Homo Myceliensis - a "Future of Nature" short story for Earth Day

The Future of Nature - a community project for Earth Day

Photo by Jordy Meow on Unsplash

“The Future of Nature” is an Earth Day community writing project for fiction writers to explore the human-nature relationship in a short story or poem. It was organized by

Claudia Befu

Julie Gabrielli

, and supported with brilliant advice from scientists

Jonathan Tonkin

and

rebecca hooper

. The story you’re about to read is from this project. You can find all the stories as a special

Top In Fiction

Disruption edition, with thanks to publisher

Erica Drayton

---

This story is approximately 6000 words long and is an attempt to summarise the key aspects of a CLi Fi Sci Fi Horror Mystery idea I have been brooding over for many years, but which resonated with the community project to which I was invited by Claudia.

Under some pressure of time this is probably not as polished as I would like, but I hope the story is still entertaining!

---

When Flannery got to the house she stayed in her car for a few moments, taking in the ruined splendour of its Georgian facade. The edifice was succumbing to the wild, like the long sinuous drive; a river of weeds through a canyon of magnificent lime trees and chaotic rhododendrons. She had thought about abandoning ship, but her car managed it and here she was.

Creepers sought access through every window; a many-headed hydra. An ornate fountain and formal box hedge garden lay before it like the bones of Inigo Jones beneath a verdant shroud embroidered with white and purple convolvulus flowers. The gravel drive, thick with moss and camomile, deadened her footsteps to the ivy- hooded door. The air was still but for a soft soughing sound of leaves; everywhere leaves and a warm undertone of humming insects.The house was dying, suffocated by a garden that was very much alive.

There was a giant brass knocker on the door, but also a doorbell which she pressed, but heard nothing. She waited, feeling herself observed by a huge stone statue of a stag, growing from the ground, shaggy lichen covering it to the tips of its antlers.

Then the door opened and a pale, young and achingly beautiful woman stood in the doorway. Her long dark hair was braided with flowers and she wore a raw linen kaftan. It was obvious that she was naked beneath it.

Her physical presence and intensity of her gaze choked Flannery’s planned introduction to silence and it was the young woman at the door that spoke first.

“Who are you? And what do you want?”

“My name is Flannery Stainton, and I was hoping that Dr. Lynch - Helen Lynch - was here.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed, then she cast a glance behind Flannery, to her car. Flannery went on.

“If Dr. Lynch is here, would I be able to speak with her?”

“Why?”

“Is she here?”

“Why? Why do you want to see her?”

“I’m a journalist…and…” Flannery’s voice faded. The woman’s eyes had lost focus, were fluttering back into her head. She had rocked back slightly on her heels, stiffening. “Are you…are you alright?” Flannery asked but as quickly as they had seemed to leave, the woman’s senses returned.

“My mother is here. She might see you. But that depends upon the reason for your coming.”

Flannery began to answer and the woman reached for her hand with both of her own, gripping firmly, deep green eyes opening wide, eyebrows emphasising their inquisition.

“I’m a journalist..”

“Yes, you said this.”

“..and I’m interested in why your mother disappeared. I want to interview her, hear her story; write about her. I’m so glad to have found her, you don’t know how difficult it has been to track her down.”

“Yes I do…know how difficult it is to find her. This is deliberate. She does not wish to be found. Only very few have come. Those she needs to come. None have known to come here. Uninvited. How did you know?”

Flannery was intrigued at the way the woman spoke; short sentences, with pauses between each one. It sounded like a translation. She decided to answer with a question of her own.

“If you’re her daughter, you must be Nuala?” The woman said nothing.

“Your mother’s story is intriguing, Nuala, and I wanted to give her a chance to clear her name.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve spoken to people that knew your mother; people looking at the science again. She sabotaged herself, she deliberately discredited her own work and disappeared. Why? She deserves a chance to clear her name.”

Nuala said nothing.

“Does she know that other scientists are disappearing? I know of two who were looking at her work, her work in transgenics. There could be more. She might even be in danger herself.”

Nuala’s eyes again fluttered briefly out of focus, then her body relaxed and a smile crossed her face. She looked somehow different but Flannery couldn’t place why.

