called from the kitchen.  “Lunch will be ready in a few minutes.  You two wash up and get ready.”
Hank washed up and joined Gail in the dining room.  “Where’s Uncle Charlie?” she asked.
“Probably sulking in his room.  I’m afraid I got a little short with him.”
Gail sighed.  “I’ll go get him.  He’ll come if he’s hungry.”
A few moments later she returned.  “He’s not in the house.  See if you can find him outside--he shouldn’t be out in this kind of weather.”
Hank peered out the window.  “My God.  The old fool’s headed for the garden.”  He could see the frail old man pushing his walker.
Hank ran to the tool shed and grabbed a machete.  With the wind at his back, he sped toward the garden.  But he was too late--a tendril had reached Uncle Charlie and was coiled around him with the cup attached to his chest. 
With all his strength, Hank brought the machete down on the tendril.  He severed the tendril, and as he grabbed the old man to pull him back, another tendril was snaking toward them.  He managed to pull Uncle Charlie out of reach of the tendril, then jerked the suction cup loose from his chest.
Uncle Charlie was gasping--he was still alive.  With the wind now in his face, Hank struggled to get the old man back to the house.  Gail helped to get him into his room and into bed.
“Where’s my walker?  Didn’t you bring the damn thing?  How am I gonna get around?”
“It’s your own fault,” said Gail.  “You’ll have to do without until after the storm.  What on Earth were you doing out there anyway?”
“I wanted to see that damned Florida weed for myself.  Just proves we should never have left Michigan.”
Gail examined his chest.  “He looks okay except for a few red lesions where the cup fastened onto him.  We’ll get him to a doctor after the storm blows over.”
“Damned if you will!”  Uncle Charlie raised up from his bed and slammed his feet on the floor.  “I never felt better.  I don’t even need the damned walker any more.”  He rose and walked briskly around the room.  “See?  Now I’ll thank you two to get out of my room and leave me alone.”
Gail rushed to him.  “Uncle Charlie!”
He pushed her away.  “I said to leave me alone.”
Hank took her arm.  “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

Gail poured two cups of coffee and joined Hank in the living room.  “Was it my imagination, or did Uncle Charlie look strange?”
“I thought it was my imagination, too.  But his skin seemed to be taking on a greenish tint, and his face looked a lot more wrinkled.”
“And he lost his glasses out there as well as his walker,” Gail added.  “He never even noticed, and he’s almost blind without them.  What do you make of it, Hank?”
“I’m almost afraid to say, but I wonder if that weed had anything to do with it.”
At that moment the TV went out and the air conditioner stopped.  Gail flipped the light switch.  “No power.  Good thing you got those emergency...”
Corky’s growling and barking interrupted her as Uncle Charlie entered the room.  Gail’s eyes widened.  She dropped her coffee and her hand went to her mouth.  Uncle Charlie was not recognizable.  His skin was pale green, and his face was wrinkled to the point of being grotesque.  His chest was bare, and several small tendrils were sprouting from the spot where the plant had fastened to his chest.          
His bulging eyes looked neither right nor left as he walked straight to the door.  He jerked the bolted door open, ripping the barrel bolt from the door frame, and walked out into the storm.
Hank recovered from his shock and ran to the door.  Struggling against the wind and rain, he managed to push the door shut and prop a chair under the knob to hold it.
Gail ran to him and held him.  “Oh my God, Hank.  Was that...that thing Uncle Charlie?  What’s happening to him?”
“I’m not sure, but I don’t think that’s Uncle Charlie any more--it’s a creature of that plant.”  He told her of his conversation with the government agent. 
“The thing was growing tendrils, and they could be fully developed in a matter of hours.  I’d better get the .45 from the gun cabinet in case that thing comes back.” 
The gun cabinet held a surplus army .45 and a surplus army carbine, but the carbine had long since quit working.  He withdrew the pistol and found two rounds in the clip.  He cursed himself for not buying ammo when he went into town for supplies.
He returned to the living room to find that Gail had laid out the emergency supplies, including lanterns, a portable gas cooker, a radio and other items.  She already had the radio on and tuned to the weather.
“I called 911 and told them someone was trying to break in.  I couldn’t tell them the truth or they would think I’m nuts.  The dispatcher said they were swamped with calls, but she took our name and address.”
“That figures.  They probably can’t keep up with half their calls during a hurricane.  Anyway, it’d be blind luck if the deputies happened to arrive at the same time that the creature returned.  Any news on the hurricane?”
“We’re in its path, but it’s not a hurricane now.  It’s down to sixty mph winds.  They expect the eye to hit here around midnight.”  She looked at the pistol.  “I hope we won’t have to use that.  I know that thing’s some kind of monster, but Uncle Charlie’s in it somewhere.”
“I know,” he said, “but I doubt he’s aware of it.  That thing has taken your uncle, and I don’t think we’ll see him again.  If it comes back, I’ll have to shoot.  But I found only two bullets, and I just hope they haven’t deteriorated with age and become misfires.”

Nightfall came, and they lit the lanterns.  Gail heated a can of chicken noodle soup and made some ham sandwiches.  The wind still howled and the rain drummed on the roof as they ate.
“Whenever you feel sleepy,” he said, “you can go to sleep.  I’ll stay awake, so don’t worry.”
“Not a chance.  No way I’m going to sleep.  We’ll both stay up.  Where do you think that thing went?”
“I wish I knew.  It’s a plant growing inside a human body, and who knows what kind of instincts guide it?  In any case, let’s hope it doesn’t come back here.”

Shortly before 1:00 AM the winds died down.  “We’re in the eye now,” said Gail.  “We’ll have a period of calm for a while.  Feel like more coffee?”
Before Hank could answer, a low growl came from the throat of Corky.  Hank’s hand went for the .45 as Gail reached for the butcher knife she kept handy.
Without warning, the thing burst through the door, shattering the chair propped up against it.  The thing that had been uncle Charlie now only vaguely resembled a human being.  Its tendrils, now fully developed, resembled writhing snakes growing from its chest, each complete with a suction cup.
Hank raised the .45, aimed, and squeezed the trigger.  His heart went to his throat as he heard a dead click come from the weapon.  He saw the tendril coming toward him as his fingers fumbled to eject the misfire and chamber the remaining round.  He knew he wouldn’t have time.
He saw a streak as Corky went for the thing’s leg.  It withdrew the tendril as it tried to shake the snarling dog from its leg.  The distraction gave Hank time to chamber the remaining bullet.  Again, he aimed and squeezed the trigger.  A deafening roar told him that this one was no misfire.
The thing fell to the floor with half its head blown off.  Unbelievably, the thing was trying to raise itself up when Gail attacked with the knife.  She stabbed its back repeatedly until it lay still.  Corky was still snarling and chewing on the thing’s leg.
From far off they heard a siren, and minutes later they saw a flashing blue light approaching.
“We’re gonna have a helluva tale for ‘em ,” said Hank, “but they’ll have no choice but to believe us when they see this thing.”
“Poor Uncle Charlie.”  Gail looked toward the ceiling.  “But Mom knows I did what I had to do.”