“Dude, I’ve been trying to text you all day.” Jericho said.
Malcolm pushed past him. “Where’s your brother?”
Jericho winced in pain, grabbing his head. “Not so loud.”
The pair descended the stairs and entered James’ room.
“Where are you?” Malcolm shouted.
Jericho winced again. “He’s at work. What’s going on?”
Malcolm sat on the bed and began explaining what he saw in the field.
“The one we cross to get to each others’ house?” Jericho seemed taken aback.
Malcolm nodded.
“Shit. Another one. You think there are people down that one as well?”
“I think that if these tunnels keep popping up everywhere then there’ll certainly be more and more who get replaced with clones.”
“But it’s voluntary.”
“Is it? You said you pushed your dad down one and he stayed down there.”
“Well yeah, because the clone said being down there felt euphoric. If it feels as good as James’ Clone claims then why would you ever want to leave?”
It was a question Malcolm didn’t quite want to hear. The pits were already calling out to him, promising to replace all his inadequacies with perfection.
“I’m sure if you really wanted you’d come back up. Your brother did.”
“For five minutes maybe, but he went back down the first chance he got. Hell, if it’s a choice between continually struggling up here or being totally comfortable down there then I’d fuck off back down too.”
“Then why wait?” Malcolm snapped. He wasn’t quite sure why he felt such growing anger. “Why not just give up and go down right now?”
Jericho shrugged. “Eh.” He responded. “There’ll always be time for that later, maybe.”
Malcolm shook his head. Despite his own temptations to be replaced, he felt disgusted at the cavalier way his friend was speaking of surface life. Did he not realize that this subterranean bliss meant surrendering his life to an imposter? And for what? Was the fungal pit really able to offer such euphoria?
…More temptations. Malcolm tried justifying his own rationale for considering replacement. He tried pretending his reasons were altruistic, but the more his mind lingered on the prospect, the more he realized he was being just as selfish…
But was it selfish? Who would be harmed?
…And now there was a second pit; one much closer to his house…
“Do you know what time your brother’ll be back?” Malcolm asked.
Jericho shrugged. “No clue. Probably late. He sometimes visits his girlfriend, so it might not be until midnight.”
Malcolm headed to the closet, opened the door, and stuck his head over the pit.
“Hey, you!” He shouted. “Someone, come up here!”
He wasn’t sure what he was saying, but knew he wanted to talk to one of the Mycelloids directly. If not James, then someone.
The sound of rising liquid signaled the quick ascent of something, and both boys were able to retreat just in time to avoid a large ball of slime that flew from the darkness and plopped in the middle of the bedroom floor.
The boys watched as the slime melted away and an unfamiliar man rose to face them.
“Malcolm.” The stranger nodded. “Jericho. You wanted to speak to me?”
“Errr, who are you?” Malcolm asked.
The man brustled his bushy mustache. “I suppose I do have a name and identity, but those are about four miles away in the main city. To you, however, those would not matter. You simply wanted to speak to someone like me, yes?”
“A clone?” Malcolm asked.
The clone nodded.
“Four miles?” Jericho asked. “You mean there are more of you out there?”
“Quite a few, yes.” The man said.
“So that means there are other pits.”
“Oh yes.” The man confirmed. “There are many entrances into our underground colony, with new ones forming daily.”
“I’ve noticed.” Malcolm said, feeling a bit bashful about shouting at a stranger. “Errr, how many are there, exactly? Openings, I mean.”
“A lot. In fields and forests, under streets and in sewers…” He nodded toward the closet. “In houses.”
“And how many more of them are you going to make?”
“The colony grows of its own accord.” The man replied. “As it feeds, it grows. As more clones arrive up here, the more life we help foster. The more life we foster, the more death will inevitably follow. More death means more food for us, and more food means more growth.”
“An unending cycle.” Malcolm murmured.
“Can you make it stop?” Jericho asked.
“Why?” The man asked.
“Because…” Jericho started, but trailed off.
“Because it could weaken the foundations beneath buildings!” Malcolm said hastily. “Errr, if these holes keep popping up everywhere, then you may damage structures above ground.”
“I assure you that won’t be the case.” The man said. “The network of mycelium fortifies the Earth, making it stronger via tunnel walls made of a microscopic organic lattice. If anything, houses with colony tunnels beneath them will fare far better against foundation degradation than those without.”
The boys looked at one another. It was a lame excuse, of course, and both knew it. Indeed, even the clone seemed to pick up on this.
“I know you’re not worried about buildings’ structural integrity.” The man said. “You’re concerned about us…About me. Me and the other clones. Tell me why you feel this way.”