“You must think me very rude, Ms Stainton,” said Nuala, her voice lower, softer, kinder. Warm. “I am Nuala. I’m very pleased to meet you.” her grip on Flannery’s hand loosened. “Do forgive me for my abruptness. We don’t have guests here. We try not to interact with…the world beyond. I forget the need for manners here, with only Mother. Mother and our plants.”

“Oh, that’s perfectly alright. I came unannounced, after all. Quite rude of me really.”

“And do you think my Mother really is in danger? Do come in. I will go and find her; I’m sure she will be very happy to speak with you, after you’ve gone to such trouble. Would you like tea?”

The change in Nuala was profund, and Flannery followed her inside. Within, she was startled at how the interior of the house had been given over to plants of every kind. There were large skylights high above; ceilings removed everywhere, palms and bromeliads heavy with creeping vines rose from the ground haphazardly. The floor was an undulation of moss and creeping plants. The air was moist, misted, cool and clean. She breathed in the fragrances of green life and couldn't hide her surprise.

“This is…incredible!”

“Is it?”

“Yes! I’ve never seen anything like it. But…don’t the plants damage the building?” Flannery gestured around her.

“It would depend on what you mean by damage. Please, come through, and can you take off your shoes and socks? The mosses are delicate. You’ll find the experience very agreeable, I promise you.”

Struggling to find words Flannery was led deeper into the building through rooms equally lush, well lit from above and every angle softened to organic curves. No furniture or furnishings of any kind were visible beneath the thickness of growing things. As they passed, Flannery had a sense that foliage moved towards her, and if she stood for a moment, the moss beneath seemed to thicken, and gather about her feet.

They came to an orangery at the rear of the house, light and warmer. It was large and ran the width of the house. It too was filled with a jungle of plants but with a path that led to a clearing within which was a table and chairs, a desk with a lamp.

“My office, I suppose you’d call it,” Nuala said. “Please sit and I’ll get us some tea.”

Flannery sat. The chair was some sort of wickerwork, but irregularly woven. It looked more grown than made. She looked about her and noticed the legs of the low table and the base of the other chair were rooted into the ground. It was grown. She rested her hands on the arm rests, stroking them, feeling the texture of the bark of whatever tree or plant it was. The whole body of the chair responded with minute creaking adjustments as it adapted to the shape of her body. She could feel it moving through her clothes.

Nuala returned with a tray and tea. The tea pot, the cups, all were fashioned from bamboo.

“Is everything made from plants here?” Flannery asked with a smile.

“Almost everything, yes. And grown here too. Mother knows you’re here. She’ll be along soon to talk, but, tell me about yourself. We’re so curious to know what brought you here.”

“I was researching an article about women in science, about how differently they are treated to men, and found all that stuff about your mother from whenever it was, twenty odd years ago. Your mother was quite the story at the time - astounding research, incredible young female scientist leading the way in ground breaking transgenics, front pages on Nature, Scientific American, you name it. And then suddenly, that press conference where she confessed to making it all up.”

Nuala nodded. “I was about ten I think. It was a difficult time. We travelled a lot after that.”

“That she disappeared after that was what really piqued my interest. I was sure there was something sinister. Something patriarchal going on behind the scenes, that she was being scapegoated, threatened. It’s always the way when you dig deep enough.”

Nuala remained silent, but attentive, and poured the tea.

“But when I did dig - and I’m good at digging…there was just nothing after that, and very little really before things all kicked off. I got to speak to some people in Mexico she had worked with; there was a crazy woman I got hold of eventually, talked about a shaman or something, out in the desert? Did you know about that?”

Nuala dipped her head. “We did return to Mexico. After everything. Perhaps I’ll let Mother tell you about that. But please, go on.”

“And then I tracked back to the university where she had worked and found out about her colleague Booth. He’s a professor of transgenics now, and he’s been getting into the stuff your mother was working on - you can still get hold of her early papers, you see, and his work, Booth’s, is effectively the same. But here’s where it got really interesting - Booth has vanished. And when I started to dig into scientists vanishing, there were a few. And all working on transgenics.”

