“Ghost lights?” Ezra grins at Jack and Zion.
“Yep.” Nate gives his foot a shake and then strolls ahead with a little extra pep in his step.
“I heard those woods were haunted,” Zion says, flipping dark curls off his forehead. Zion’s slim with brown skin and light eyes, and unlike the other two, still manages to smile every once in a while.
“Could be,” Nate offers. “I wouldn’t be surprised if those lights were the ghosts of dead Bells from, like, the last hundred years. But till I get a closer look I can’t rule out UFOs or vampires.”
Ezra drops his board to the ground. “We’re totally checking it out.”
Jack shrugs. “Better than standing around here.”
Wheels hit the pavement.
“Thanks for the heads up, little dude,” Ezra calls as the three of them zip past us.
“Wait!” Nate yells, chasing after them until they take a curve in the road and disappear. When I catch up to Nate, he shakes his head looking dumbstruck. “That was our investigation.”
“And they’re totally stealing it.” A mosquito whines near my ear, and I slap my cheek as we pass the NOW LEAVING SHADY PINES sign.
Nate kicks a pebble. “I just thought it might be sorta fun if we all went together. Like our own team of Ghostbusters.”
The first few stars peek out above and the smell of summer hay wafts from the fields on either side of us. If I’m honest, I wouldn’t have minded playing Ghostbusters with Ezra for a couple of hours. But unlike Nate, I know that’s not gonna happen. Ever since Dad left, my brother’s pretty much allergic to fun. “Probably wasn’t much to see anyway.”
We drift down the dirt road past the knee-high golden crops that buzz with cicadas. The night air feels sticky and too thick.
“You know, we could still catch up.” Nate nods toward the curve in the road where the guys disappeared. “If you don’t mind getting a bit dirty.”
I give him a sideways smile. “No self-respecting naturalist is afraid of a little dirt.”
He grins and we take off at full speed, leaping over the railroad tracks and scuttling down a narrow path partially hidden by tangles of dewberry brambles. When we finally make it to the woods, we’re panting hard. The guys’ skateboards are propped against a cypress tree with swaths of moss dangling from its branches like shaggy beards. Under the thick canopy, it’s too dark to see much. I’ve got no choice but to bust out the Dora flashlight.
NO TRESPASSING signs hang from every tree. I grip the camera’s strap, a fresh wave of doubt rising in my stomach. If we keep going, we’re lawbreakers.
Nate studies my face. “It’s just this once, Mags, and it’s for a good cause. Scientific research.”
All my plans for Dad hinge on winning the Merit Award and getting in front of the Vitaccino board of directors. If I back down now, I can kiss those dreams goodbye. “Ten minutes.”
“Perfecto. That’s all I need for a bit of B-roll.” Nate dances ahead, shaking his backside and shimmying his shoulders.
I bite back a smile. Nate’s one of those people who can pull off being quirky without seeming bonkers. Like the time he showed up at school in a homemade Loki costume. It wasn’t Halloween or anything. Even grumpy old Ms. Odgin got a kick out of it.
As Nate and I weave through the trees, something flickers in the distance like a handful of glitter flung into the air. I stop walking. All around us, the tree trunks begin to tremble with light. Neon blue, nuclear green. The wind howls and the hair on the back of my neck stands on end.
“What is all this stuff?” Nate asks. The glimmer reflects off his eyes and makes them twinkle aquamarine.
I stretch out my hand to touch a luminous green patch carpeting the bone-white bark of a sycamore tree. “Definitely not security lights.”
CHAPTER FOUR
For a moment, I forget to breathe. A glowing indigo jelly trickles down a dead log like electric blueberry jam. I spin around. Fleshy neon stars pulse along the tree trunks. It’s a wonderland of color and lights. This must be how Madam Curie felt when she discovered radium.
“This is so going viral.” Nate holds his camcorder out, filming the woods. “We are standing in what is likely the site of the latest UFO landing,” he says in a slow, dramatic voice. “Solid proof that extraterrestrials are among us.”
I suddenly remember what I’m here for––and it isn’t an alien investigation. I lift Dad’s camera off my neck and kneel next to a tree with radiant teal lace swirling around its roots. I adjust the camera’s focus and snap a picture. This is even better than the bumblebee moth with the bonus antenna. The Merit Award is mine.
