Ghosts, Monsters and Madmen

by D. Nathan Hilliard

  Why?

  Because he helped me. The poor guy never had a chance…and it’s completely my fault. I knew he couldn’t have said no to me even if he had wanted to, and I used him. This is so unfair. And while I’ve been sitting around thinking of nobody but myself, he must have been fighting the Mushroom Man to make contact with me.

  Tamara wiped her eyes and put a couple of fingers against the laptop monitor as if to touch the stricken man in the photo. Then she noticed that below the picture was a single link to an unknown webpage.

  He had still been trying to communicate something to her.

  She frowned at the link and put her fingers back to the touchpad.

  “What were you trying to tell me, Pauly?”

  Clicking the link below the picture, she leaned forward to see where the AV tech had directed her.

  “Ants?” She read the title of the webpage in confusion. “What about ants, Pauly? I don’t get it.” She remembered that Pauly had mentioned ants in his second phone call to her as well.

  Frowning in concentration, the girl put her chin in her hand and read the article on the webpage. It was about Carpenter ants in Thailand, and the life they led in the jungle canopy. Much of it contained the type of biologically technical details that, due to her utter lack of interest in anything scientific, made her eyes cross.

  Lots of scientific names were used, and lots of charts that meant absolutely nothing to her scrolled past her eyes. It didn’t even come with pictures, a situation she had detested in any written product since childhood.

  She finally began to wonder if Pauly had been delirious when he sent this to her…

  …then she saw it.

  It was a couple of paragraphs about a fungus.

  A fungus that would infect a living ant. A fungus that would take over that ant. A fungus that would control that ant and force it to go to a nice shady place under a leaf. Then once there, it would make that ant clamp its mandibles in a death grip to the bottom of that leaf…and then it would kill it. Finally it would sprout out of the body of the ant, covering it and raining spores down on the ants that passed below.

  Tamara read the paragraphs twice in disbelief.

  This was real. There actually existed a fungus that could inhabit a creature and make it do what it wanted.

  Or in this case, prevent it from doing what it doesn’t want.

  “There is no Mushroom Man!” she gasped aloud. “It’s all a lie to keep me from going out that door! It’s all in my head! It’s not real!” Swiveling in her chair, she leapt to her feet and ran for the door.

  Once again, she didn’t make it.

  ###

  Gagging and clutching her middle, Tamara squirmed her way across the floor and away from the front entranceway.

  The pain and nausea slowly faded as she put distance between herself and the door…

  …but the despair grew exponentially.

  “No. No. Noooo!” she whimpered. “This shouldn’t be happening. It’s just a damn fungus! How can it do this?”

  The wave of pain and nausea had hit her like a sledgehammer, bringing her to a stop a full two feet short of the door as if she had run into a wall. Only crawling away and making promises to a ghost she now knew didn’t exist made the torment ease.

  Real or not, for all intents and purposes the Mushroom Man still held her captive. She pictured him standing behind her, driving pale tendril-like fingers into her skull that grew and wormed their way into her brain.

  And he still intended to kill her.

  Pushing herself to her hands and knees, Tamara crawled back over to the counter. Thick spittle hung from her mouth, and the girl’s throat now burned constantly from its repeated exposure to stomach bile. Her stomach muscles ached in nonstop misery. The only blessing was that her nose had lost the ability to smell vomit a long time ago.

  The apartment must have reeked of it.

  She figured she had probably lost at least five pounds over the course of the day due to fluid loss alone. Now she felt weak as a kitten.

  Tamara’s legs shook with the effort and she had to use her hands for help as she pulled herself up to sit in the chair at the counter. It was either that or go lie down and wait for the inevitable. She had already promised herself she wouldn’t be found slumped in a chair or curled up somewhere on the floor. There was a bottle of tequila in the cupboard above the refrigerator, and when the time came she planned to take it to bed with her.

  She instinctually knew the Mushroom Man would allow that, since it would be her giving up.

