Far Horizons: Tales of Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror. Issue #20 November 2015 | Page 36

there.

I called in sick to work. My voice was cracked
and rough from fleeing so no one challenged me,
though I hoped they hadn’t caught me walking as a
few of the staff drove down the same road to reach the
library. I pulled all the curtains, even shut the doors
upstairs so I would be aware if something opened
them to slip downstairs. Afterwards I made myself
a cup of tea, to try and shift the paranoia building
inside me, the ritual of heating the kettle and pouring
it over the tea leaves, simmering it and adding milk,
calmed my nerves. It was ordinary, simple, and
so familiar. I realised that was what had upset me
about the creature. It was a startling entity in my
familiar and ordinary morning. It hadn’t whisked me
to another plane, scared me with visions. Instead it
had merely stood on a street I walked down nearly
every day, infiltrated my regular life with it stark
otherworldliness. That had been the most terrifying
aspect of it. It didn’t belong in my world, in the
daylight.

By the mid-afternoon I craved the fresh air, the
feel of soil on my feet. I was already feeling my mind
loosen. The more I tried to hide from the creature,
and a small part of me, the daring side wanted to fling
open the back door and greet my doom in the sunlight.
I didn’t actually fling the door open, more tentatively
inched it more and more open as I peered through the
gap. Even then, nothing was waiting for me. I stood
on the threshold, breathing deeply, my hands clenched
into fists as I waited for the attack. And waited.
Nothing.
Had it all been in my mind? A slip in my grasp
of reality? A nightmare clinging to me in my waking
hours?

But what had it been? How was I the only
one that had seen it? I took my tea to the living room,
flumping onto the sofa and sighing heavily. I must not
be in my right mind, though I could see no reason why
I wouldn’t be. I wasn’t suffering from lack of sleep
or on medication. I had never seen visions before. In
fact until this morning, I had been overwhelmingly
normal.
I checked my laptop, wondering dimly
if anyone had replied to my message about the
mushroom, though it seemed of little importance now.
I should phone a doctor instead or start researching
white shadow creatures. I did neither of these things,
instead reading the pointless messages—people
expressing interest but no knowledge.
I spent the day hiding within the walls of my
house, wishing for company but dreading having to
explain my erratic behaviour. I imagined the creature
waiting outside, pressing its void of a face against
the glass, its long fingers searching for cracks, ways
of getting in. I checked the house several times, each
time getting more hysterical, looking in drawers and
under the beds, searching for something that wasn’t

The garden had changed in the night—
unbelievably so—and I stepped outside to better grasp
what had taken place. Yesterday only one mushroom
had been huddled between the strawberries, but now
hundreds were sprouting from the ground, clustering
together like friends whispering secrets. They spread
from the second tier up onto the third, the other
vegetables wilting in their presence, shrinking away
from them. All of them were like gleaming white
trumpets, veined with gold and large, just about able to
fit in the palm of my hand. Mushrooms normally liked
damp and dark but these were growing unnaturally
under the rays of the sun.
I gazed at them, my toes inches from the soil
they had taken over and wondered—as one might
thoughtlessly muse about stepping into traffic—if I
should eat them. No sooner had the thought passed
through my brain, than another followed, louder this
time, more urgent.
Eat them.
I crouched, reaching for the nearest clusters
and pulled them from the soil, silvery roots hanging
like threads. I forgot why I had entered the garden,
hurrying back inside, into the kitchen with the back
door still open.

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