Nate zigzags around the trees and then bounces to my side. “So, what’s your take? UFO? Shapeshifters? Vampires?”
I brush a twig against a patch of blue that shimmers like a sea of sapphires. I smile. “You were right, Nate. These woods are amazing, but it isn’t anything supernatural. It’s bioluminescence.”
Nate’s eyes narrow. “Please tell me you’re not turning the most awesome night of my life into something boring and sciencey.”
“Bioluminescence is a scientific wonder. Some things in nature can produce their own light—fireflies, jellyfish, and…” I pause, taking a closer look at the fleshy stuff at the bottom of the tree. “Certain kinds of fungi.”
“Fungi? As in mushrooms?”
“And things like mold and yeast.”
“You are literally killing me right now.” Nate pitches his head back. “What about evil mushrooms? There’s still hope for that, right?”
I poke a few swirly emerald bulbs with a dried leaf, trying to remember a Nat Geo article I read a couple of years ago. “Most bioluminescent species grow where it’s dark and wet. The canopy here blocks the sun, and we get plenty of rain.” I scan the fluorescent trails spiraling up all around us and sigh. “Nature’s really incredible.”
Nate groans. “ ‘Nature’s really incredible,’ won’t propel me to Internet stardom, Maggie. You gotta give me something spicy. I need the unexplained. The weird. The terrifying.”
“A lot of mushrooms are poisonous and can give you terrible diarrhea. That’s pretty scary.”
“Fantastic. They can write, ‘Watch out for diarrhea,’ as my yearbook quote. That’s not the kinda legacy I’m looking to make.” Nate pushes both hands through his hair, fluffing his curls into wild heaps. His eyes suddenly bulge and he jumps back. “SPIDER!” A quarter-size wolf spider crawls up his bare leg. “Get it, Mags! Before it makes webs in my ears!”
“Calm down––wolf spiders don’t even make webs!”
“I feel its fangs piercing my flesh!”
I roll my eyes and try to get ahold of Nate’s leg, but he’s gyrating so much it’s impossible.
Nate flings his body out in a dramatic ninja kick, and the spider finally loses its grip. He whimpers and falls back, his feet bashing against a log. A teal cloud explodes out of the dead wood, making tiny fireworks around Nate’s sneaker. He scuttles back. “What was that? Say it’s not more spiders. Or spider eggs. Or anything related to spiders.”
I kneel and examine the log. “I think the cloud was… spores. That’s how fungi reproduce, like flowers with pollen.”
He jumps to his feet. “Do spores sometimes hatch into baby spiders?”
“You really need to do your homework sometime,” I say and snap a few more photos of the woods.
Voices stir behind us. I grab the flashlight and spin around. It’s Ezra, Zion, and Jack, laughing and jumping through the woods like it’s their own personal playground.
Then something makes a whizzing sound and a stream of white sprays out from a can in Ezra’s hand. He’s coating a tree with the outline of a ghost. “Ezra, stop!”
Instead of stopping, he turns and sprays another tree. “I’m just giving the place a little more style.”
“Don’t!” I yell. Ezra got suspended last spring for tagging the boys’ bathroom. Gramma nearly blew a blood vessel. And Dad spent his ent
ire Easter visit paying extra attention to Ezra. Like if they bonded enough over the weekend it’d make Ezra nice again. “You don’t have to mark your territory everywhere you go. You’re not a dog.”
He raises his chin to the sky and howls, then finishes the second ghost and tosses the spray can on the ground.
I scoop up his litter. “Did you even stop to look around before you started destroying things? This is a one-of-a-kind biosphere and all you want to do is mess it up.”
“You know what this stuff is?” Ezra asks. Jack and Zion shuffle a little closer, looking slightly less bored than usual.
I toss the spray can into my backpack. “It’s bioluminescent fungi. The light’s caused by a chemical reaction inside the mushrooms.”
“You don’t have to show off, Maggie. Dad’s not here to be impressed by all your dumb nature stuff.”
Ezra’s always got something snarky to say about Dad lately. It’s like he’s forgotten that six months ago Dad was his favorite person on the planet.
