I used to work as a debt collector. It’s a job that gets a bad rap, and sometimes understandably so, but the firm I worked for was one of the better ones. Not only were we highly rated, but our means of collecting were more humane and personal. We didn’t just show up and take things; we offered personalized payment plans, consultation, and ways to get your things back within a reasonable timeframe.
Still, at the end of the day, it was about the money. And no matter what, people are going to be upset. They’re going to lose things.
You see a lot of misery in this line of work. Substance abuse, violence, neglect… a lot of desperate people doing desperate things. Your presence there is just another problem in a long line of problems. People don’t go into this kind of debt willingly, and I can promise that they’ve made every possible attempt to get out of it. But sometimes, your best isn’t enough. That’s when I come knocking.
But I want to talk about a particular case that I ran into last year. By then I’d worked with debt collection for 18 months, and I was starting to get into the rhythm of things. It was a late Minnesota spring; the kind where you can get blinded by the sun while shivering from the snow-mixed rainfall. Where the ground turns to slush; staining the edge of your jeans and soaking through your shoes.
I had a case assigned to me about a mismanaged credit card debt. It was unusual to begin with. The guy was a lot younger than my usual clientele, and most of his history was squeaky clean. No unpaid parking tickets, medical bills, or student loans. He’d just taken out a massive charge on his credit card and clocked out. Since then, no one had been able to reach him.
I’d looked up his last known address, which he’d moved from weeks prior. He’d changed location to a rented townhouse, which he stayed at using fake credentials. It didn’t take long for me to confirm his new home. He still used the same car, which I could spot in the driveway from halfway down the street.
He was renting a shared townhouse. It’s a two-story building where one tenant stays on the bottom floor, and the other stays on the second. Each tenant had their own entrance so the two spaces wouldn’t intersect. For all intents and purposes, it was his own place – just as part of a complete house. This lead me to my first issue; identifying which floor was his.
I knocked on the door on the bottom floor. I waited for a couple of minutes before knocking again, thinking no one was home. I was just about to walk away when a rotund older woman opened the door.
“You here about the air conditioning?” she growled.
“No, I’m looking for a mister… Robert Corace?”
“Corace?” she frowned. “Ain’t got no Corace here.”
“He might go by a different name,” I explained. “Mid 20’s kind of guy, long face, brown eyes?”
“Upstairs,” she sighed. “He promised to fix my air conditioning. Tell him to get to it. It’s starting to sting my eyes.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“And tell him I ain’t signing anymore of his packages until he does.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Heading upstairs, I knocked on the door. No answer, of course. I called out his name, announced myself and the company I worked for, and waited patiently.
“I’d like to come to an agreement,” I said. “I know you are in there. You still have your car in the driveway. This won’t take long, and I’m not taking anything today; we just need to start a conversation.”
Minutes passed. Still, nothing.
I walked a few laps around the house, using a flashlight to check the windows. I couldn’t see anything in particular – most of the windows had their curtains drawn. Old things; probably came with the place. I pressed my face against the side of the door, trying to get a sniff for any familiar odors. It wouldn’t be the first time I walked into a horrifying scene, and the smell is usually the first sign. This one seemed fine.
“I’m going to leave a card,” I said, sliding it halfway under the door. “I’ll be back tomorrow. If you’d like to set up an appointment for a specific time, feel free to call. I’ll talk to you soon, mister Corace.”
And with that, I headed for my car. The rotund woman on the bottom floor caught me on my way out, trudging through the slush with her oversized rubber boots.
“Is he gonna fix my air conditioner?” she yelled out.
“Doesn’t seem like it, ma’am.”
“It itches, you know!” he scoffed. “And it smells bad!”
And with that, she shook her head and waddled back home, cursing under her breath.
Coming back the next day, his car was still in the driveway, but the card I’d slid under his door was gone. He must’ve seen it. It wouldn’t have blown away; I’d lodged it in there good. As I knocked on the door, again, the old woman on the bottom floor came out to look. Before she had the chance to ask, I answered her.
