Far Horizons: Tales of Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror. Issue #20 November 2015 | Page 37

Weak golden juice oozed from the mushrooms
when I sliced into them, staining my fingers as I
tossed them into a frying pan with butter. I ate them on
toast, the juices sweet, reminding me of ripe peaches.
They were delicious. The golden veins were caught
between my teeth. The flesh was soft as it slid down
my throat. I found after eating a plate full, I wanted
more, my tongue licking my lips before I started
sucking my juice-covered fingers. No longer afraid, I
hurried back out into the garden, carrying my basket
and filling it with the mushrooms. This time I cooked
even more, piling them onto toast and shoving it into
my mouth, butter and mushroom juice running down
my chin. I ate my way through a loaf of bread and
dozens of handfuls of mushrooms this way, gorged on
the irresistible taste and lost to anything else. When I
ran out of bread, I collapsed on the soil in the garden
and pulled mushrooms from their beds, pushing
them whole into my mouth. My vest was stained,
my stomach bulging and tight. I couldn’t stop eating,
consumed by my need for them, for the pleasure of
their soft flesh on my tongue.
Amidst my feast I glanced up, my mouth
falling open in horror, mushrooms plopping onto the
ground. There it stood, by the trees that encroached
onto my garden. No longer hunched over but standing
tall, long arms reaching out for me. I screamed,
shuffling back on my knees, grasping mushrooms as
I moved, holding them to my breast. The creature
moved closer, sunlight glinting through its deathly
pallor. Upon the smooth surface of its face a line
stretched, like a wound, opening to reveal its mouth
to me—full of sharp jagged teeth, long and thin.
The wind whistled through them so they chimed,
resonating together like a choir.
I fled into the house, skidding on the laminate
flooring as I rounded the corner, and dashed down the
hallway. I grabbed my bag and stuffed the mushrooms
inside, their flesh crushing against an assortment of
things. It wasn’t until I was outside, in the street did
I realise I had nowhere to go. I was supposed to be
sick. I couldn’t turn up at work, and besides, what
would they say if I told them? I had no real friends
that would support me no matter what. My family
was estranged. I was alone. Maybe the creature knew

this? I looked back at the house. The front door was
wide open, and the curtains pulled tight and lights off.
I couldn’t go back. It was waiting for me hidden in the
crease of the dark, shadows concealing it.
I wiped at my stained mouth, brushing hair
from my face, trying to tidy myself. I griped the
straps of my bag with both hands and walked down
the street with resolve. Seeking refuge in the house of
grandmother’s friend, a blind woman called Maggie.
“Hello? Who is it?” she asked, peering through
the gap in the door, her large milky eyes unfocused
as she moved her head back and forth. I noticed with
horror that a few of the mushrooms were in her front
garden too, amongst her roses.
“It’s only me Maggie,” I replied, trying to
keep the fear from my voice, trying to let the sunshine
warm it, so it would seem as if it was any other day. I
was thankful that she couldn’t see my state of disarray.
“Oh! Only you huh!” She chuckled, pushing
the door open wide and waving me in with her clawed
hands. “I’ll put the kettle on shall I, only you?”
Despite myself I smiled, the corner of my
mouth pulling up slightly. She was a tiny thing, her
back stooped from so many years spent washing
dishes, her white hair thin and wild, like a dusty halo
around her pinched face. She smelled of dust, old
teabags, and dry biscuits. Just the sound of her voice
comforted me. When she talked, I fancied I could hear
my grandmother replying, echoing through my mind.
I shut and locked the door behind me, checking
the latch twice before following her into the living
room.
“So my dear, what brings you to my door? I
was just listening to one of my audio books that you
got me. It’s been grand having something to listen too.
It gets so quite here,” she chattered. Her hand moved
through the air until she found my arm, patting it
gently as I sat in an armchair.
“That’s good...I’m glad you enjoying them,” I

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