like, half an hour.”
“You weren’t worried about them tracking you down through your phone?”
“I have ways of doing things,” she said. “They think Icalled from a landline in Madison, and since my big sister is a student there, they’re probably sure that she’s hiding me. It’s a huge fringe benefit if they get on her case.”
I heard my school counselor’s voice in my head. “What do you do when you WITNESS any kind of CRIME?” she’d ask. And the right answer would be to call the cops, even if someone borrowed a pen and kept it by mistake. The specifics didn’t matter to her, but they did to me.
I imagined it as penalties assessed one after another by a football referee. Illegal infraction of Michelle’s house, go back five yards. Trying to take care of Cassie, maybe move up five yards. Making my mom’s life difficult, go back another fifteen yards with a loss of down.
“Why did you run away from the school?” I asked. Maybe that would be the deciding factor.
“How did you know I ran away from a
school
?” she asked.
“You were on TV,” I told her. I decided to leave my mom out of it for now.
“Oh, right. Well, I didn’t really run away. I just left for a few days. I’ll go back when I’m done.”
“Done with what?”
“I wanted to see something with my own eyes.”
“A pig with the squash squirts?”
She laughed, then leaned forward and whispered, even though we were alone, “Have you noticed there are glowing mushrooms in the woods?”
“Of course.”
“Do you know what they are?”
“They’re called honey fungus. I researched them for school.”
“That’s what they want you to think.” She grabbed her phone off the coffee table and tapped the screen a bunch of times, then showed it to me. She’d brought up a picture of mushrooms. “
This
is honey fungus,” she said.
“And those mushrooms look like the ones in the woods.”
“The ones in the woods are bluer and pointier. You’ll also notice that the ones in that picture have a ring around the stem. Ours don’t. I’ll show you
our
mushrooms.” Her fingers danced across the screen again, and she showed me another picture of mushrooms. This one was an illustration, not a photo. The mushrooms were bluer and more cone-shaped than the mushrooms in the first image.
“Okay, those do look more like the ones growing outside,” I admitted.
“They look
exactly
like the ones outside. I wanted to see them for myself and make sure, and now I am sure. They’re the same mushrooms.”
“Glowing mushrooms are glowing mushrooms. What difference does it make?” Michelle said she’d seen all kinds and colors of glowing mushrooms.
“Let me zoom out.” She tapped the screen a few times, then handed me the phone. “This is what we’re dealing with.”
I had to scroll up and down to see the entire picture. In the background you could see houses smashed to smithereens. I tapped down and saw a massive tangle of branches and limbsthat had almost taken on the shape of a monster. Some of the limbs looked more like tentacles, and mushrooms were erupting all over the creature’s body. A man lay on the ground, either dead or badly hurt. Another man waved a pitchfork at the thing, but my money was on the monster. At the bottom, it said:
Next month: THE FUNGAL WRATH!
A new story by Maxwell Bailey
“This is from a comic book or something,” I told her.
“It’s from a pulp magazine called
Weird Tales
in June 1933. The story never appeared. Nobody knows for sure if Bailey ever finished it, but the picture’s famous. I recognized those mushrooms immediately.”
“So what are you telling me—that our mushrooms are going to turn into that thing?”
“I don’t know. That’s what I need to find out.”
She took the phone back again and put it to sleep, flipping its case closed. There was a vampire dude on the front.
“You like that guy? Edward?” I asked. That explained a lot. If she thought vampires were cool,
“You weren’t worried about them tracking you down through your phone?”
“I have ways of doing things,” she said. “They think Icalled from a landline in Madison, and since my big sister is a student there, they’re probably sure that she’s hiding me. It’s a huge fringe benefit if they get on her case.”
I heard my school counselor’s voice in my head. “What do you do when you WITNESS any kind of CRIME?” she’d ask. And the right answer would be to call the cops, even if someone borrowed a pen and kept it by mistake. The specifics didn’t matter to her, but they did to me.
I imagined it as penalties assessed one after another by a football referee. Illegal infraction of Michelle’s house, go back five yards. Trying to take care of Cassie, maybe move up five yards. Making my mom’s life difficult, go back another fifteen yards with a loss of down.
“Why did you run away from the school?” I asked. Maybe that would be the deciding factor.
“How did you know I ran away from a
school
?” she asked.
“You were on TV,” I told her. I decided to leave my mom out of it for now.
“Oh, right. Well, I didn’t really run away. I just left for a few days. I’ll go back when I’m done.”
“Done with what?”
“I wanted to see something with my own eyes.”
“A pig with the squash squirts?”
She laughed, then leaned forward and whispered, even though we were alone, “Have you noticed there are glowing mushrooms in the woods?”
“Of course.”
“Do you know what they are?”
“They’re called honey fungus. I researched them for school.”
“That’s what they want you to think.” She grabbed her phone off the coffee table and tapped the screen a bunch of times, then showed it to me. She’d brought up a picture of mushrooms. “
This
is honey fungus,” she said.
“And those mushrooms look like the ones in the woods.”
“The ones in the woods are bluer and pointier. You’ll also notice that the ones in that picture have a ring around the stem. Ours don’t. I’ll show you
our
mushrooms.” Her fingers danced across the screen again, and she showed me another picture of mushrooms. This one was an illustration, not a photo. The mushrooms were bluer and more cone-shaped than the mushrooms in the first image.
“Okay, those do look more like the ones growing outside,” I admitted.
“They look
exactly
like the ones outside. I wanted to see them for myself and make sure, and now I am sure. They’re the same mushrooms.”
“Glowing mushrooms are glowing mushrooms. What difference does it make?” Michelle said she’d seen all kinds and colors of glowing mushrooms.
“Let me zoom out.” She tapped the screen a few times, then handed me the phone. “This is what we’re dealing with.”
I had to scroll up and down to see the entire picture. In the background you could see houses smashed to smithereens. I tapped down and saw a massive tangle of branches and limbsthat had almost taken on the shape of a monster. Some of the limbs looked more like tentacles, and mushrooms were erupting all over the creature’s body. A man lay on the ground, either dead or badly hurt. Another man waved a pitchfork at the thing, but my money was on the monster. At the bottom, it said:
Next month: THE FUNGAL WRATH!
A new story by Maxwell Bailey
“This is from a comic book or something,” I told her.
“It’s from a pulp magazine called
Weird Tales
in June 1933. The story never appeared. Nobody knows for sure if Bailey ever finished it, but the picture’s famous. I recognized those mushrooms immediately.”
“So what are you telling me—that our mushrooms are going to turn into that thing?”
“I don’t know. That’s what I need to find out.”
She took the phone back again and put it to sleep, flipping its case closed. There was a vampire dude on the front.
“You like that guy? Edward?” I asked. That explained a lot. If she thought vampires were cool,
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