Deacon and Them: A Fungus in Our Midst (Chapter 1)

Authors Note: This is another story that I've been sitting on for a while. I wrote the little intro before I had any idea of a plot. I like the characters a lot though so I'll try to continue this but who knows what the future holds!

The inventor of chiropractics, Daniel David Palmer, believed that the human spine was a cage for healing ghosts that, if freed, could cure you of whatever ails you. That’s right, if you’ve ever gone for a spinal adjustment you’ve participated in the most pants-on-head stupid magic there is. You know what the worst thing about it is? He was right. I know because I went for a back cracking a ways back and I’ve been saddled with my own personal ghost ever since. 

My name is Deacon Fielder. Ghosts don’t have names but the disembodied soul bound to me answers to “Them”. I know, grammatically it’s confusing. It’s fine if you think I’m crazy. You would not be the first, even before Them showed up.

For various reasons I’ve found it difficult to hold down a job. To make ends meet I help people with their problems. The kinds of problems that other people might not take seriously but that I, with my undeniable personal evidence of the supernatural, could have some sympathy for. No two jobs are the same but here’s one that is emblematic of what we deal with.

The purest show of platonic masculine love is leaving all of your weapons in your four-wheeler as you crack open some cold ones with a bud in a neutral location on the border between your respective properties, as Leonard and Terry found themselves now.

“Remember my cousin, Arthur, that I told you about? You know, the one that went and married a lib” Leonard asked, breaking a minute long solemn silence the two had spent staring out into the woods from their perch atop a salvaged shipping container. 

Terry leaned back in his folding lawnchair to grab another beer from the cooler. He rubbed the sweating can against his face to cool off from the muggy July evening. “Oh yeah, I think so.”

“Well he tells me that the fine city of Crofton wants to charge them another $75 a year for the fire department! Ain’t that just the way it goes! They gotta go and nickel and dime you to death until you’re working for them! I keep telling him I can get him setup with a plot out here, maybe sublet a little tract of my property until they get on their feet, but he’s gotta convince the missus first. And you know how women are! “Oh, where will I get my hair done? You gotta drive an hour to get groceries!” But he’ll wear her down. World going the way it is, this’ll be the only safe place left in a few years! Besides, what better place is there to raise a family? Teach kids to be self-sufficient, self-reliant! Put down the iPad and pick up a damn trencher!” Leonard took a long drink from his beer, which was the customary sign that it was now Terry’s turn to interject something into the rant.

Terry gripped his can in both hands, as though wringing the moisture from it. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said softly. “That don’t sound so bad to me. I mean, the fire department is there to help everyone, after all.”

Leonard lurched forward in his seat. If he hadn’t already drained his can and tossed it into one of the many piles surrounding the container, he would have done a picture perfect spit-take. “What did you just say? It’s coercion, Terry! Say you don’t feel like paying $75 for a hoity-toity fire department,” he said the phrase like it was made of roiling bile,” then what happens next? I tell you what happens! They fine you! And you don’t pay that? They keep fining you! And they fine you and fine you and they fine you until they lock you up and take the money from you by force! It’s theft, plain and simple.” Leonard was working into a proper froth now.

“I don’t know about all that. I mean, seems to me like it’s something that benefits everybody so it makes sense for everybody to chip in. After all, if a fire breaks out on your property, it could spread to mine if it isn’t taken care of. That seems worth the price to me.”

Leonard could not believe what he was hearing. “Terry, if I choose to let a fire get out of control on my property, that is my business and my business alone! You expect me to let a government agency drive onto my property, setting off all of my defensive emplacements, and put out my fire?!” His fury reverberated through the sparse clearing.

“I don’t mean to tell you your business,” Terry mumbled. “Just seems like we’re all in this together, ain’t we? Might be we should think about arranging a fire department of our own. It’d be good for the…community.”

Leonard looked into the eyes of his nearest neighbor and did not recognize the man. Had he been habitating a mere 2 and a half miles from a complete stranger for the past 5 years?

“You know what?” he said through gritted teeth. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe we–Jesus Christ, what is that!?” He pointed off into the woods, over Terry’s shoulder. Terry whipped his head around to look.

The momentary distraction was all that Leonard needed. Terry was the only man he trusted enough to meet face-to-face unarmed. But everyone knows that a taser is not a weapon, it is a tool.