  “It’s not the Mushroom Man,” the girl reminded herself with bitter venom. “It’s just a damn fungus that has gotten into my head. It’s not a ghost. It’s not even a man. It’s just a damned thing!”

  Tamara slammed a fist down on the counter and fought to scream at the unfairness of it all… but she wasn’t allowed that either. Her face contorted, and her teeth clenched to the cracking point, but her throat seemed to lock up. She fought—she fought with everything she had—yet nothing but a tiny mewl of effort escaped.

  In the end, she put her head down in her arms and cried.

  She didn’t wail or break into loud sobs…she didn’t have that left in her. Tamara just closed her eyes tightly and wept. She cried hot tears of grief for the life she wanted to have, and the half realized dreams she wanted to chase. She was supposed to have more time…and when that time came, it wasn’t supposed to be like this.

  She wasn’t supposed to be alone.

  With a sniffle, she raised her head and focused once again on the laptop. Pauly still stared out with hollow eyes and a cloak and hood of mushrooms.

  She knew from the torture she endured every time she attempted something forbidden, that sending that message must have put him through hell, especially since it hadn’t allowed him to talk openly about it on the phone. Yet somehow he had endured and done that much.

  “Thanks, Pauly,” she whispered at the screen. “Thanks for at least seeing that I knew what was going on.”

  Her eyes returned to the little mound of mushrooms in the man’s lap.

  “I didn’t know you had a cat. I guess a guy who likes cats has to have his good points, right?” She looked up at the cabinet door above the fridge and realized there really remained no point in putting that off much longer. “Anyway, I just wanted to thank you for being there for me…even though it must have hurt like hell to do it. And I’m really sorry for what I did to you and your cat.”

  Tamara reached out and put her hand on the top of the laptop.

  “Goodbye, Pauly. Maybe I can buy you another coffee on the other side.”

  She pulled the lid closed, shutting the small computer down.

  Taking a deep breath, the girl pushed herself to her feet and made her way slowly over to the refrigerator. Standing on her tiptoes, she opened the cabinet and fished out the tequila and a glass she had stored beside it for the sake of convenience. Tamara returned to the counter with the items and sat them down. There remained one thing left to do before taking the bottle with her into the bedroom.

  “Pumpkin?” she called, fighting once again to keep the tears out of her voice. “Kitty? Where are you? If you can, just meow and Mommy will come get you.”

  A plaintive meow, followed by a sharp sneeze issued from somewhere down the hallway.

  A couple of seconds later a plump orange shape trotted into the living room. Pumpkin headed straight for her, stopped at her feet with a mighty sneeze, then leapt up onto the counter. The large cat paraded across the countertop under Tamara’s astonished gaze and seated himself pointedly by his empty food dish.

  “Waitaminute,” Tamara goggled at the big cat in disbelief. “You don’t have any mushrooms growing out of you. Where are your mushrooms?”

  Pumpkin looked over at his empty food dish, then fixed her with a disdainful gaze that suggested there were far more important issues at hand than his lack of a fungal coating.

  “No, seriously,” Tamara leaned f
orward and ran her hands gently through his fur, working slowly from his head down to the base of his tail. She shook her head in wonder at the results. No mushrooms…and no tell-tale bumps of mushrooms on the way either. Not to mention the cat’s lively entrance suggested he wasn’t even feeling poorly either. “Why aren’t you dead…or dying?”

  Pumpkin squirmed away, returned to his food bowl, and gave a plaintive meow that conveyed his opinion that he was indeed dying, that it was from malnutrition, and that he couldn’t hold out much longer.

  “Okay, okay. I’ll feed you. Good for you, you huge oaf.”

  She petted the cat’s head briefly then headed for the refrigerator. Pumpkin’s apparent immunity didn’t make sense, but it was one small victory over the Mushroom Man and Tamara was willing to take solace in that. Pulling open the fridge door, she scanned the nearly bare interior before grabbing a big plastic tub of leftover macaroni and cheese. Coming back with the food, she briefly considered putting some of it in the cat’s food bowl, then realized it made more sense to just leave the whole bowl on the counter.