“And this is why you’re worried about my mother?”

“I wouldn’t say I am worried, exactly, but there’s got to be a connection. So far, all these missing scientists, four or five now, they’re all linked to your mother, either in Mexico or through the transgenics research and Booth.”

“And how did this lead you here?”

“So I went to the police, about these connections - there was a missing persons thing for Booth, you see. But they were no help. Then I went to his house and met his wife. Well, tried to, anyway, but she called the police. Said I was harassing her family. But…later, she contacted me. She thought I must be having an affair with her husband or something like that but when I actually met her, talked with her, explained everything, she gave me his laptop instead. Said she couldn't make sense of it; that she trusted me more than the police.”

“Booth came here,” said Nuala, suddenly.

“Yes, I rather thought that he had.” she patted her bag “I’ve got his lap top here. A friend of a friend is pretty clever with getting into places he’s not supposed to. I’ve read the emails. He came here just before he vanished didn’t he?”

“Is your visit about him, or about my Mother, Ms Stainton?” Nuala smiled.

“Your mother of course! But, I do love a mystery. Booth has vanished, after all. Into thin air. He has a wife…children. If you know anything…”

Nual shook her head. “Mother invited him, it’s true. They talked about…the work. I left them to it. She’ll be along, you can ask her. How do you like the tea?”

Flannery took a sip. It wasn’t earl grey, that was certain. Earthy, but floral, perhaps some mint, a slight, pleasant bitterness. She couldn't place it. “Unusual. Very nice.”

“It’s something we grow here; a blend. It can be mildly psychoactive, for some. But you’ll barely notice it.”

Flannery put the cup down. “I do have to drive, you know. Perhaps I’d better not have too much.”

They sat in silence for a few moments then Flannery asked “So what do you do here, in your office Nuala?”

“I help Mother with her work. She’s not as agile as she once was. Not as up to date with technology. She likes to keep a distance for that. I’m a sort of her interface with the world - out there - for her. I travel because she cannot do so as easily.”

“And what is the work? Is it transgenics? Is there a lab here?”

“This house…is our laboratory, if you want to call it that.”

“Yes. The House - I wanted to ask about that. How did your mother come to own it? She does own it, in a roundabout way. I checked at the land registry. Your mother wasn't wealthy, and a place like this…?”

Nuala shrugged “Mother knew the man that owned it. He left it to her when he died. He was persuaded of the value of what she’s doing, and wanted to help. We do try to keep these things to ourselves, but you’re good at your work, I can see that!”

“It's an amazing old house. I’m not an expert or anything, but surely all of this…this planting you’ve done inside it…it must be damaging the building?”

“A building is only stones arranged so that people can hide from the rain. But rain is life. And damage? Damage is just the passing of time.”

“That’s an interesting philosophy, but isn’t this your home? Don't you want to preserve it?”

“The world is our home. Think on this: the Egyptian pyramids are huge piles of stones in a sea of dust. They serve no purpose, nurture no life. The great river that enabled them to be made is almost gone now, isn't it. The people that made the pyramids are gone. All of that human endeavour to make a pile of stones. What would you rather be there, the stones or the plants; the river and the life it gave, or the bones of its poisoned fish?”

“I won’t argue with you there.”

“That’s my mother talking. But we’re of the same mind, she and I. That’s the essence of the work.”

Flannery sipped at her tea again. “I don’t think I’m getting trippy on it. It’s delicious. Grow’s on you.”

“I said you would barely notice.”

“So…the work, as you call it, can you tell me anything about that. Oh, and do you mind If I record our conversation?” Flannery leaned over to ferret in her bag and pulled out a digital record, laying it on the table. As she did, the interwoven stems that formed the table flexed ever so slightly, drawing away from the device with an almost imperceptible creak. She blinked and pulled her hand back then laid the device back down. There was no movement this time. Must be the tea after all.

“It will do that,” Said Nuala “the table. You saw it, didn’t you. Moving.” Flannery nodded.

“I thought it was the tea, but…the chair seemed to move as well, when I sat down.”