“...and that’s why when I saw your flier at the hardware store, I figured I should give you a call! Saw that line about only taking cash payments, that's how I knew you were a straight shooter! You know better than to deal with banks and leave it up to a buncha surveillance state bean counters tracking your every transaction!”

I trudged after him along a roughly hewn path through the woods. My natural propensity against wearing shorts saved my shins from the tangle of thorns and brambles that overgrew the trail in several places at the expense of making me sweat my ass off.

“Alright,” I said between panting breaths, “maybe it’s my fault for coming down this way even though you said you couldn’t discuss the problem over the phone, but mediating political debates is not really my purview.” 

“That’s not the issue! That was what tipped me off that Terry isn’t right! Something is wrong with him!” Leonard continued blazing a trail through the vegetation, little care given to the lashing it gave to his cargo shorts clad legs.

“So you said! Didn’t provide a lot of details there, either.” 

“Hey, you said you wanted as much info as possible! You needed all the context!”

I slapped the dozenth mosquito of the hike off of my neck. “No, I said I needed whatever information was relevant. Speaking of context, you mentioned something about four wheelers? Would have made this trek a little easier.”

“Yeah, sorry about that! Wrecked it on my way back that night. A little shooken up.”

The path opened up into a small clearing, dominated by a large red cargo container with “NO TRESPASING!” spray painted on it in two feet high letters. The rest of the clearing was littered with piles of beer cans and bottles and spent shells. There was a very precisely planted line of posts crossing the clearing, presumably demarcating the boundary between their territories. Leonard pulled a heavy laden keychain from one of the many pockets in his shorts and shuffled through them until he found the one that went to the heavy padlock on the door.

“I’ve been back every day since. I leave him food and water. I’m not being cruel! But…he’s changing. He’s changed!” He unlocked the door with shaking hands. “I’m gonna hang back here, let you talk to him. I can’t stand to look at him.” He stepped aside as the door creaked ajar. 

oh man, prepare yourself, my guy!

An apparition appeared between me and the door. I would have been shocked by this if it hadn’t been a fact of my life for longer than I care to recall.

 he is straight fucked up!

Leonard would have been shocked were he able to see the figure that now hovered in my vision a few arms lengths in front of my face. But Them haunted my brain, not his, so he just saw me say “Hm,” to the empty air. Them didn’t have a name, since ghosts have no names, so it went by Them, since ghosts also have no respect for grammar. Them also had no physical form, so from my perspective looked like one of those full body MRI scans–just a flat slice of humanity, only with all of the organs being wrong in ways that aren’t worth ruminating on. Them’s voice sounded like a tinny speaker placed uncomfortably close to my ear which was equally offensive to the senses. Them slid out of my way as an unnecessary courtesy, as it couldn’t impede my motion if it wanted to.

I pulled the rusty door open, revealing the dark dank interior. A croaky voice from inside said “Oh, hello there.” I squinted my eyes but couldn’t see the owner of the raspy voice.

“There’s a pull cord for a light to your left!” Leonard helpfully offered from his place outside the container. The light reluctantly switched on after my third insistent tug and I was greeted with something that startled me as much as I reckon Them would were it able to be perceived by the general public.

Huddled in the far side of the room was a man dressed in a tattered flannel and hiking shorts. He had a manacle on his right ankle connected to the frame of the crate by a length of chain. I would have found the makeshift prison to be repulsive on its own were it not for the most eye-catching detail: The large mass of tangled fungal flaps growing from his head and shoulder. The growth covered his left eye, causing his glasses to dangle from the right ear. Besides his obvious poor condition and imprisonment, Terry didn’t seem to be too bothered by his current state. He lounged on a bean bag chair in what apparently was the boys’ hideaway for when the weather necessitated a roof. This wasn’t the worst thing I had ever seen, but it was the worst thing that I’d seen that day. 

I stood in the entrance, hesitant to get any closer than necessary. “Hey there, Terry. My name is Deacon. I help people with unusual problems. Your friend Leonard wanted me to talk to you. How are you feeling?”

He took a labored breath and paused for a moment. “We...are feeling thirsty.” His tone was even in a way that I might have found relaxing were it coming from a meditation tape but found unnerving coming from a mushroom man.

Leonard reached a metal water bottle through the open door while staying out of sight of his ailing friend. “Careful! Don’t get too close!”

I took the bottle and cautiously rolled it across the plywood floor lining the bottom of the crate. “Here you go.”