“Because…” This time it was Malcolm who trailed off.
“Because there’s not enough room for both of us.” Jericho said. “You’re replacing us.”
“We’re replacing those who wish to be replaced, and they can return any time they want.”
“But they’ll never want to return!” Jericho was beginning to shout. “You’re drugging them! Once they’re in your clutches you drug them and sedate them so they’ll want to stay down below forever.”
“Is that why you’re upset? You hate us because we’re giving your kind a choice at having a better life? A choice that would not exist were we not here?”
“It’s not a choice.” Jericho hissed. “Why would anyone choose to stay up here after experiencing what you can give them?”
“Then you’re upset that we Mycelloids are too generous?”
“It’s not that.” Malcolm started. “But you must know that it’s impossible to avoid the temptations you create.”
“You have.” The man said. “Others who are aware of us have as well.”
Jericho did not know how to respond. Malcolm was too lost in thought to say a word.
The stranger ruffled his mustache. “If that’s everything, boys…”
It was.
The man seemed to detect this, walked past them and, without hesitating, leapt into the darkness below.
“We’ve got to stop them.” Jericho said quietly.
“Do we?” Malcolm asked. His anger had melted away, leaving something resembling resignation in its place.
Jericho turned around, somewhat surprised. “Well yeah dude. If we don’t they’re gonna take over the world.”
Malcolm gave a nod, but still felt unsure. There was a certain allure about the thought of surrendering his life to someone who could manage it far better.
“What can we do?” He asked.
Jericho shrugged. “Check the internet?”
…
The boys scoured every website and every search engine but found nothing helpful.
“What’s that right there?” Jericho asked, pointing at the computer screen.
“Hmmm?” Malcolm brought his focus back to the real world. “Oh, that’s the plot synopsis for Invasion of the Body Snatchers.”
“Ugh, we keep getting that one. Let’s try searching for mushroom clones.” Jericho asked.
“We did…There’s nothing.” Malcolm responded, resignation lining every syllable in his voice.
“Do you even care?” Jericho hissed.
“Of course I do!” Malcolm fired back, though even he had to admit his tone carried a heavy note of uncertainty. “I just don’t see the point.”
“You don’t…” Jericho trailed off, lost for words. “What do you mean?”
“I mean if the tunnels have already spread out across the city, then what can we do to stop them? Even if we drop a nuke down there I doubt it’d do anything.”
“So you just wanna give up?”
Malcolm shrugged. “How many miles you think it’s spread? What can we do?”
Jericho shook his head. “Step aside.” He ordered. Malcolm stood and Jericho took a seat at the computer.
“Maybe you don’t care, but I’m still willing to fight for humanity.” Jericho continued wordlessly trying to search for any information he could as Malcolm felt himself getting lost in thought.
…Mushroom tunnels spreading beneath the Earth’s surface…
…Mushroom tunnels filled with Mycelloids…
…Mushroom clones…
…A race of perfect beings…A race of fungal angels…Smarter, stronger, and better in every way. Not just content in making life better for themselves, but for the humans they replace as well.
Malcolm wondered how two high schoolers could stop them, if they could stop them…And if they should…
Malcolm’s mental bubble was popped by a knock on the door.
“Hello? Boys?” Jericho’s dad called, cracking the door slightly. “Are you hungry? I brought you some snacks.”
The two looked at one another.
“I mean, I could eat.” Malcolm shrugged.
Jericho turned back to the computer, huffing something that sounded like “fraternizing with the enemy.”
“I mean, they’re not gonna try to poison us. They’re nice.” Malcolm didn’t miss the irony that they themselves were, at that very moment, trying to find a way to poison the Mycelloids en masse. They were the aggressors… The would-be aggressors… Attempting to assert their dominance against beings too powerful to defeat and too benevolent to fight back.
Malcolm opened the door and a smiling Mr. Sanders presented a plate of sandwiches.
“I know you boys have been busy up here, and I just wanted to let you both know you’re wasting your time.”
Malcolm, already reaching for a sandwich, froze. A shiver ran down his spine and the atmosphere in the room became decidedly more chilled.
Jericho turned around.
“What do you mean, dearest father?” The question was mechanical and sardonic and dripped with a toxic sweetness.
“How long do you think Mycelloids have been around for?” Mr. Sanders asked. “Do you think we simply sprung up out of the soil yesterday?”
“If you’ve spread across the city, then you’ve been around awhile.” Jericho answered. “I expect it’s at least been long enough for someone to take notice of you and say something about it online.”
“Well yes, we have been around at least that long… You’re trying to find information about us online, right?”
