"She almost returned it fearing that there wasn't actually a plant in the pot at all. But she was patient, and a bit stubborn, and kept putting water on the dirt each and every day. After about a month, the room seemed unusually warm but the pot showed no signs of foliage. A few more weeks and the room was noticeably humid, with beads of water condensing on the widows. Not long after, a green stalk finally protruded from the ground and seemed to inhale loudly each day. By the end of the second month, a greenery more forest than plant poured forth from the enveloped pot, and air so thick with moisture gathered into clouds near the ceiling.
The second week of the third month, she awoke to a steady percussion, a constant patter from down the hall. She crept towards the now jungle-like room and opened the door to find rain. Droplets broke on her forehead and hands as stepped into the room. She looked up to find not a ceiling but the night sky, the moon casting pale light from behind roaming clouds. Another step forward splashed water from a puddle onto her leg, and she quickly realized there were no boards underneath her feet. The waterlogged earth that her toes sank into clang to the soles of her feet as she trudged forwards, parting the dangling leaves with every step. She knew the front door was no more than ten feet further, so she ignored her fear and continued.
After summer ended they had no choice but to stop looking for her body. The house was foreclosed and eventually sold to a new family, who found the previous owner had left nothing at all but one clay pot hanging from the ceiling." -M. D. Walter