“This is an aspect of the work - to make us more sensitive to our surroundings; to make nature a part of us.”

“And what’s the point of this - what’s the goal? It can’t be about having furniture that’s alive, not that that’s not really cool!” She settled herself into the chair as emphasis.

“It is its own goal; do you not see that?”

“I’m not sure that I do. Does it involve transgenics then, is that what you mean by making nature part of us, at a genetic level? Your mother’s work was, as I understand it, using transgenic technology to introduce intracellular phytochemical capacity into animals; specifically humans. Specifically, anti inflammatories. Sorry. I’m quoting something I read there, you coudl probably tell.”

“My mother can better explain the science, if a scientific explanation is what you want. She’s coming. She won't be long. But I can try and explain our goal in your terms; I am so used to my own thoughts that it all seems so…obvious.”

“I can identify with that! I sometimes ask myself if I am the only sane person in the room. Especially when it's full of men.” She looked about, with mock secretiveness. “There aren’t any here, are there?”

Nuala unfolded her legs from beneath her and sat forward in her chair. “You ask what our work is about. Let me ask you this: what would you say is the greatest threat to life right now.”

“God! Where do I start! We’ve got the war spreading everywhere: Europe, Antarctica, India vs China, Russia’s cyber war with everyone; Korea, Lithium wars - let’s face it, it’s a war isn't it? Sea levels - London’s fucked, right? Manhatten, Amsterdam; water shortage everywhere south of 40 degrees North; methane spiking everywhere, on top of the CO2 - 4 degrees here we come! Pandemics; there’s that new one the WHO is reporting. Deforestation in South America, the oxygen death of the Med; collapse of the dollar…”

Nuala interrupted “All of these things are symptoms, predictable symptoms. Predicted Symptoms. What is the cause?”

“Well, it's us, isn't it? Western consumerism, global capitalism, the rise of autocracy and wealth imbalance.”

“Humans, then. You’d agree that humans themselves are the cause?”

“Not all humans…”

“Semantics.”

“Look, I don’t disagree with you over any of this - I get it, right. We’re fucking everything up, everything. But what are you going to do about it? I mean, what are we, everyone, not you and your mother…what can we do about it?”

“We have done something. You’ll see. Mother will explain.” Nuala’s gaze went to somewhere behind Flannery, who turned, tried to comprehend what she was seeing and then leapt from her chair in shock. As she jumped back, there was a slight resistance as if she had been stuck to the chair, peeled herself off it, even her hands. She had not heard anyone approach; there had just been the whisper of leaves and the creak of the wicker basket chair.

“Mother, this is Flannery Stainton. The journalist that wished to see you. We’ve just been having tea.”

“Very good. Ms Stainton, a pleasure to meet you. I'm glad my daughter has been making you welcome. I do apologise for making you wait. I’m not as quick on my …feet…as I was.”

Dr Lynch’s voice was deep, breathy, flute-like, with harmonising tones above and below the words. It was as completely unlike a human voice as was her appearance. She was essentially humanoid, legs, arms, a torso and head, with features, but at the same time, she was like a tree. Her skin was textured and whorled like bark, in shades of green, silvery grey and brown. Shoots and stalks and small branches grew from her; a tracery of vines and creepers wrapped her limbs. Her face was recognizably human, but perforated with smooth holes. She extended a hand in greeting. Her movements sounded like trees bending to the wind.

In shock, Flannery reached and took the offered hand; the skin of it felt like the arms of her chair.

“Is this… some sort of joke?” Flannery said, after a few moments.”This is a suit, right? Some prosthetics thing?”

“I assure you,” said the Doctor. “That I am completely natural.” Tendrils grew from her hand to entwine Flannery’s and she pulled away with a cry.

“Nuala! What the fuck is this? This is your Mother? She’s a fucking tree! What’s happened to her? What’s going on?” She looked around for the door to the orangery, but foliage seemed to have grown thick without her noticing, and there was no obvious path of escape.

“Please sit, Ms Stainton,” Helen’s voice lilted harmonically “You are in no danger.” She spread her arms in welcome, movements slow and graceful.