Terry caught the bottle, unscrewed the lid, and dumped its contents all over his head. The pinkish-grey growths shivered under the cool water. More labored breathing. “Thank you. It’s so dry…in here.” 

Them appeared in the other corner opposite from where Terry sat.

i think we’re done here! the freak wanted water, you gave him water. i don’t see anything else needs fixing!

I ignored him as was my wont. “Are you aware of your condition?” I took another step into the room to mask my disgust.

“We are changing, yes.” With a disquieting squelch, Terry turned the mass that was once his head in my direction.

there’s still time to tell that paranoid fuck that what his buddy really needs is a doctor or a botanist or a bullet to the brain and get out of here!

“Yeah,” I consciously forced myself to be congenial, like I was conducting a hostage negotiation. “It’s a pretty dramatic change, isn’t it?”

Terry let out a sustained cough that I interpreted as an attempt at laughter. “From your perspective, I suppose it is. But I assure you. This is what we want.”

I rubbed my temples. “Alright, I'm going to stop you there. You keep saying ‘we’ but last I checked you were a singular human being named Terry. So what is this? A hive mind? Some kind of Borg assimilation? I'm I still even speaking to Terry?” 

The thing that once was but might not still be Terry looked at me with its one exposed eye. “I'm sorry for the miscommunication, yes, this is what Terry wants, this is what we want. You are Deacon, outside is Leonard.” His tone was like a patient father explaining to his toddler that the thunder can't hurt her. “You want to help, he wants to help. Together, you want to help. Terry is, I am. Together, we are.”

“Of course. Gotcha, classic hive mind. Alright, so where is your queen or core or whatever your particular strain calls it?”

Terry cocked his head like a confused dog. “Queen? Why would we have one of those? None are born with the divine right to rule.” 

“Alright, no need to argue semantics, why don't–” I was interrupted by a powerful sneeze, followed by three more. That was when I noticed the sizable quantity of dust particles floating through the air of the crate. 

Terry lurched to attention, as though the sound of my sneezes echoing against the hard metallic sides of the crate shook him awake. “What…what's happening?” His hands reached up to feel the field of oyster mushrooms that was once his face. “Oh God…oh God, what is this?!” He tugged at the growth to remove it before doubling over in pain, as you would if you attempted to tear off your own eyelids. “Fuck! Dammit!” He seemed to notice me for the first time. “Please! You gotta help me! Help me!” He scurried across the floor like a frightened animal before reaching the end of his chain and falling forward, hitting the makeshift floor with a flat thud. 

Leonard appeared in the doorway, wearing a respirator. “What's going on in here!? Oh Christ, did he get worked up again? Get out of there!” He pulled me out of the crate and slammed the door shut. We could hear the sound of Terry rolling around and thrashing against the walls. 

My panic sweat from being charged at by a fungus monster joined the honest sweat from hiking through the woods in 80 degree heat as I caught my breath. “What is that? Why are you wearing that?”

“Oh, you didn't notice? That thing is just full of spores! No way I'm breathing that shit!” He pulled the respirator off his face and left it resting on his head.

My jaw clenched hard enough to cramp my neck. “And you didn't think that was worth telling me?”

“I only got the one mask! And you're the problem solver! I figured you would be able to solve some damn problems! Besides, you didn't spend too much time in there. Probably didn't even inhale any.”

Them was behind me.

nah, you got a good lungful. why do you think you sneezed your brains out? you are chock-full of spores! been nice knowing you.

Them could have been lying but I knew he wasn't. 

“Just a second, Leonard. I have to…go over my notes.” I excused myself and headed around the side of the crate, out of his line of sight. “Alright, so I have some mind melting spores in me. You can take care of them, right?”

Them examined me like a scientific specimen.

huh? oh, probably. but you're still bent on helping these assholes, aren't you? you spend more time in their kingdom of the dillholes, you're just gonna breathe more of that shit! you expect me to get my hands dirty more than once for the same dumbass decision? nah, man. tell you what, we make it to a safe distance from this pit and i'll help you out.

I kept my voice low to avoid any eavesdropping. “And if whatever this thing is grows inside me and blows up my head? What then?”

well gosh, that sounds like a personal problem, doesn't it? if you have a problem with it, you could just take off and leave these freaks to their fate.

I looked at Them for a moment, attempting to stare him down although I knew it was useless. I was mortal and Them was something else. With the deepest of sighs, I returned to Leonard.

“Alright, we need to consider our options.” 

i knew it, you fucking pussy.

To be continued...?