“Nothing about the air conditioner yet,” I said. “But I’ll bring it up.”
“It’s been weeks!” she argued. “Weeks!”
“I’m sure he’ll get it done.”
“It’s torture!” she complained. “It’s too warm during the day, and too cold during the night!”
I’ll be the first to admit, I zoned out a bit. I couldn’t blame him for not coming out while she was around.
For the entire second day, there was no response. Robert wasn’t coming out, and there was no sign of him. I explained to the closed door that I wasn’t a threat, but that this would have to be dealt with eventually. Again, nothing.
Walking around the house with my flashlight, I didn’t see him. But it looked like some of the curtains had moved; they were a bit lopsided. Maybe he’d opened them to get a better view of me. Either way, it was clear as day that he was still around.
But I needed something more to go on. And while I loathed what I would have to do, the best way to learn more about Robert Corace was through his neighbor.
I formally introduced myself to her, and she did the same in turn. Her name was Elsie. She was 83 years old, a former railroad engineer, and lived on her own. The moment I was invited into her home, I could tell there was a problem with her air conditioning. Not only was it hot like a furnace, but there was also a taste of stale air. I promised her I’d take a look as long as she could tell me a little about mister Corace.
As she invited me into her living room, I stopped dead in my tracks. Saying there was an issue with her air conditioning was an understatement.
The unit, which was mounted into the wall, had long green strings of grass growing out of the front grill. It resembled a thick algae or a sort of vine.
“It’s blocking the fan,” she said. “It just chugs, and chugs, and chugs.”
“You should get your landlord to look at it,” I said. “That’s not normal.”
“I don’t have that kind of money,” she groaned. “When I told him to fix my bathtub, he hired a contractor to redo all the pipes and had me pay for it. I’m not falling for that again.”
“You might have to. This isn’t going away anytime soon.”
“So you can’t fix it?”
“With all due respect, I don’t think God can fix this.”
We sat down for a cup of tea as she told me about her experience with mister Corace. Apparently, he was one of the quietest neighbors she’d had over the years. He was orderly, polite, friendly, and helpful.
“… or at least he used to be,” Elsie sighed. “I barely see him. I think he has one of those stay-at-home jobs.”
“You know what he does for a living?”
This made her pause. She considered this and resigned with a grunt. She pointed to a box by the side of her fridge.
“He gets these ordered to him every now and then,” she continued. “I think he grows reefer.”
I took the box down and checked it out. A simple cardboard box with a black text printed on the side.
“Helianthus… cerulea,” I said. “Cerulea, that’s… something blue, I think.”
“If you’re here for the seeds, you’re out of luck,” she smiled. “I flushed ‘em all weeks ago. I ain’t having drugs in my house.”
As I left for the second day, I took some time to look up what that word meant. Turns out, helianthus cerulea is a sort of novelty plant. A breed of smaller, more house-friendly, sunflowers; Only with blue petals. Elsie had no idea she’d washed down at least $350 worth of seeds.
I tried to look up something about vines getting tangled up in air conditioning units, but I couldn’t find anything useful. There was an article about a woman who’d hid snacks up there and forgotten them, making them sprout fungus, but that was about it. My best guess was that it was some kind of strangle weed, based on the shape, but it was hard to tell.
Besides, it was not my clowns, and not my circus.
By the third day, I headed straight for Robert’s door. I was there at 10 am sharp, and this time I wasn’t asking.
“Mister Corace, if you aren’t willing to comply, we’re going to have to use other means to contact you. I think it’d be best for all of us if we could sit down for a conversation and sort this mess out.”
I knocked again – harder.
“Mister Corace!”
But of course, there was nothing.
I couldn’t help but to wonder where Elsie was. She’d always stepped out to see what was going on. Had something changed?
“Mister Corace, I-“
There was a click from the other side of the door. I shut my mouth and stepped back. As an inch of the door opened, all I could see was a dark room. But I could hear someone.