Still on edge, Flannery lowered herself back into her chair, not taking her eyes from Dr Lynch as she progressed past, slowly, to stand beside her daughter’s seat. Flannery gaped at the way she moved. She didn't walk; she crept, her feet never leaving the ground, masses of root-like tendrils undulating in and out of the moss propelling her forward. No wonder I didn't hear her.

“I can see you are startled at my appearance, at what I am become. In truth, when I must meet with people, I take more time to become more human in appearance. I can change myself, you see. Bu I spend most of my time now, standing, like my brother and sister trees. Communing. Becoming. But when Nuala told me we had a visitor, and of your concerns, I felt it best that I come as swiftly as my nature allowed.”

“I don’t…I don’t know what to say.” said Flannery, “I still can’t believe what I’m seeing. Is this real? Are you real?”

“Nuala tells me you have questions. And I would like to answer them for you. I am still changing, becoming my animal self more evidently in my phenotype. You will see it. I think it will be useful that you do; as an explanation, and more convincing for it that you see it happen.” As she spoke, Flannery noticed that some of the holes in Helen’s face were shrinking and some had closed. Her voice was becoming less musical.

“I did have questions, you’re right. Where had you gone, what really happened back then, What have you been doing. But now, now that I’ve met you… I’m sorry. Can I touch you again?”

She stood and approached the Doctor, reaching out with both hands and resting them on her arms, gripping them and then moving both hands up and down, feeling the texture of the skin and the nature of the flesh beneath.

I feel like I’m checking an avocado, “Sorry, this is probably really rude of me isn't it, only…”

“Don’t worry. I want you to understand. To know. Now that you have found us, it's important that you understand.”

“So, would it be right to say that this… that you are the work? This thing you have become?”

“I am one part of it, yes.”

“And, god, I feel awkward asking this, but what are you? What is this? A mutation?”

“I am Helen Lynch; still a human being, but now, also more than that. Not a mutation, an evolution, a new species. Homo Myceliensis, might be one scientific name for me, were I to submit to taxonomic categorisation.”

“Myceliensis…as in, fungus”

“Mycelia play a part. As they do with almost all plants. Everywhere.”

Flannery was beginning to calm down and her journalist instincts began to whisper to her that she was facing not just the strangest being on the planet, but also the biggest story of her career. She sat down.

“Ok. I’m getting there. I am getting there, with this, all this. I have questions. Sooo many questions.”

“And I will answer them, if I can, but first, can I ask you to tell me what you know about me. We have taken great care not to be found, and yet…”

“I’ll bring more tea,” Said Nuala, disappearing into the greenery.

Flannery explained her research, her investigations, her instinct that there was a deeper story behind Helen’s disappearance. And then she came to Professor Booth, the link that had drawn her here.

“Booth was working on the same things that you had been working on. And there was someone in Mexico, too. Both of them have disappeared. That’s when I became certain there was something afoot. Something I had to get to the bottom of. I had to find you, you see. And luckily, Booth found you, or, rather, you found him, and I followed him here.”

Helen said nothing.

“What brought Booth here? Does he know about this, about you? You know he’s disappeared, don’t you. The day after he came here. Vanished without a trace. Is what you’re doing dangerous? Are there financial interests at work?”

“Let us show you something. Something else. But finish your tea. Nuala, will you open the nursery for us?” Helen spoke into the air, “I’m still slow on my feet. Flannery, take my arm, will you?”

They began a slow walk through the dense foliage of the orangery, and through more rooms of the house towards the rear of it. Everywhere, plants thrived and seemed to almost move towards them as they walked. Flannery noticed that Helen’s gait was changing, her “trunk” like legs moving increasingly like human walking, her feet lifting from the mossy floor occasionally, trailing roots. She began to feel distortion at the periphery of her vision, a blurring of reality, which , if she turned towards it, normalised. The edges of shapes lost their focus, became hazy. Perhaps that second cup of tea…

At some point, they left the old part of the house and entered what seemed a maze-like structure of tunnels formed from interwoven plants and dense leaves. Orchids, bromeliads and vines hung down, thick fleshy succulents like impossible phalluses jutted from the floor. The closeness brought more density to the air, more texture, deeper scent. And moss. Always the moss on the floor which now felt exquisitely soft and somehow energising to her feet.

