Ghostly Gardeners – a fictional piece based on a world of experience, following a writing prompt about a doorway. By Gary Webb

Looking back, maybe it wasn’t an overactive imagination that placed those oasis-like images in my mind. Maybe the ghostly head gardener had put them there to whet my appetite; to convince me not to pull the old glasshouse down but breathe new life into it. I suppose it could be restored with a few fresh timbers cut-in and some new glass, maybe giving another century of growth, but I’m torn, as when I first set my sore eyes on that tumbledown structure.

When I was there the door, indeed the whole glasshouse clearly needed more than a lick of paint to set it straight. Rust coloured rainwater stained the timber below hinges and where putty should have sat neatly between wood and glass, mossy cushions

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