The Underside of the Fern

Prompted flash fiction: a lock, a fern, a basement

It wasn’t seeing the fern that had Liz worried. She knew the fern well. She knew every plant, every fallen log, every crossing of the creek that wound through the birch forest near the old farmhouse she shared with her grandmother. Had been watching it grow for years. But she wondered why she was looking up at it through the grimy basement window. 

She d…