“…please keep your voice down.”
A hoarse voice, dry and fractured. He’d randomly spike into a whistling noise. Almost the kind of voice you get after a long night at a concert.
“Mister Corace, do you mind if I come in? We have some business to discuss.”
“… not at all. Just keep… your voice down.”
The door slid open.
The air was thick with warmth. UV lights lined the walls, illuminating rows upon rows of vines; not too dissimilar from those seen at Elsie’s. They were overflowing from their pots, covering large parts of the floor. There was a lazy boy chair in the corner of the room, covered with stacks of empty cardboard boxes. Most of the walls were covered in black plastic, sealing in the moisture.
Then there was Robert himself.
Wearing a torn and barely legible ZZ Top t-shirt and a pair of jeans, he looked like he’d completely retreated from society. Comparing him to his earlier pictures, he’d grown his hair and beard out to a ridiculous degree, making him look like an untrimmed bush.
He didn’t even look me in the eyes. He just sort of stumbled back into his dark kitchen area, where I could see more of these plants growing out of the sink.
“… I don’t… have a lot to offer,” he wheezed. “…you like water?”
“I’m good, thanks.”
“… you don’t like water?”
“I do. I do like water.”
“…that’s good. Great. Really great.”
Walking among the rows of plants, I couldn’t help but to look closer. They gave off this strange whiff of ammonia when you got too close. It was subtle, but clear.
“Seems you have quite the interest,” I said. “Never seen this before.”
“… I’m an agra-… an argo-…”
Robert stopped to slap himself across the face with a resounding clap.
“…I’m an agronomist. It’s a project of mine.”
“An agronomist? Like… crop research?”
“Something like that, yeah.”
He chugged half a glass of water, pouring the rest onto a potted plant.
“It’s a mix of helianthus cerulea, and, uh… cuscuta europea. European great dodder.”
“That’s a bit out of my league,” I smiled. “But it’s… amazing stuff. Looks complicated.”
“…most things are.”
He sat down in a chair like his body was a dropped potato sack. I walked up to him and sat down on a chair across from him.
“You’ve amassed quite the debt,” I said. “I’ve been asked to meet you to come up with a payment plan.”
“…debt?” he asked. “You want money?”
“That’s the gist of it.”
“Oh.”
He opened a cabinet above his sink. I expected to see glasses and cups, but instead, there were stacks of cash. Not small bills either.
“…just, uh… finished a project. I take all my payouts in cash, ‘cause… ‘cause they run the banks, you know? Can’t trust the, uh… yeah.”
“That why you haven’t paid your bills? You don’t use banks anymore?”
“Nah, I, uh… I just don’t… there’re more important things.”
He dropped a stack of cash in front of me. All $100 dollar bills. The kitchen table shook a little.
“Didn’t know agronomists make this much,” I said. “You seem to be doing well.”
“Most don’t,” he sighed. “Just give me a number.”
He paid the full amount, in one go, in cash. He didn’t even bat an eye. He signed whatever I pointed at with an ‘X’ and didn’t ask any questions. I was given a plastic bag to carry the money in. As we finished, he yawned, revealing rows of deeply yellowed teeth.
“Are we done?” he asked.
“Looks like it,” I smiled. “I just… do you mind if I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“What’s with the sunflowers?”
This gave him pause, but also seemed to focus him a bit.
“They, uh… they’re allelopathic,” he said.
I gave him a blank look, and he caught on. I had no idea what he just said. He leaned against a wall, making the black plastic crinkle.
“… all plants have their own survival strategies. Some spread pollen to the wind, others create seeds, or create nurturing juices for animals to eat and drop.”
“Right.”
“So. Allelopathic plants have a… different strategy. They run a sort of interference. They release chemicals into the ground. Terpenoids, alkaloids, cyanogenic glycosides… whatever they need.”
“To do what?”
“Hm?”
“Why do they release it?”
He blinked at me, as if I’d asked him the most obvious question in the world.
