Marmite and Mushrooms
by Alice Yustas
Horrific Scribes Extremity Rating:
The van rolled up the country road, surrounded by the morning grey, past the fog-wrapped hedges that hid the beauties of the English countryside from the three men’s eyes.
“Listen up boys,” Gareth, in his thick Manc accent, boomed to his boys, Josh and Steve, “the Agency said no poison, no green stuff. Just gasoline and fire.”
“So what’s in those boxes they sent us?”
“Don’t get too excited, but they sent flamethrowers.”
“What? The Agency? Are they mad?”
“There will be a fire brigade at the site. We’re not allowed to start without them.”
“Still, pretty cool. I’ve never used a flamethrower before.”
“The Agency insisted I remind you: don’t think about taking anything. What we find in that house, we burn. We go home.”
“We get paid.”
“Why did they even care to say that?”
“We’re not some nosey scientists.”
“Just telling ye what they told me. Now there’s a gas station; let’s pull in and grab some coffee.”
The van arrived at the farmer’s house soon after the coffee break. The sun was high, and the fog had receded to the hollows. They could see the last shreds of it as the van jumped up and down on the bumpy dirt road. Something about the untrimmed bushes and the rotting fence hinted at the old age and infirmity of the owner. When they saw the main building, the feeling of abandonment grew stronger: the tiles had slid off the moss-covered roof, and the windows were light-brown with years of dust and pollen. Long cracks ran across the front of the house, and the door hinges were russet with water damage.
The firefighters arrived soon after, and Gareth went to talk to them and get his papers signed. Josh and Steve watched him as they dragged on their cigs.
“Why do you think the Agency is so worried?”
“What do you mean?”
“All these instructions, like we’re going to steal some government secret.”
“If it were a state secret, they’d have sent the army, the military, black helicopters, you know.”
“So what do you think is in this house?”
“We’re gonna find out soon enough. I hope it won’t stink.”
It didn’t stink, to everyone’s relief. Or they couldn’t sense it, all clad in hazmat suits, masks, and goggles. But that was the only good thing about it.
Gareth pushed the front door and felt immediate resistance. He used a flashlight to peek inside. Layers upon layers of fungi, a bit like maitake mushrooms, spread in brown waves on the floor and walls, nearly reaching the ceiling.
“What the hell?”
They forced the door open, letting in the light and the fresh air, and squeezed inside. Thankfully, the infestation hadn’t spread upstairs. It was contained to the hallways and the small front room. The door stood open, and the men could guess where the sofa, now engulfed by the living mycelium, used to be. They tried to turn on the lights, but the switch didn’t respond. When Gareth opened the curtains on the window, the fabric dragged heavily along the floor, the bottom three inches covered with the mushroom growth.
With daylight pouring in, the men could see the sofa better–and what was on it. What used to be on it, before it got swallowed by the alien matter. They could make out an outline of a head, of shoulders, arms leaning forward as if embracing someone. Like some kind of madman’s sculpture, the leprous human shape was reaching out for something, someone.
The men stood there for a second looking at the tableau.
“Is that the owner?” Josh asked.
“Alright, boys, let’s get to work. Bring out those flamethrowers, and start with the hallway. I’ll crack on here, and you join me when you’re done.”
Josh and Steve looked at each other but moved on and started destroying the growth on the front door and along the walls. The mushrooms burned quickly, going up in strange blue-green flames. Gentle searing made them wither, turn into black ash and fall down. Within a quarter of an hour they finished and moved on to the living room. Gareth had mercifully taken care of the most disturbing part, so Josh and Steve only needed to work on the walls and curtains. They caught flame immediately, but the firefighters stuck their hoses into the window that Gareth had opened and killed the nascent blaze.
The whole job took under an hour, so Gareth insisted on a final sweep. He went upstairs with Josh while Steve looked around the ground floor. Steve was checking the kitchen when he noticed a side door leading to the storage under the stairs. Inside sat a usual collection of jars, bags, and gardening tools. And a small brown speck that made Steve lean in. He pinched it, and it fell off easily. It was a little mushroom, a tiny adventurer that had strayed from the rest of the mycelium. Steve looked at it, and then he pushed it into his boot. It probably wouldn’t survive the journey back, but if it did, he would have a good look at it under his microscope. Steve felt strangely fascinated by the mystery: this whole setup was so unusual, yet there was so little explained to him. And Steve had a disobedient streak, too, as if the devil was nudging him to do the one thing he had been told to avoid. The man torched the spot where the mushroom had sat and finished his round.