  After all, the cat would need something to eat until somebody found them on Monday or Tuesday.

  She petted the porky feline for a minute…then picked up her bottle and glass.

  “Okay, baby,” she favored the cat with a sad smile. “Mommy’s going to bed now. Once you’re done, feel free to visit.

  Pumpkin sneezed his response.

  “Oh right,” she replied and reached over to the spice rack and grabbed the cat’s medicine. “I hope whoever gets you next remembers. I’ll leave the bottle where they’ll be sure to find it.”

  In her weakened state, the cap proved difficult. After the first failure, she leaned against the counter and tried again. Failing a second time, she lifted the bottle and glared at it in frustration.

  Then she saw it.

  For a moment, the word didn’t register. Then her eyes widened as its import hit home. Tamara looked up from the bottle, to the impatiently waiting cat, then back at the label in front of her. The name of the drug meant absolutely nothing to her, just a scientific sounding noun with too many syllables. It was the word on the next line that leapt up at her…the most important word in the whole world.

  Anti-fungal.

  There was a chance.

  “Pumpkin! Oh you beautiful, beautiful cat!”

  Pumpkin ignored her, choosing instead to concentrate on the mac and cheese while Tamara renewed her assault on the bottle cap. Under other circumstances, the idea of taking cat medicine would have scared the hell out of her, but not now. Right now her only two concerns were getting that bottle open and figuring out how much to take once she did.

  Okay, Pumpkin is about twelve to fifteen pounds. I weigh a hundred and ten…oh, who am I kidding, I weigh a hundred and seventeen. Ten capsules. Ten capsules just to be sure. Maybe eleven.

  She felt the cap turn under her hand, and with a cry of triumph held it aloft.

  And that was when it struck.

  A towering wave of cramps and nausea fell upon her with all the crashing force of a tsunami. She fell straight to the floor with a strangled cry. Pain tore into her tortured abdomen that felt like jagged steel hooks pulling her guts in all directions. Even worse, she could feel waves of agony coming from the hand that held the bottle and spreading down her arm like there was acid in the veins.

  The bottle was going to kill her if she didn’t get it away from her. Fast.

  No!

  Her arm operated on instinctual self-preservation and pulled back to throw the bottle away from her.

  No, dammit! That’s what it wants! You have to fight this time! You have to fight this time or you will die right here!

  Grappling with her own traitorous arm, Tamara rolled over and curled herself around the hand with the bottle. She whimpered and kicked the wall next to her as the bottle seemed to become a mini-nova of pain that radiated white hot agony into the rest of her. The girl thrashed on the floor, wondering if it was possible to literally die from pain.

  Finish twisting the cap and swallow the pills, Tamara! Swallow them all!

  With a moan almost mindless with pain, she finished twisting the cap off the bottle…and things got even worse.

  A stench fouler than a thousand opened graves spilled forth, surrounding her in a cloud of rot heavy fumes so thick she couldn’t breathe. She gagged and flopped, her eyes bulging as she fought for air in the reeking miasma.

  Eat the pills, Tamara! You’ve got the lid off, now eat the pills! All of them! Pauly beat this thing to send you that link. You can beat it too!

  Tamara strangled and kicked as she fought to uncurl herself from around the bottle. Pulling the bottle up her front and towards her head was like dragging a rusty can opener up through her belly and chest. The pain caused her to arch her back and roll over to her side…a move that brought a whole new sight of horror to disbelieving eyes.

  Across the room, the Mushroom Man gazed down at her with dead yellow eyes.

  The corpse stared at her with baleful condemnation. Even through her misery she could feel his anger. This had been a person…a person who had died slumped against that tree, wanting nothing more than to go home…and she had used him for a photo opportunity and left him out there to rot.

