Gallows Humour | Watty's 2023

The Fungus House

Decay and gloom shrouded the fungus-infested house. It soaked up the rain, revelled in it, the mushrooms in all its cracks and corners pushed out in search of more to sate their thirst.

Cal knocked on the door, a hand on his gun—Linc's old empty one, as True had learned. True stood back, at the bottom of the sagging stoop. Their arms full holding Radio. Holding it still with an iron grip. It had woken up with the start of the rain, twelve blocks ago. If you counted delirium as being wake. And no amount of comforting or pleading stopped its writhing. They'd had to stop to tie its hands and now held it too tight to squirm. Every bump and stretch jostled the pen, every breath was a rattle. Their arms were red with its blood.

"Eliza! We know you're in there," Cal called, banging on the door. His fist struck a soft patch and sank. He pulled free with a squelch, as if the house was reluctant to give up a snack.

"Try Allsaint," True suggested. Allsaint was the one they needed anyways.

Another knock, "Allsaint, is there an Allsaint in—there."

The door had sloughed open between one word and the next, revealing a soggy hall of teeth, tongue-y mushrooms, and sporadic wide smiles. Hollow laughter ribboned from deep within and curled about Eliza's bees nest hair. She cocked her head all the way to one side.

"Callie," she cooed, throwing her arms all the way around him, so her wrists crossed limp at the back of his neck and her elbows poked out from the apexes of his ears.

"Don't call me that."

She was already flinging away and sauntering past him, sunken eyes glued to the blood on True's hands.

"Tasty."

"Not one finger—"

Eliza flicked her hand up, long dirty fingernails skimming their brow. She poked one finger to their damp forehead.

"I know why you're here, sunshine, I heard the hollering." She crooked the finger, hooking them inside. "In in, there's not much time."

Great, just what they wanted to hear. Cal stepped to the side, nodding True ahead. They squeezed into the house. The door squelched shut, plunging the fungus house into dank darkness. Hands reached out of the shadows, pinching at the intruders. Whispering about them, growling. True growled right back. If it were possible to hold Radio any closer they did.

"Doctor!" Eliza sang. She kicked open a door that had been kicked open so many times before there was a scoop of paint and wood missing from the bottom corner. A pit opened up before her and she descended into it, crooking her finger for them to follow. As if they had any other options. Cal gagged, recoiling.

"Hell, Liza, you live here?"

"Correct."

"You know you could stay with me and Mu. This place is a level four biohazard."

Eliza stopped mid-staircase, turning to stare vacuously at Cal. The sallow light painted her waxy, the dark smears under her eyes stretched towards the middles of her hollow cheeks.

"I love it when you talk all nerdy, Callie." She turned back and sank into the pit. And reaching out of the depths to swallow her and Cal, True and Radio; the good Doctor Allsaint. He jerked up the stair, a man on marionette strings.

"Guests, my darling!" he exclaimed, beaming wide.

"Yes, Doctor." Eliza coiled about the doctor, drawing him back into the basement. "Guests who need something."

Doctor Allsaint's expression lit up in exaggerated glee. "Ah! No freebies."

True pressed their lips together, hurrying down the staircase. No freebies. They expected nothing less. And here they were without their pack.