By eight o’clock, everyone was lolled out all over the living room, watching the Porridge Christmas special for the eighth year in a row and dipping their hands in and out of the chocolate tins.  About an hour ago, Gran and Aunt Bernie had brought in sandwiches and cups of tea for dinner, and it seemed like that was the last time anyone had moved.  No-one was exactly asleep, but they’d all fallen into a doze, hypnotised by the warmth and the soft glow of the room.

Sandy decided that now was probably as good a time as any to start shifting her presents up to her room.  She made a neat pile of books and chocolate boxes, laid some folded-up clothes over it, and picked it up as carefully as she could.  Nothing fell off, so she carried it over to the living room door and went out into the hall.

As soon as you left the living room, you felt cooler.  Spending the whole day in the warm glow of the Christmas lights, the fire and the telly made the rest of the house seem almost… blue, by comparison.  Not in an unpleasant way, but definitely in a strange one.  It was as if the whole house was reminding you that it was Christmas Day, and everything was operating on different rules.

Sandy heard every creak of the staircase as she went up.  She carried her pile of presents through the cool, blue silence, and then she opened her bedroom door and saw what had happened to the plant.

When she thought back on it later, Sandy was quite impressed with herself for not dropping everything in shock.  She stood in the doorway, still and staring, for a minute or two, then carefully put the presents down on her bed before going to the window to see what was going on.

The plant had grown at least a metre since this morning, long enough that it had reached the window and buckled against it.  The long, purple branch was curled at the end, making it look as if it was scratching at the glass.  In fact, it had scratched the glass- there were two little white lines there that definitely hadn’t been there before.  Gran was not going to be pleased.

When Sandy opened the window, she wasn’t expecting anything amazing to happen.  She probably should have been, considering what had happened already, but in the moment, she was just thinking that it would be good for the plant to have a little more space.

She’d barely opened it a crack when the branch rushed past her, shooting out into the night.  Yards and yards and yards of it, as if the window had been the only thing restraining it for the last few hours.  Sandy took a step back to get out of its way, and saw that it was getting thicker as it went.  First it was the width of a bit of string, then the width of her index finger, and before long, the width of her arm.  It gained thorns and knotholes as it went, seeming to pull them out of itself.  And all the while, the flowerpot it had grown from stayed where it was, anchoring the whole thing in the middle of her desk.

It finally stopped growing, and Sandy went to the window to see how far it went.

She couldn’t see the end.  It went up at kind of an angle, leaning forward and looming over the houses across the road.  Looming over most of the town, probably.  Sandy couldn’t see anyone out on the street right now, but if somebody did look up, they’d have no idea what they were looking at.

If somebody did look up, they’d see Sandy walking across the branch, her arms out for balance, stepping carefully around the thorns as she climbed higher and higher.  She went up through the frosty air and into the night sky, waiting to see what the plant had planned for her.

(To be continued)