“I don't know if it's the tea, “ she said, “but I feel strange.”

“That will pass. Don’t worry. Now, here we are.”

They had come to a door which opened with a hiss a few moments after they stopped before it. Inside, the room was warm, and the air very dry. The ceiling was opaque and bright white and lamps were recessed into the walls, casting warmth and light, like sunlight, into the room from every side. In the middle of the room was a dense woody shrub. Aside from a small patch of moss at the doorway, the ground was sand and stones.

“This is the nursery. Where things begin. Let me show you.” Helen turned one arm over, the skin was beginning to look less like bark. “ Do you see the scar there, in my forearm? Many years ago I went to Mexico when Nuala was a little girl. When I was there, I travelled into the desert and I met a shaman. He was old. Far older than a man can be, because he was like I am now. He was a man, but he was also something more and I knew that, and he sensed that I knew and he showed me his secret because he saw that my purpose in seeking him out was a good one. He showed me the secret of the medicine that stays. That’s what he called it. I told him that I searched for a cure for my mother - she had terrible arthritis, you see. It took in her at a young age, and she suffered for years. The Shaman showed me the way to heal it. Nuala, will you dim the lights?” She spoke into the air again.

The lights dimmed in the room.

“There, do you see, on the ground, beneath the bush? Something glowing?”

“Yes, spots of greenish yellowish glowing, fading. Are they…fireflies?” As if summoned, some of the lights took to the air, then settled down elsewhere.

“And do you see beneath my skin, the same faint glow, just there, where the scarring is?”

“Yes…yes I do…but…wait…is that a firefly? In your arm?”

“There is a creature in the sea, a tiny creature. At some point in the life of this planet, that creature took on some DNA from a plant which glows. And then the creature was somehow, some essence of it, was taken up by the insect so it would glow. And somehow, a fungus, a species of cordyceps, evolved a relationship with these fireflies. The spores infect it, infect its brain. They make it seek out this species of creosote bush, bury down to its roots where the mycelia grow from its body and join with the roots and sprout the fruiting body. It takes something from the roots of this bush and the firefly and the fungus lives: the fungus within the fly, and the fly within the fungus. They never seem to die, unless one is removed from the other. This is what is within my arm. The shaman had it within him, and he put it in me, so that it would live, and I brought it back with me, inside me, to England, to study it, to understand.”

“But what is the purpose of it?”

Helen walked over to the bush and stooped down to pluck from the ground one of the glowing fungal bodies that was rooted there.

“Come, let me show you another thing, but we must be quick - this will not live long once it is removed from the root.”

Helen led them away and back through the maze and into cooler, wetter air. Soon they stood before another door. Helen turned to Flannery.

“Before we enter here, let me explain that when I returned to England, I saw the potential for this medicine - the medicine that stays - it stays because it becomes the person and the person becomes it. The person makes their own medicine, whatever medicine is put within the organism. I realised then, as the world inexorably chose the wrong path at every turn, that this medicine would only be used in the wrong way. It grants incredible longevity, and health. There are already too many of us, consuming everything, tainting the world wherever we go. What benefit to the world would longevity bring? So I buried it. Destroyed it all, ruined my own name. All except this within me, and then, with that, what I have created here. And this is why I cannot allow it to be discovered by others. Do you see?”

The door opened and Helen brought them inside. At first Flannery did not understand what she was looking at - it was another tree, a tree much like Helen, but more tree than human. Then she saw that it was a man, growing from the ground, but staked and tied. It moved when they entered, but very slowly. Features opened where its head was. Rasping hooting sounds came from holes within its head, like Helen’s. Its branch-like arms swayed, straining forward, towards them, creaking, creepers and shoots squirming at its fingertips. Sounds like words began to be audible, mournful sounds. Sounds like pain.

“What ..is it? Is it a person?”

“It’s Booth. He is becoming, but still he resists it. And so he must stay restrained until it’s done.”

“What do you mean, it’s Booth?!” shouted Flannery. “What are you doing to him!”