Ezra looks me over then blows out a puff of air. “Look, I was just joking, all right?” He rubs his knuckles over the top of my head, and my thoughts jump back to the three of us loaded into Dad’s pickup. Eating sunflower seeds and drinking bottles of root beer. Crossing miles of highway while Dad told us about Greenland sharks that can live for five hundred years in icy arctic waters, or Appalachian millipedes that spray cyanide poison to scare off predators. Ezra would give him a big fake yawn and act like he was bored, but then he’d lean back and keep right on listening. He loved Dad’s stories as much as I did. Only now he doesn’t remember any of that.
I push Ezra’s hand away. “Dad’s going to be back soon. And he’s not going to like it if you get yourself into more trouble.”
“You know, not everybody who leaves comes home again, Mags.”
I swallow. Ezra isn’t talking about Dad anymore. I don’t remember much about her. Only long, silky hair and snippets of “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” Ezra remembers, though. He used to tell me stories about the way things were when Mom was still around. But nowadays he won’t talk to me about anything. “Dad’s not like that,” I say. “You’ll see.”
“Sure, whatever.” Ezra yanks on the straps of his backpack. “I’m outta here. There’s no ghosts. Just a bunch of mushroom junk.”
As he turns to go, a beastly growl rumbles in the distance. Moonlight catches the dark forms of three large doberman pinschers.
Jack scrambles back. “Nobody said anything about watchdogs.”
“This wasn’t exactly an official tour,” Nate replies.
Their snarls grow fiercer as they stalk closer. My heart thumps in my ears. We’re trespassing and these dogs are going to make us pay.
CHAPTER FIVE
The dobermans charge toward us, racing over gnarled roots and ropey vines. The dogs are solid muscle with eyes that glisten green in the darkness. Zion and Jack start sprinting away. I’m close behind, but when my shoelaces catch under my foot, I crash to the dirt.
Nate skids to a stop. “They’re coming, Mags! Get up!”
The dogs fly toward us. I squeeze my eyes shut. We’re going to get eaten alive. Gramma will find my shredded body and wear black for the rest of her life and tell everyone that back in her day kids didn’t trespass or get mauled by dogs.
“Come here, boy. Nice boy. Easy.” I peek up. Ezra’s wagging a big stick and patting one leg. The dobermans turn and circle him. Their lips curl, showing sharp white fangs. One of the dogs springs forward and sinks its teeth into the bottom of Ezra’s jeans. The fabric rips, and Ezra stumbles back. The dogs stalk closer, and Ezra covers his face with his hands. The closest dog opens its mouth, ready to tear him to bits. But the wind suddenly picks up, rushing through the trees as loud as a freight train.
Nate slaps both hands over his ears. “What the heck is that?”
There’s a low moan that at first I think is one of the dogs. Only it sounds too human. The dobermans whimper, then duck their heads and run.
Ezra sits up, looking pale and shocked to still be in one piece. “What just happened?”
I reach for my flashlight and shine it down a winding path. The dogs are nowhere to be seen. Leaves rustle and yellow light flickers as something tall and dark swishes through the woods. Another moan splits the silence. Those dogs may not be the worst thing we meet tonight.
The air’s charged, like the feeling just before a thunderclap. A figure steps into view. His long white beard sways in the wind and the light from his lantern casts shadows over his leathery face. But it’s no ghost. It’s Hiram Bell, the creaky old hermit himself. Crumpled hat, dusty overalls, and muddy boots. He looks exactly how I imagine Rip Van Winkle would after his twenty-year sleep.
Nate hops to his feet. “We gotta bail, Mags.”
“Hold your horses, whippersnappers.” Old Man Bell shuffles toward us, all three dogs at his side. “I’m hauling you in to the authorities.”
“We wanted to see the lights, sir.” I stand and dust bits of twigs and leaves off my shorts. “We didn’t mean any harm.”
“Didn’t mean no harm? Tromping through the place, smashing things up. That’s what I call vandalism.” He doesn’t mention the actual vandalism––Ezra’s tree graffiti. Most likely he hasn’t spotted it yet, but I’m betting that if he does, he’ll sic the dobermans on us and we’ll all be dog jerky for sure.
Bell gives a long, drawn-out cough like an old truck struggling to start up. “These woods ain’t the place to stand around jabbering. You mischief-makers follow me. We’re settling this tonight.”
