Thespecimens in the next row were much farther along; skulls, shins, pelvises, andrib cages had begun to lose their familiar shapes under blankets of youngfruiting bodies. The newest ones were still weeks away from cultivation, butjudging from their sheer numbers, they would make for a good harvest.
Theones in the last row were at their most advanced stages of necrosyntheticmyceliation, the bones literally falling apart under the mere weight of thefruiting bodies that sprouted thick and moist above them. Two of the tanks werenearly empty, the cultivated mushrooms leaving only anonymous piles ofwrinkled, shrunken, crumbling remains of old bones.
Markhad been planning to check on a few crops that he’d gathered earlier, but aftereverything that they’d dealt with tonight, all his energy was spent. He andChad locked up, muttered superficial wishes of good nights that both knewthey’d not be getting, and got in their cars and went home.
* * *
Chadcouldn’t help but grin as he stared into the tank. “Look at you,” he said.
Thestrange body had proved to be unique in more ways than one; only three daysafter they’d prepared it, a grey mold began to form a blanket that mercifullyobscured the revolting shapes beneath. The very next day, buttons had sprouted.And now, not even a full week later, the fruiting bodies were growingperfectly.
Chadscribbled some notes in his notebook. If this was any indication of howbountiful this new specimen was going to be…
Helicked his lips and looked back in the tank.
Mostof the fruiting bodies were still young and small, but a few larger ones weresprouting up from the middle of the cadaver, their caps nearly at full width.It was far too soon to pick them, Chad knew—but then again, it was also far toosoon for them to even be growing, and yet here they were.
Hepulled his phone out of his pocket and then put it back. Mark was over inProvidence, picking up a fresh batch of spores from his supplier—something thatalways got Mark really tense and distracted; not that Chad could blame him,because the supplier was an absolute creep. So, why stress him out evenmore? Chad thought, smirking and setting his notebook and pen down besidethe tank.
Hefetched a pair of gloves and a small knife from the supply cabinets, thencarefully removed the lid of the tank and set it aside. Reaching in with hisfree hand, he grabbed the largest cap and gingerly tugged it. It was, ofcourse, still firmly rooted in the body, and so he brought the knife in andbegan to slowly cut around its base, the spongy matter between fungus and fleshsplitting moistly around the blade. He gave the mushroom another tug—andfrowned when it still refused to separate. “C’mon…,” Chad said softly,pulling with a little more force, and it finally obliged.
Helifted the mushroom out and held it up in the light, but as he examined it, hisgrin withered into a frown.
Greenliquid, so dark it was nearly black, glittered on the base of the mushroom, swellinginto a bead which then dripped down onto his jeans. Cursing, Chad held themushroom away from himself, glanced into the tank—then gasped.
Thespot that he’d cut the mushroom from was now a glistening pool of that samedark liquid.
Groaningin disgust, Chad set the mushroom down on the table and forcefully shoved thelid of the tank back in place. He tore his gloves off and tossed them aside,cursing again as he realized he still had to pick up the mushroom.
Hegrabbed his pen and notebook, jotted down a few quick lines, then gingerlycarried the mushroom into the kitchen. While he fired up the oven, he cut off afew slices and threw them into onto a pan, which he then shoved into the oven.
Whentheir distinctly acrid odor hit his nostrils, he took them out, grabbed a bagof half-stale bread and removed a slice, then placed the cooling, driedmushroom slices onto it. He took some more notes, then dumped the soft, tancoins onto the bread, folded it over, and gingerly took a bite.
“Eurrrmph,”he groaned, forcing himself to chew and swallow the rancid-tasting sandwich. Hepoured himself some water from the sink and started to down it when he heard asoft thump. He lowered the glass and listened.
Itdidn’t repeat.
Chadsuppressed a shiver, remembering their first weeks in the house. They’d seen nospecters nor heard any wails or clanking chains, but there had seemed tobe some kind of draft bringing cool air into rooms during those long, hot,summer days. Of course, all that had come to an end when they’d found theovergrown grave in the backyard, but—
There,again. It hadn’t been from the front door, nor the back; it was hard to tell whereit came from.
Hedoubted that it was an effect of the mushrooms; the trip hadn’t started yet.
Chadfound himself thinking of the strange body again, of how its arms had twitchedas he and Mark had lifted it out of its coffin. He’d known what he’d seen thatnight, what he’d felt…
…andyet now, he could only hope that that thing wasn’t causing the sounds hewas hearing now.
Hewent back to the Garden and straight to the tank, his breath held.
Thebody was still there.
Ithadn’t moved.
Itwas exactly as he’d left it earlier.
Lettingout his breath, he shook his head, then gasped. Little black spots had begun toappear in his vision.
Grinning,he ran back into the kitchen, fetched his notebook and pen, and went down intothe basement where a chair and a lamp stood in a corner for exactly thispurpose. Flipping open his notebook to a blank page, he poised his pen over thepaper. As the black spots began to multiply and swell, crowding his vision, hethought he heard that thumping sound again, much louder now; but then the blackspots coalesced, and he could only stare straight into the opening window ofdarkness, and smile.
* * *
Marktapped his finger harder and faster on his phone, lowered it from his ear andhung up. Chad wasn’t picking up; Mark knew the majority of their conversationwould have to wait until he got back, but he still had a lot to get off hischest, and the sooner he could vent, the better.
Hehad gotten