Jericho grunted.
Mr. Sanders’ smile widened. “Son, who do you think runs the tech companies? The search engines? Who do you think owns the servers?” He gave a slight nod. “Don’t you think those CEOs are the best and brightest? The best-” and then turning to look at Malcolm, “-and the brightest.”
Realization struck both boys at the same time, but without missing a beat Mr. Sanders turned and waved.
“I’ve gotta go boys. Community meeting in thirty.”
He left the pair in silence.
“They scrubbed the fucking net.” Jericho’s words were terse and serious. Indeed, even as he tried reloading old pages where he’d posted questions, he found his comments were nowhere in sight.
“Why do you think they censored us?” Malcolm asked.
“Because they’re evil!”
But Malcolm wasn’t so sure. Everything he’d seen made him think the clones were kind-hearted. “I mean, I guess it’s their right to do what they want with the companies they own.” He said, trying to rationalize the alarming behavior. “They’re private enterprises.”
“Shut up.” Jericho hissed. He yanked open his desk drawer, took out a bottle of whiskey, unscrewed it, and took a long drink before offering it to Malcolm.
“Errr, no thanks.” Malcolm said.
“We need to do something to kill those fungal bastards.”
“Bleach might work.” Malcolm suggested half-heartedly. “Bleach kills everything.”
Jericho said nothing for a moment. He took another swig from the bottle, then laboriously got to his feet, left the room, and returned less than a minute later holding a large bottle of bleach.
“I guess it’s good clone-dad started giving a shit about his cleaning duties, ’cause otherwise he wouldn’t have bought this.” He beckoned to the door. “Shall we?”
Malcolm followed Jericho downstairs… Into James’ room… Into the closet.
They stood above the pit.
With very little ceremony Jericho unscrewed the bottle and began liberally pouring the deadly chemical into the hole. Any spot the liquid touched caused the pink fleshy substance to immediately lose color and shrivel into a gray, cracked ulcer. A growing smile crossed Jericho’s face.
When the bottle was empty he threw it into the void.
They watched and waited, and as before they heard no sound from the bottle hitting the pit’s bottom.
“Well, now what?” Malcolm asked.
“More bleach.” Jericho said determinedly.
“More?”
“We’ll go to the stores, clean them out, dump it all down that hole, and finally kill those bastards.”
Malcolm sighed. “I don’t know man. Even if we somehow managed to find a way to buy all the bleach in the country, those tunnels must be massive.”
“What are you saying?” Jericho asked, the smile wavering slightly.
Malcolm shook his head. “I doubt we’d kill even one percent of what’s down there. I mean, that last clone was from the city four miles away, and your dad said that Silicon Valley-”
But his words were cut off as Jericho reached around and grabbed him by his shirt’s collar.
“Shut the fuck up! You hear me? We’re going to find a way to kill the Mycelloid colony and get everyone back! You just want to go down there yourself, right? I’ve seen the way you’ve been acting! Mr. Middle Class is unhappy with what he’s got and thinks he can get more!”
“Dude…Let go…” Malcolm struggled and finally managed to pull away from his friend. “What the hell’s your problem!?”
“You are! You and those damned clones! I thought it would have been obvious to you that we need to fight them, but you’re ready to roll over and join them!”
“There’s nothing we can do! How do you expect to kill a fungal colony that extends for dozens, possibly hundreds of miles? Fucking bleach?! How much!?”
“As much as it takes! Or fire! And I thought my best friend, who’s far smarter than me, I might add, would help me figure this shit out, but all you’ve done is slow things down!”
Malcolm said nothing for a moment, then in a quiet voice stated “You’ve been drinking.”
Jericho laughed. “Maybe I have! But who cares?”
“I do.”
This prompted another barking laugh. “We’re facing the end of humanity as we know it and you’re bitching at me for having a couple shots?!”
But Malcolm was done listening. He walked past his friend and began slowly climbing the stairs.
“Where are you going?” Jericho called up after him.
“Home.” Malcolm said. “I deserve better. You’re becoming your father.”
…
Passing through the overgrown lot, he stopped and examined the Mycelloid pit. The tempting void called out to him…
He crept to the edge. The pink fleshy growths lining the tunnel looked soft and inviting.
“One jump.” He said quietly. “One jump and all my problems are over.”
Gravity wavered beneath him…
He felt himself sway slightly…
He sighed…
He turned and continued walking.
…
Surprisingly, Malcolm’s mom did not berate him when he got home. He went upstairs, grabbed a shower, changed his clothes, and tried to study.
His phone buzzed.