The lights in the forest quiver and Bell’s head rears up. The wind whooshes like somebody just turned on an industrial-strength hair dryer. The dogs tuck themselves between Bell’s legs as misty white fog whirls up from the ground. Old Man Bell shakes his fist in the air. “This ain’t the time for your nonsense! Go on, get outta here!”
“Is he talking to us?” I whisper. I still don’t believe in ghosts but I do believe in unstable psychopaths.
“The dude’s spent way too much time alone,” Nate murmurs.
“We’re getting out of here. Now.” Ezra grabs the collar of my shirt and tugs.
The fog fans out like a giant squeeze of baby powder. All at once, the glowing fungi go dark.
“You better quit that or you’ll be sorry!” Bell scuttles away from the cloud at an impressive speed for such an old guy.
“There’s no one else here,” I call, afraid Old Man Bell might really be losing it.
His eyes lock on the swirling mist. Everything goes still. In a flash, the fog puffs up and envelopes Bell in murky white. I hold my breath and shine my flashlight, searching for some sign that he’s still there.
When the cloud thins, Bell’s doubled over with both hands on his knees. He’s wheezing hard and his face lights up with a pea soup green glow. The dogs circle him, their fur bristling around their collars. A hacking cough rakes through Bell again. He sways side to side then crumples to the ground.
“We need to do something,” I yell. This night is a disaster. We never should’ve come to these woods.
“Like what?” Nate asks. “Please don’t say mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.”
Ezra’s so quiet that I glance back, wondering if he’s already bolted. Instead, his hands are bunched up at his sides, like he’s psyching himself up for the world’s biggest ollie. For an instant it’s like the old days when I could look at him and know what he was thinking without him saying a word. And right now, I know Ezra’s not going to run.
“You and Nate get out of here. I’ll meet you on the road in a minute,” Ezra says, then jogs toward Bell.
“What’s he doing?” Nate asks.
My heart’s hammering like crazy but a small piece of it can’t help but feel proud. “He’s going to help.” When we were little, Ezra told everybody he’d be a doctor one day. He carried around a bag with bandages and Life Savers he pretended were medicine. Seeing somebody hurt or sick
always twisted him up. But I’d figured that part of him was gone.
Ezra kneels by Old Man Bell’s side. “These woods ain’t safe for you,” Bell wheezes.
Ezra pulls his phone from his pocket. “I’m calling for help.”
Bell groans, and the dogs come closer, nudging Bell with their noses. “Don’t bring nobody else here.” Sparkling blue dots prick along his arms like thousands of lightning bugs signaling in the night. I want to run, but I can’t take my eyes off of him. “Don’t let it out. Promise me, boy.”
“Sure, okay,” Ezra stammers, then talks into the phone. “We need help at Old Man Bell’s place. Something’s really wrong with him.”
“It’s too late. You––” Bell’s words break off into another fit of coughing. When he finally quits, he pulls Ezra close and murmurs something in his ear. Ezra peers down at Bell with a mixed-up expression. With another racking cough, glowing teal embers fly from Bell’s mouth onto Ezra’s face. Ezra winces and wipes one hand across his cheeks, but he only manages to smear the shining dust over his skin, giving him a swampy green hue. My stomach twists and I get the same sick feeling I had when Ezra fell off a ladder a couple of years ago. Only this time, I don’t think hydrogen peroxide or an Ace bandage are the answer.
Nate cringes. “This is the part in the movies where the monsters come out and everybody dies.”
Bell’s coughing finally calms down, and the old man goes limp. The howling wind and the swirling fog have vanished. The forest goes still like the hard silence that comes after a big argument. Then Bell’s dogs arch their necks and howl. It’s a sad, lonesome sound. A shiver zings down my back.
CHAPTER SIX
The forest lights up again, blazing brighter than ever. A white whirlwind spins around Bell and Ezra, stirring my brother’s hair into powdery tangles.
“It’s back!” Nate ducks his head.
As the wind howls, I tell myself that monsters aren’t real. We’re not gonna be sucked up into the cloud and vaporized. My heart will not explode with terror. That’s scientifically impossible. I think.
The Mutant Mushroom Takeover Page 2