On the way back the men were quiet, the shape on the sofa still in their minds’ eyes. They had seen some terribly contaminated houses before, and this one wasn’t the foulest. But its implications disturbed them.
Thankfully, that was their only job of the day. The journey to the location and back took long enough, and the Agency paid well. Each of them headed home to their individual forms of forgetting.
Steve was happy to be back early; he needed to do some chores. His place wasn’t big, but he had it all to himself. A quick look into the fridge informed his plans for the afternoon. The sole jar of Marmite looked back at Steve, with just a hint of judgement in the tilt of the lid. It occurred to the man that he needed to use the bathroom before heading to the shops, so he pulled off his boots.
He found the little mushroom he had pinched in the old farmhouse. He’d nearly forgotten about it. But it looked intact and still quite… lifelike?
“Well, buddy, I don’t know what to do with you, but maybe you’d like some Marmite?” After all, the yeast extract was also a fungus, just salty. So he diluted a little marmite in water, plonked his trophy into it, and headed off, forgetting about his little guest altogether.
Steve did his usual shopping and went out for a few pints with his pals. When he got back, he noticed the mushroom; it had grown almost five times its original size and soaked in all the Marmite water. Steve poured in a glass of leftover cola, added a big spoon of sugar, and let the weird fungus do its thing.On one hand, Steve almost hoped the acidity in the cola would damage the mycelium and stop its growth. On the other, it was a curious experiment, and he was keen to see how much the weird thing could absorb.
He woke up next morning feeling a little fuzzy and hungover and was surprised to find the mushroom… well, it was sitting proudly cross-legged on the table. It looked like those wonky carrots that seem to have lower bodies and butts. It made Steve chuckle. Perhaps he should put a pair of goggly eyes on it, give it a name, and turn the mushroom into his companion. He rummaged through the fridge and pantry, found some honey, mixed it with water in a bowl, and placed the curious guest there, as if to bathe.
That may kill the thing. Steve prayed for the antiseptic properties of honey. But when he came home after another day of spraying chemicals and hoovering bugs, the mushroom had grown to nearly elbow size. Steve looked at it in amazement. Just a little honey and water could do that?
He also considered what the fungus looked like back at the farm. The specimen he had was very different, more like a ceps than some flat wavy mycelium. It was strange but reassuring: the wavy stuff was probably the main, invasive fungus, and this one just crept in on top but wasn’t dangerous itself. With this thought in mind, Steve made a whole pan filled with sugared water, with a bit of flour, too, for an extra food source, and he propped the mushroom in it as if it was enjoying a swimming pool. Then, Steve left for the pub.
The next morning Steve woke to bright light pouring from outside. He was certain he had closed the curtains the night before. Why were they wide open now?
“Hello there!” a soft voice called to him.
Steve jumped up in bed. In the chair at his desk sat a pale and light figure, a beautiful girl with wavy blond hair. Completely naked
“How did you get here?”
“You brought me in. Don’t you remember?” She stood and approached the bed, light reflecting off the smoothness of her skin.
“I don’t understand, I was alone when I got back home yesterday.” Steve did have a few drinks in the bar, but he hadn’t been blackout drunk. But the girl in front of his bed also mesmerized him, befuddled him. It would be awkward to ask her name, if they really had met yesterday. What was he to say?
The girl bent down, her round breasts inches away from Steve’s face.
“Can I slide in?” She lifted the covers and got into the bed. Her arms wrapped around Steve, and his face was buried in her flesh, and he noticed that it felt soft but not taut. It felt like it might break. It had something about it, something… spongy? A wild thought crossed his mind. The sensation reminded him of touching a champignon cap.
The next moment, in the girl’s tight embrace, Steve forgot about sponginess. She kissed his mouth, and her tongue entered his throat and sprouted roots and slid further down but also up his nostrils and into every space or cavity of his body. Steve couldn’t breathe. He tried to push her to the side, but his body had merged with hers, and a pinprick sensation spread wherever her skin penetrated his. The mycelium enveloped Steve, and at the end only his scared eyes remained. Soon, threads of mushroom growth covered them, too.
When the exterminators unlocked the front door, the house looked like it was decorated with papier-mâché. The outline on the bed looked like two tree trunks twisting around each other. The rest of the flat was covered with light brown waves of fungus.
“Alright, boys, get down to work. And don’t even think about taking anything with you. What we find, we burn. We go home. We get paid.”
| SPECIAL EXHIBIT FOUR: Return to “Nest/Infest“ | Continue in Gallery One: Growths and Infestations with “Every Nowhere Leads to Somewhere” |