The Fungal Phantom
Where gloomy pines whisper queerly in the deepest recesses of leafy overgrowth and loggers’ tracks vanish inexplicably should unwelcome boots tramp unaware towards places elder guardians defend beyond human foolhardiness, locals spurn entering the pungent fern-choked realm forever infamous as Amnesty Grove. For within the thickets and cairns of that forgotten forest hollow, a particularly pernicious air wafts - equal parts petrichor musk and foreboding that roots feet leaden if inhaled incautiously. Parents scare truant children referencing what paranormal calamity befell its last recorded permanent inhabitant and supposed eternal sentinel thereafter...
Mushroom obsessive Silas “Shroomed” Truffleby built his remote homestead and laboratory cottage there in 1923 - drawn by fecund fungal biodiversity teeming wildly amongst lightning-felled cedars never milled into lumber fortunes won. Through rapt solitude tending his mushroom patch gardens, orchards and specimen archives happily a bachelor lifetime, the mycologist published celebrated field guides celebrating humble fungus rising after rain. Locals called the expert “Shroomed” in jest for unkempt beard and whimsical passion surrounding his life’s arcane work cataloging myriad varieties from benign fairy rings to dubious Amanitas sprouting more secretly in the sodden shade.
In fact the provincial community relied greatly on Truffleby’s periodic emergency toxic diagnoses from mishandled mushrooms when inexperienced hands gathered similar species from his woods incorrectly. Only old Silas could definitively assure nervous cooks whether common names masked deadly poisons or harmless pearly edibles through microscope precision and Schaeffer's Sporographia illustrations so meticulously hand-copied through four volumes to aid identification. Always the enthusiastic scientist shared latest theories or exotic imports from Indonesia's steaming rainforests to Siberia's permafrost steppes alike. Every market farmer knew the intrepid mycologist gladly parted precious spores worldwide elevating human understanding infinitely vaster than himself alone.
But when the 1945 summer drought withered delectable local bounties driving desperate foragers deeper towards Truffleby’s protected glades disturbing ancient fungal colonies better left undisturbed, chilling consequences soon fruit. Too many crawled through forbidden barbed runes seeking quick meal morsels illicitly from long verboten feeding grounds. And upon a gypsy’s moon some claim an eerie glow emerged from Amnesty Grove against the ashen firmament where no human dared camp nor spark further curse. Such tales stirred briefly then submerged once more into uncertain folk myth. Never could a single man compete against nature's subtle treachery nor community paranoia...or could he?
Weeks later a starving child and dog turned up disoriented and leaden beyond exhaustion at Fern Crossing’s tavern, babbling frantically of glowing skeletal things stalking the benighted wood and otherworldy spore clouds ensnaring mind and direction past all familiar pinewood trails. But prideful skeptics dismissed imaginations spooked merely by stillness of an odd glade. "Lad's clearly discovered widow's sweet champagne siphoning these dark days!" they chuckled. Yet uneasy undercurrent continued percolating since that peculiar account through the hollow...
When rare matsutake caps tempting enough to risk trespassing turned up boxed whimsically upon the village green Christmas Eve morning seemingly begifted every household by some unseen saint or sprite, even parents tried hushing uncomfortable realization whom charitably bequeathed such precious scarce bounty. Weeks passed uneventfully distracting scattered attentions beyond nagging disquiet that the mycologist's scientific domain laid too quiet..
Ominously as melted snow's torrents then receded the following spring, a lone party trapping foxes along Amnesty Grove's periphery reported discovering a bizarrely preserved corpse half-buried in the mucky barrens far from trodden paths. Though curiously sparse on fungal decay, the remains showed trauma matching Truffleby's broken eyeglasses and odd mass clutched within the ribs' grip - a Death's Cap mushroom grimly clutched between bony jaws eternally locked agape by chemical paralysis prior choking out life addressing one final bizarre journal entry regarding unworldly bioluminescence qualities. Whispers resurfaced about the unsettling Grove holding perils and otherworldly properties no rational explanation satisfies nor proves...
In subsequent years, a dozen other explorers and fungal surveyors succumbed inexplicably investigating the unpredictable forest oddity - claiming voices followed through swaying nettles then dizziness paralyzing motor skills temporarily. Their drained wandering forms barely crawled free towards homesteads days later babbling about the same eerie glow phenomena captivating all direction or concept of time itself. None can cogently explain what casts such bewitchments waylaying memories entirely yet no marks show from ordeals survived under arboreal expanse.
Presently the village reckons the cursed glade remains Silas Truffleby’s unlikely immortal domain somehow binding his knowledge to nourishing fungal colonies overrunning the territory as one indistinguishable hive intelligence. For has not each scant eyewitness sworn encountering his restless phantom wandering aimlessly through the luminescent spore drifts wearing the same ghastly rictus warping jovial features beyond anguished regrets no apparition voicing warnings the living easily heed once mesmerized? Whether his tragic obsession and responsibility fused eternally guarding these treasure troves from despoilers or parasitic possession hijacked the well-meaning crusader into unwilling monster is anyone's guess. Not all who wander among the emerald mansions leave still fully human nor fungible. Heed the signs warding off interlopers lest one join the ghostly mycologist's timeless quest secreting nature's posthumous poisons abroad! For in the end, she always reclaims every borrowed breath - only the stricken may then know green peace evermore.