“Booth found something I had missed, something I left behind. Nuala found a paper he had published. She watches for it, always. He was going to discover the medicine that stays, and I know what manner of man he is. So I called him here and showed him why he must not continue. I showed him that we had a better plan. But he did not see it as we see it. He sees only the profit to be taken, not the price to be paid. We could not let him leave.”

“But you can’t do this to him…it’s …it’s like torture, murder.” Flannery stared at the slowly writhing tree form of Booth. The soil at the base of his legs stirred. The straps tying him to the stakes creaked.

“It is far from that. He is becoming…becoming us. It is as far from murder as you can imagine. We have given him a different, better life. Our life. That is the plan, you see.”

“What do you mean? How can that, “ she pointed at Booth “be any sort of plan?”

“To change the nature of humans. Its nature is to consume and thus it destroys. Homo Sapiens is an aberration. It is a destroying virus infecting the whole world. It will destroy all life, in the end. It has already destroyed more life than has ever lived on this planet. It cannot stop because that is its nature, and so we will change its nature. That is the only way.”

Flannery became aware that Helen’s grip upon her had tightened, that creepers and tendrils were wrapping and knotting about her arm, but she was able to pull away and Helen did not stop her.

“You can’t expect me not to say something about this, about Booth. This is madness!”

“But what would you say, if you were to leave? And what would the police find? Nothing but a tree, after all. Booth is almost become one with us, but he has not embraced it as I have, as Nuala has. As the others have. He has not allowed himself to do so, and so he will become a tree, and only that. But a fine one.” She slapped at his bark “And one that will live many hundreds of years and harm nothing.”

“I have to go. I’ll find some way to stop this!”

“It is too late for that. We wouldn’t have been so welcoming if there had been anything you could do to stop it.”

“What do you mean, too late?”

“The plan is put into effect, Flannery. Did you enjoy your tea?” it was Nuala. She had appeared at the door. One hand was held up and on a finger of it, was perched a small bird.

“Yes, we’ve been very busy. We have travelled a great deal,” She said “Everywhere, in fact. Hold out your finger and the bird will come.”

A numbness began to take hold of Flannery, and a tingling began to creep up into her feet and up her legs.

The tea

Nuala held out her hand with the bird on it, in front of Flannery’s eyes. “Tell me what you see.”

“A sparrow…just a sparrow..” But then she saw that it wasn’t just a sparrow.

“We are everywhere now. In every ecosystem. In all the far corners. In the sea. In the forests, In the corn and the rice and the wheat. Within some birds and rodents and some insects. Beneath the ground and in the earth. An ever growing thing. Slowly the change will come, but it will come. It only takes the tiniest trace to enter a human body, and it will begin within them.”

“That pandemic…the new illness that WHO is broadcasting…is that…the plan?

Nuala and Helen smiled. Then each of them took one of her hands in theirs and Helen held up the glowing fungus hybrid.

“The question for you, Flannery, is…do you stay with us and embrace it, take the medicine within you now, become one of us in our safe care… or, do you leave and face the change within you alone and the madness that will follow it across the world whilst it takes hold and the new era begins?”

Flannery looked from one to the other, then down at her feet where, from the moss, tendrils were sprouting and wrapping over and around her feet. The electric numbness was rising in her legs, her vision was tunneling and blurring at the periphery. Yet at the same time, she felt a euphoric calmness within her. When the two women spoke, harmonic echoes of their voices reverberated in her head, drawing out their meaning and taking on colours behind her eyes that burst and shimmered like oil on water.

“You can feel it happening already, can’t you,” said Helen. “We could sense you would be receptive. The mycelia are already within you. We are within you.”

“I've prepared a place for you, if you want to stay.” said Nuala, pointing to a freshly dug hole in the mossy ground.

“Or you can leave, if you prefer,” said Helen.

“Will it hurt at all?” Flannery asked, closing her eyes to better feel the colours and sounds in her head. She heard them answer inside her mind and the moss closed around her feet as she stepped into the hole.

© Nick Winney 21.4.25 All rights reserved. Whatever that means.