  She deserved exactly what she was getting.

  “I’m sorry,” she wept in both pain and guilt. “I’m so sorry. I should have helped you get home.”

  Eat the damn pills, Tamara! Now!

  The Mushroom Man held out his decay-stained hand, and she understood that all she had to do was throw him the pills. Accept his judgment and the pain would stop. She could die quietly and in peace in her bed.

  Now!

  The corpse took a step toward her.

  “I’m sorry,” she cried and twisted in torment. “I’m sorry about what I did…I really am…but I don’t deserve this!”

  Gathering the last of her strength and will, she pushed the open bottle to her mouth and tilted back her head.

  It was like eating fire.

  Each pill felt a red hot piece of metal, but pain had become such an all-enveloping thing that this became just one more addition to a list of ongoing tortures. Tamara bit down on the capsules and chewed, and lava poured across her tongue and teeth. Every fiber in her being demanded she spit it out, and she covered her mouth with both hands to prevent instinct or reflex from undoing her act.

  She kept her hands there when she swallowed too, not daring to risk her gagging them back up. The pain reached a crescendo as the molten matter scorched down her throat and filled her chest and stomach with a new, fiery form of hell. It consumed her, burning her out from the inside till she felt sure her bones showed black from the internal glow.

  It continued to grow until she became a single bright, mindless star of agony…no name, no thoughts…just a blinding white beacon of pain.

  Then that star collapsed and blackness came crushing in.

  ###

  Three hours later, a 911 operator in north Houston got a call originating from an apartment complex on Highway 1960. It was short, garbled, and only a few words were understandable.

  “help……so sick… …sorry”

  It ended with the sounds of violent retching, and then the line went dead.

  But by that time the address had already been determined and an ambulance was on the way.

  ###

  “Tamara? Are you alright?”

  The nurse stepped into the darkened room. After a week of having to do it in an environmental suit, it was nice to be able to deal with her patient on a more human level without it. Reaching over to the sliding switch, she raised the lights to a level she could see by but wouldn’t cause discomfort to the young girl in bed.

  “Yeah, I’m okay. Sorry about that.”

  “You saw him again, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah,” came the shaky reply. “I know it’s not real, but it’s a hell of thing to wake up and have him stan
ding by the bed.” Tamara rubbed her hand over her bald scalp. They had shaved her hair off in order to better treat the affected areas of her scalp, neck, and shoulders. “It still seems real when it’s there.”

  “Oh honey, I know,” the nurse moved around the bed, as if to prove nothing stood there now. “It will be a little while yet. The drugs are killing it off, but fungal infections die slowly. It will fade. I promise.”

  “Thanks. That’s good to know.” She covered her face with her hands and gave a long, slow exhale.

  “You want to know something even better?”

  “Sure, I could use a little cheering up.”

  “Well,” the nurse continued while checking her IV tubes, “we were going to tell you later this morning, but since you’re up…your friend down the hall regained consciousness about an hour ago.”

  “Pauly?” Tamara shot up in bed, eyes now wide open. “Is he okay? When can I see him?”

  “Not yet. He’s still very, very sick,” the nurse held up a cautioning finger, “and he has a long recovery ahead of him. He didn’t stop at a tanning salon on the way home and retard the fungi’s growth with a massive dose of UV like you did, and therefore got a much worse case of it.”

  “But he’s going to be okay? Waking up means he’s going to make it now, right?”

  “Yes, Miss Quail,” the woman smiled and shushed her. “The doctors think he’s going to be okay.”

  Tamara fell back into bed; and for the first time since she had arrived the nurse saw something other than a look of haunted misery on her face. It was the look of somebody who found something good in the world again.

  “You two must be really good friends.”

  “He’s the best kind of friend. Let’s just say I owe that man a coffee.”

  “Really? For what?”

  “Being there,” Tamara exhaled and closed her eyes, “Just being there when that’s where I needed him to be. There are no better friends than that.”

  Limited Definitions