“To kill the competition,” he said matter-of-factly. “To make sure nothing else can, uh… grow.”
As I was about to leave, Robert waited by the door. I turned to him a final time.
“You really ought to help Elsie with her air conditioning,” I smiled. “I think it’s your plants messing it up to begin with, and it looks like you got plenty of spare cash.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you have stacks of it in-“
“No, I, uh… I mean the plants messing with the air conditioning. What do you mean by that?”
He squinted at me, tilting his head. His mouth left slightly ajar, revealing just how yellow those teeth really were.
“They’re… growing out of her air conditioning unit. That’s what’s wrong with it.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Well, it’s there,” I said with a shrug. “Impossible or not.”
I turned to leave, but Robert grabbed my arm. He held me there for a second, looking distraught.
“Did you see any of my boxes down there?”
“Yeah?”
“Were they open?”
“I think so, yeah. She said she flushed the seeds. Sorry.”
Robert stopped to think for a minute, his eyes fluttering back and forth as silent calculations rushed through his head. Finally, he met my eyes.
“The air conditioning has a condensation drainage. It links with the plumbing system in the basement.”
“…alright?”
“So they can stick to the side of the pipes. And with constant moisture and shade…”
His eyes widened. He held up a finger, as if asking me to wait, then nodded.
“Hold up a moment.”
He went back and got a couple more hundred dollar bills. He dropped them into my plastic bag with a thin smile.
“For your trouble.”
As I got back in my car, I saw Robert standing outside his door, following me with his eyes every step of the way. He was eager for me to leave, that much I could tell. I didn’t know what to say or do, but I felt like I was missing something. I thought about calling the police, but there wasn’t anything inherently illegal going on as far as I could tell. Sure, he was a sketchy guy, but it’s not like he was making narcotics. Robert was just… strange. And I couldn’t really tell if Elsie was missing by just not pestering us – maybe she’d just went to the store?
I pulled out of the driveway, looking at him through the rear-view mirror. As soon as I was about to turn the corner, I could see him bursting into action. Whatever he was about to do, he was going to do it fast.
I tried putting it behind me, and to focus on my work.
I was too busy with work to notice what happened next. I didn’t notice any of the sirens in the distance, and I couldn’t see the smoke. If I’d noticed it I might’ve asked more questions, or prepared myself for something to come. But yeah, I had no idea that Robert had burned that house to the ground. I was busy filling out forms and preparing payment to be submitted.
I was staying at a roadside motel for the night further down the street. As I settled in and sent a couple of e-mails to my employer, I took some time to count, sort, and bag the payment appropriately. As I did, I noticed something crunchy at the bottom of the plastic bag that Robert had handed me.
Dry little pods. Seeds, possibly. They must’ve slipped in by mistake.
Catching a whiff of them, I couldn’t help but to sneeze. That smell of ammonia punched me in the face, tickling my nose. A couple of pods rolled out on the floor, while one remained in my spittle-covered hand.
It crackled as the leaves unfolded; awoken by the moisture. A thumb-sized little flower.
Still, I didn’t like it. If this had anything to do with Robert and his work, I didn’t want to go anywhere near it. I collected them carefully, rolled them up in a paper towel, and went to flush them.
I held them over the toilet, hesitating. This is what Elsie had done, and just thinking back on the look that Robert had given me when I told him was enough to make me reconsider. It was just one of those things, like getting worried when you break a mirror, or making sure you don’t step on cracks in the pavement. It was that little moment of doubt when all the doors are closed, and no one’s there to watch you.
I ended up rolling them up, stepping on them, and throwing the pieces in the trash.
I managed to get about 30 minutes of sleep before there was a knock on my door. The motel owner was clearing people out. Apparently, there was a fire raging nearby and they didn’t want to risk anyone being caught unaware. We were offered a complementary stay at a different motel downtown. Sleep-deprived and exhausted, I agreed.
