Anything to erase the taint of what had happened here. Do any of these families know? About me? Erin Hill, popped a ghost in a pill, strung-out arsonist who liked to kill kill kill…
There’s enough going on that nobody seems to notice me, or care. I could be anyone. Hell—maybe I could even live here, in one of these houses. Can’t I?
I make my way to the house. I’m saying the house—it’s not ours, not anymore. I promise myself that I won’t step onto the lawn. As much as I want to believe it could’ve been my life—my house, my family—it never was. Not really. But there’s that ache, the low-wattage throb, the itch in my skin. Even now, I can feel Silas.
There’s a family unloading their belongings from a U-Haul, busy worker bees coming and going from the paved driveway into their home, then repeating it all over again.
I look up and spot a young girl in the window of her new bedroom. She’s about six or seven, something of a tomboy from what I can see. She notices me in the street and I feel like I’ve been caught, so I wave to her. She waves back, all five fingers.
That had been Lonnie’s room. The nursery.
That was never your future.
The corner of the girl’s room fluctuates. I see it so clearly. A silhouette. It looks like—
Amara
—but it’s just a shadow, of course no one’s there. Can this house still be haunted? I burned it down, scorched all its ghosts away. This house is brand-new. New bones. A clean slate.
So whose ghosts are inside now?
The lawn is a sumptuous, lush green, immaculately manicured. I don’t think I’ve ever seen grass this vibrant before. It doesn’t look natural; must be soaked in chemicals. They’ve planted a fully grown tree off to the side, a few yards from the street, pretending that it’s been here all along. There’s even a swing tied to one of its branches.
In the shade, beneath the swing, I notice a cluster of mushrooms forming a perfect circle.
What are you doing, Erin, what are you doing—
I step off the street, entering the lawn. I want a closer look. I need to see. To make sure.
Don’t do this, Erin, please don’t do this—
Just as my feet touch the grass, the toadstools turn toward me. Taking me in. Their fleshy stems flex, aware that I’m standing above them. Watching me. Bearing witness.
Erin you can stop Erin you can turn back turn away—
The past is never quite through with us, is it?
Don’t look don’t look don’t—
The toadstools move in unison, following me. I take a step to the left, then the right, just to test them. Sure enough, the stalks lean in whichever direction I go. They sense me here, know who I am, and I know who they are. I almost say his name out loud, but I hold my tongue.
You’re stronger than this, Erin. Just a look. What can it hurt? Don’t do it please don’t—
I lean over. The patterns across the mushroom’s umbrellas fluctuate in unison, rippling rhythmically together in gentle waves of brown and yellow and orange and red.
Don’t do this, Erin, don’t don’t DON’T—
I pluck a mushroom. Just one. Its stem snaps so easily.
ERIN
The cap looks like a tiny egg, pale ivory. I roll it around in my palm, then bring it to my nose. There’s a meaty aroma to it. Already I can smell the earthiness, feel it seep into my skin.
Silas says take…
Silas says eat…
This is my body.
Silas doesn’t say. So I slip the cap in my pocket before I second guess myself and ask—what are you doing, Erin—even though I know the answer already.
I’m taking him home.
Acknowledgments
To Andrew Mittman for planting the original seed of this story in my mind.
To everyone at Quirk Books: To my gurus Jhanteigh Kupihea and Rebecca Gyllenhaal. To Nicole De Jackmo, Gabrielle Bujak, Jen Murphy, Jaime-Lee Nardone, and Christina Tatulli. To Jane Morley, Mandy Sampson, John McGurk, and David Borgenicht. To Andie Reid for the amazing cover.
To Nick McCabe and everyone at The Gotham Group. To Eddie Gamarra. To Judith Karfiol.
To Chris Steib. To Estelle Olivia, Andrew Shaffer, Kyle Jarrow, and Nat Cassidy.
To Indrani. To the boys. Don’t do drugs, guys…
To the friends I’ve lost. To the original Four.
Elements from previously published short stories “coatroom,” “the battle of belle isle,” “fairy ring,” and “cyan, magenta, yellow and key” were used for this novel.
The following books proved invaluable to me during the writing of this novel: Superstition by David Ambrose, Mushrooms and Mankind: The Impact of Mushrooms on Human Consciousness and Religion by James Arthur, Strange Frequencies: The Extraordinary Story of the Technological Quest for the Supernatural by Peter Bebergal, Bone Parish by Cullen Bunn, Junky by William S. Burroughs, Altered States by Paddy Chayefsky, Ghostland: An American History in Haunted Places by Colin Dickey, “Dead Means Dead” by Steve Foxe and Michael Dialynas, The Day of St. Anthony’s Fire by John G. Fuller, Fungi edited by Orrin Grey and Silvia Moreno-Garcia, The Return by Rachel Harrison, Japanese Ghost Stories by Lafcadio Hearn, Magic Mushrooms in Religion and Alchemy by Clark Heinrich, “The Voice in the Night” by William Hope Hodgson, Night Parade of Dead Souls: Japanese Ghost Paintings edited by Jack Hunter, Pet Sematary by Stephen King, “A Thousand Deaths” by Jack London, “From Beyond” by H. P. Lovecraft, Fruiting Bodies and Other Fungi by Brian Lumley, In the Dream House by Carmen Maria Machado, Bright Lights, Big City by Jay McInerney, Mexican Gothic by Silvia Moreno-Garcia, Calling the Spirits: A History of Séances by Lisa Morton, Ghosts: A Haunted History by Lisa Morton, “On the Haunted Lives of Girls and Women” by Rachel Eve Moulton, “The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar” by Edgar Allan Poe, Psilocybin and Mushrooms Cultivation by Henry J. Powel, Common Phantoms: An American History of Psychic Science by Alicia Puglionesi, Dark Archives: A Librarian’s Investigation into the Science and History of Books Bound in Human Skin by Megan Rosenbloom, The Little Stranger by Sarah Waters, and “Afterward” by Edith Wharton.