As the chilled hands of winter relinquished their grip, and the ghost-like frost of dawn withdrew from the early morning, there occurred a terrific transformation on the shores of Lake Burley Griffin. The earth, once still and barren, brimmed with fresh life — flowers of every hue rose from the soil as though children of the land itself. Sculptures, grand and foreboding, towered over Commonwealth Park. Silent sentinels watching the floral spectacle below. This year the flowers, restless and impatient, bloomed far too early, coaxed by unseasonable warmth.

Beneath the full moon’s cold, spectral gaze, two figures slipped silently into the deserted grounds of the festival, their hands intertwined. The park appeared barren without its bustling energy, the laughing families, vibrant music, and scent of local spirits. Nothing besides the flowers remained. Their colours, pale and haunting, seemed almost sickly.

Tulips, daisies, and marigolds swayed gently in the breeze, moved as though by a phantom’s breath. 

“It’s different at night,” she whispered, a grin tugging uncomfortably at her lips. 

He chuckled, his eyes scanning the dark paths. “There’s definitely something a little otherworldly about it.”

They stalked deeper into the fields, the lonely light of the moon their only guide. Shadows stretched long and strange. The flowers bloomed in silence around them. She spotted a prop shovel leaning against one of the display carts and snatched it up with a playful smirk.

“Well, I could always dig us out of here if things got too spooky.”

He laughed as she messed around with the shovel. “What’s your favourite flower here?” he asked, motioning to the endless rows.

“Hmmm… I’ve always liked sunflowers,” she said, pausing to tap the shovel against the ground and craning her neck towards the moon in a slow search. “It’s the way that they follow the sun, you know? I guess I just think they’re kind of neat, and pretty too.”

“Yeah I guess,” he said. “I always found the way they move a little creepy.”

They wandered a little deeper into silence.

“Do you ever wonder what happens to all these flowers when the festival’s over? Do you reckon they just leave them here to die, or are they all carted off somewhere, or does some really hungry caterpillar just show up at the end and eat the entire park?”

He shrugged. “I’d imagine they get recycled. Maybe turned into compost? Used again next year?”

“But what if this is the last time?”

“What?”

Shadows danced across her face. “No, but, think about it. With everything that’s going on with the planet? I mean, you can’t really expect it to go on forever. It’s going to have to stop one day. And something tells me it’s going to be sooner, not later.”

As they walked on, they noticed an ensemble of small figures scattered throughout the flower beds. Gnomes. Frozen in grins or grimaces, with their little ceramic hands and their pointy hats.

“Why do you think people love these things?” he asked, kneeling in front of one. “I’ve never been much of a fan. Elves on shelves, gnomes, porcelain dolls… they’ve always felt weird, always given me the heebie-jeebies.”

She hovered behind him, eyeing the little creatures. “I know, right? They always look like they’re about to move.” She laughed, swinging the shovel over her shoulder.

He leaned closer to one of the statues. “If they do start to – start to move, that is, they’ll go for you first… I’m sure you’d be much tastier.”

Suddenly, a rustling from behind. She jumped first, dropping the shovel accidentally. He turned, heart pounding, as a shadow darted past them. She pointed, her voice shaky. “It’s right there! I swear I saw something!” His pulse slowed as he spotted the culprit.

Its form was slight and hunched, shrouded in a matted coat with beady, coal-black eyes that gleamed with sinister intelligence and reflected the faintest glimmers of moonlight.

“It’s just a possum,” he said, his relief quickly turning into a laugh. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

She exhaled, her hand clutching her chest. “I don’t like how quiet it is out here.”

He looked back, and his smile vanished. The gnome in front of him was gone.

He blinked, glancing around. “Wait… where did—”

Before he could finish the sentence, something tugged at his shirt. He looked down to see another gnome, its face twisted, its eyes black and sinister. The ceramic hands gripped his sleeve, yanking hard.

“Run!” he shouted, stumbling backward. But more gnomes were already crawling toward him, their movements jerky and unnatural. Tiny hands grabbed his legs, pulling him to the ground. He kicked and struggled, but the gnomes were much stronger than they looked, and it seemed as if there were an endless number.

At that moment, his life likely would have been simply and singularly extinguished were it not for the shovel which was fiercely swung down. Two or three gnomes shattered into pieces, their colourful ceramic shards flying through the air as warm black blood dripped from their scuffed shells.

“Get up!” she yelled, smashing another one as it crawled toward her. She yanked him to his feet, and they ran, weaving between the rows of flowers.

But the ground beneath them was shifting. Roots erupted from the earth like ancient serpents, one coiling around her ankle and dragging her down. She cried out, clawing at the dirt. He turned and rushed back to her, but as he reached out to help, the flowers themselves began to move.

Their stems twisted together, weaving into a massive, towering figure. The bulbs began to rot and smell foul. The once-beautiful blooms melted into a grotesque creature, its body a writhing mass of petals and vines, laced with dirt and insects. It rose high, standing like a man on two stocky legs sunken deep into the earth, casting a dark shadow over the field.

A voice, deep and ancient, echoed from the figure, filling the air of the empty festival grounds. What it said was primal and true. The flowers surged forward while they both scrambled backwards, tripping over the roots as they tried to escape. The wind picked up suddenly, swirling around them in a wild gust. 

As quickly as it had started, the wind scattered the flowers into the air. Petals were torn from their stems, swirling up into the night sky until nothing was left but an empty, silent field.