I got in my car and stayed off the main roads. I didn’t want to risk facing a speeding fire truck on a dimly lit road in the middle of the night; that was a recipe for disaster. I took the scenic route. I didn’t mind getting a complementary stay at another place. It might help me wash that smell of ammonia from my nose.
Driving down a dark country road in the middle of the night can be uncomfortable in and of itself, but as my engine began to stall, I felt all energy drain out of me. Just my luck.
I popped the hood, using my phone as a flashlight. It took me a while to realize what I was even looking at.
Between the various pipes and cables were a tangled web of dried-out vines. All with their own little blue buds, waiting to pop at the slightest tingle of moisture. I waved some hot air out of my face just to survey the damage. How the hell had this even gotten there?
Someone must’ve put it there. The only time someone would have access to my car without me noticing would be either at the motel, or while I was talking to Robert. And there was only one person nearby who wasn’t accounted for at that time.
“You have our smell on you.”
An old voice overpowered the sizzling of the stalled engine. I didn’t have to turn around to know it was her, but I did. Robert’s neighbor, Elsie.
She’d been living in that place, infested with those plants, for weeks. So did Robert, but maybe he had the means to handle them. Elsie, on the other hand, didn’t.
Something had changed.
I turned around to face her, holding my phone up. Touches of green wriggled at the edge of her eyelids. Tiny movements poking and prodding for weaknesses just beneath her skin. A myriad of twitching, hidden under the surface.
Her movements were jerky and sudden. Her voice hoarse and uneven; volume and cadence shifting at random. She was barefoot, wearing a night gown; her feet were blue from the cold. She didn’t seem to mind.
“Our smell,” she smiled. “It’s there.”
“What… what are you talking about?”
Something moved behind me. I turned to face my car, only to see the vines in the engine rattling. Shaking, making the little dry buds rattle. A warning. A scream?
Turning back to Elsie, she recoiled from the light. My hands were sweaty. She smiled, revealing a blackened tongue as she moved left and right; testing to see if I would follow her with my phone.
“Do… do you need me to call someone?” I asked.
“Yes,” she wheezed. “Put that down. Call someone.”
“Who do you want me to call?”
“I don’t care.”
Part of me wanted to believe this was just a sick old woman, but another part of me knew there was more to it. She’d been living in that space, infested by God knows what. Maybe the air conditioning was just a sign of something worse.
She didn’t approach, instead moving side to side. We circled one-another as she tried to reach the end of my light.
“I wanted to see you,” she grinned. “While you slept.”
She made an outburst forward, almost tripping over her own feet. I stepped back, feeling my heart skip a beat.
“What do you want?!” I cried out.
“I like the smell.”
Another outburst, but this time, she collapsed face forward into the pavement. As her body came down with a smack, there was a blood-curdling noise coming from her arm. It had snapped. But not just snapped as in broken; it had come off from her body completely.
And it was still moving.
Little nerve endings and arteries replaced by green vines, keeping the host alive and kicking. Twitches making the muscles come to life, contracting and expanding to lurch blindly forward. Elsie didn’t seem to mind as she rolled over and got back up; her missing arm making her lopsided.
I wanted to say something, but words failed me. I just shook my head, as if trying to force what I was seeing out of my head.
Fingers from her severed hand tapped against my boot, trying to grab me. I shuddered as I kicked it off, watching it flop into the ditch. Looking up, I saw Elsie sprinting at me.
I barely had time to react before she body slammed me into the side of the car, breaking my side view mirror and dropping me to the ground. I gasped for air as a hand pushed down on my neck. At first, it was just fingers. Then, something more. Dry little strings, oozing of blood and ammonia, tightening around my throat like a noose.
“Come on,” she laughed. “Come on.”
She picked up her arm and placed it on my neck. With every movement I made, it clamped down. I was to remain perfectly still and docile, or this would be the end of me. Grabbing me by my foot, she dragged me off the side of the road; leaving my car abandoned in the street.
Looking back at it, I can’t say anything was going through my head. I was blackout panicked, and my body just sort of… froze.