He ignored it.
He tried analyzing a series of scientific graphs, as he knew data analysis would be on the test.
His phone continued buzzing, but every time he looked over at it he felt a rush of anger.
‘Dude I’m sorry’
‘You there?’
‘You studying?’
‘I’m sorry.’
Eventually it began to ring.
Malcolm answered, but remained silent.
“Dude, I am sooooo sorry.” Jericho apologized. “I don’t know what came over me. I’m…I’m just so frustrated and scared.”
“I know what came over you, and it wasn’t fear…It was whiskey.”
“Come on man, don’t be like that.”
“What, honest?” Malcolm asked before hanging up.
It felt good to exert that power. He briefly wondered how long he’d ignore Jericho.
“As long as it takes.” He said to himself. He really did deserve better. He got enough shit from his parents, and the last thing he needed was another toxic relationship.
His phone rang again, but he turned it off.
He continued parsing through his workbooks without giving Jericho a second thought.
Time passed.
His mom called up to him for dinner.
He went downstairs, feeling somewhat ashamed of himself for shirking his studies earlier that afternoon. Jericho did not deserve his time…His time was valuable. He knew his mom and dad would give him another tireless lecture about responsibilities and failing to meet his potential and blah, blah, blah.
But instead he arrived in the kitchen and found his parents already eating without him, both happily deep in discussion.
He began to dig into his meal while trying to remain as small as possible, hoping that if he kept his presence muted he might be able to finish eating and escape back to his room without being subjected to more emotional blackmail.
“How was your day, son?” His dad asked.
The words beat down on Malcolm like exploding munitions; loud and concussive. Each syllable directed toward him threatened to wake the Beast that was his mother’s ire.
“Fine.” He squeaked.
He expected his mom to criticize him for slouching in his seat or failing to give his dad eye contact. She did not.
Instead she asked “How are your studies going?”
“Fine.” He repeated in an even quieter voice.
“Have you gotten anything back from any of the colleges?”
Malcolm nearly dropped his fork as a chill ran down his spine.
He swallowed. He could feel the food catch in his throat and his heart beating wildly in his chest.
What to do. Lie? She’d find out eventually. That kind of information couldn’t be kept from her forever.
“Well…” He started, looking up at her.
She was smiling warmly.
He sighed.
No more lies…It was time for the truth.
“Yeah, I got my responses back…” He gave a momentary pause to collect himself…Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe she’d only kick him out of the house. All in all, homelessness did not sound that terrible.
“Go on.” She said, warm smile gracing her face.
He swallowed. “I got the responses…and every college rejected me…But that doesn’t mean I won’t be able to get in to any of them! I promise I’ll study super hard and ace the ACT and reapply! They’ll have to accept me then! I’ll even get scholarships! I promise I’ll spend my time studying and I’ll take up an extracurricular and I’ll get Lori to help me redo my admissions essay and…And…”
He expected his mom to explode, or maybe feign a spiritual wound.
Instead she just nodded. “I know you’ll do your best.” She beamed.
The situation felt so surreal that Malcolm wasn’t entirely sure he heard her correctly.
“You…What?”
“You’ve been working so hard, and it’s unfair of me to expect you to keep pushing yourself like you have been. It’s your life, and I want you to be happy.”
By this point tears were forming in Malcolm’s eyes in anticipation for the fight, yet no fight came.
Through some miracle it seemed his mom understood how he felt.
She wasn’t going to force him to keep pushing himself.
She wasn’t going to attack him.
It didn’t even sound like she’d kick him out of the house.
“May I be excused?” He asked his parents.
“Of course, dear.” His mom said.
He stood and walked to the door, but a thought struck him. He stopped in the kitchen’s entryway and turned.
“Hey mom? Have you seen any strange holes around lately?”
For a brief second she flashed him a knowing grin. “Holes? What do you mean?”
But he caught the grin and had read the expression that had crossed her face.
She was one of them…She knew he knew.
“By the way dear, do you mind bringing your clothes downstairs so I can wash them? With the grass stains you’ve been getting, I’m going to have to soak them in bleach.”
Oh god…She even knew about the bleach! But if she was a Mycelloid and connected to the group-mind, then of course she would already know.
“Whats this about strange holes, son?” His dad asked.
“Don’t worry about it dear.” His mom said. “Just something on the news about sinkholes, right sweetie?”
Malcolm felt dizzy, but managed to sputter a half-assed response. “Y-yeah.”
His mom’s smile widened. “You really are a clever boy. Maybe one day you’ll be among the world’s best and brightest.”
To buy on Amazon, click below.