I have vague flashes of memory from being dragged down the street. The chafing on my back. Ther intermittent light from the occasional working streetlight. Watching the back of Elsie’s night gown and the various unnatural bits and pieces move underneath the fabric.
There were a couple of times where cars passed us by, but Elsie was far enough off the road for no one to see us at a casual glance. I was being dragged through the weeds, and she didn’t wear any colors that stood out.
She kept repeating this one thing, over and over. It wasn’t directed at me, really, but just… something she said.
“Making a home.”
Like she was reminding herself what she was doing. She’d get these violent tics at times, jerking her head to the right. It looked painful, like she might accidentally hurt her neck.
We made our way back toward her home, street by street. She took shortcuts, moving through the woods when she could. She didn’t care what she stepped on, or what she had to drag me through; as long as we made our way forward.
I was battered and bruised all over when I could finally see the firetrucks in the distance through the treeline. Elsie stopped, tilting her head with a squint.
“Looks… looks like it’s been an accident,” I said. “T-there’s smoke.”
“No,” she stated. “Home is safe.”
“Doesn’t… doesn’t look like it.”
“Home is safe!”
She turned to me, letting her eyes roll back into her skull. Her jaw unhinged, spewing forward a fistful of green vines reaching out from the back of her throat; vibrating and rattling, like a threatened viper.
I took the opportunity to throw off the hand from my neck and crawled away. I didn’t get far. I grabbed a fallen log but couldn’t hold on for long before she pulled me loose. This time, she wasn’t holding back. There was an immense strength in that old woman; far more than anticipated.
She leaned over me, pulling my face closer. The little green vines were close enough to tap against my nose, as if looking for something to grab onto. I pushed back, but there was no use.
Even now, she was laughing.
They were so close I could hear the vines brushing against me.
I felt her muscles contract. This was gonna be the final push.
Then, a bang.
And another one.
I felt her hands go slack, and I managed to push myself away. Two more loud bangs followed, and Elsie fell over.
A hand reached out to me, and I took it. I got back on my feet to see Robert Corace with a worn-down revolver.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I, uh… had to make sure.”
Before I had the time to respond, he was sprinkling lighter fluid on her. As I mouthed the word ‘wait’, she was already up in flames. Robert pulled me back.
“Coming back here meant this was her nest. There’s no spread, so we’re safe.”
“What are you talking about?!”
“I told you!” he shouted back. “Allelopathy! Once they take root, they want destroy all others! You think that just goes for some potted plants in my bedroom?!”
He looked back at the burning wreckage of the townhouse at the edge of the trees.
“I had to be sure. So I needed bait. I’m sorry.”
Turns out, Robert had put those buds in the plastic bag by design. He’d suspected his neighbor of having been affected, but he’d been trying to ignore it for some time – hoping against hope to be wrong. Those seeds were potent; adding a sort of marker on me. Something powerful enough for someone infected to be unable to resist.
Robert hoped she would attack me.
And she did.
I met up with Robert the next day. I needed a full explanation. In return, I agreed to keep some of it to myself.
Robert had been working on a strain of helianthus cerulea, just as he said. What he hadn’t said was that it was a modified strain. Not even Robert knew the real origins, it was just something granted to him by his shady employer.
His original debt had been an attempt to cash out and flee the country. His employer managed to catch up with him, putting him back into solitary forced labor. Work from home, yes, but under close supervision.
But Robert hadn’t anticipated that Elsie would flush his samples. He’d be getting so many boxes that one slipped off his radar. While Robert was taking supplements to resist a possible infection, Elsie wasn’t. As the plant spread through the water and air, she was getting more affected by the day – until it finally spilled over.
One year later, I see them sometimes. In videos, or in the occasional background of a photo. Sometimes I just think I see them; it’s like the color just jumps out at me.
But every now and then, I notice the real deal, and I can’t help but to wonder how far it’s nested.
How long until nothing else is allowed to grow?