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Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Whispers 
by R.A. Clarke 

I shouldn’t have done it—veered off the main hiking path. But I came here with a camera for a reason. One doesn’t get gorgeous photos by playing it safe.

So, when this indescribable urge tugged at me to search deeper into the forest, like a tiny inner voice whispering to me, I didn’t ignore it. I accepted it as my own intuition—or perhaps fate—sharing a tip.

I crunched over twigs and sunk into pockets of spongy moss as I explored the trees, careful to mark my way via GPS so I wouldn’t get lost. I may be impulsive, but I’m not stupid.

The whispers came again, stronger this time. Looking around, I searched for the source, then quickly stopped, chiding myself for such a silly action. Why was I actively seeking something that clearly originated in my own mind?

A flash of orange caught my eye. Turning toward it, I squinted. A bright glow lit up a mossy mound at the base of a bulbous tree, maybe fifty feet away. 

“What is that?” Like a magnet to metal, my legs moved of their own accord, drawing me closer. The whispers grew chaotic in my head, then stopped the minute I laid eyes on the source of that mysterious light. I froze, staring, as the quiet of the forest enveloped me. 

There, nestled below, rested a dozen colorful mushrooms. No, not just colourful. Brilliant. Vibrant. Beautiful. Hues of gold, orange, fuschia, and violet blended into each other and radiated outward. Quite impressive, really. I’d never seen such a fungus in all my nature photography adventures.

The sun had lowered in the sky and a dusky haze rolled in. It was supposed to be a full moon. Though I’d have more available light come night time, it was still unwise to stay out alone past sunset. I needed to return to the path, then head to my vehicle, which was parked about a kilometer away. But there was enough time to sneak a few photos. I took a knee in front of the wee mushroom patch. No way was I not documenting this find.

A thrill coursed through me as I pointed my camera, focused the lens, and clicked. “Have I just discovered a new species?” A child-like giggle of joy escaped me.

I wondered if they were edible. Unlike many exotic reptiles and insects, colourful mushrooms didn’t instantly spell danger. 

Switching positions, I lay on my side, getting in close for a bug’s-eye-view. Licking my lips, an insatiable need to taste one swelled. But I dispelled it just as quick. Um, nope, you will not be trying a strange mushroom while in the middle of nowhere today.

And yet, the desire persisted.

No! I all but shouted at myself, setting my jaw. But if I couldn’t—shouldn’t—eat it, surely, I could at least touch it and feel its rubbery-looking texture. I dropped my backpack, digging through the pockets until I found a plastic bag inside my travel medkit. Even better, I’ll take a sample home as proof. Maybe submit it for study somewhere. Someone will want to learn about this mushroom if it’s a new species.

I reached for the largest mushroom in the centre, first running my fingers over its smooth, colourful cap, before grasping the meaty stem at its base. A tingling sensation erupted on my skin where it made contact. The tingle singed into a sharp burn and I nearly let the stem go, then yanked instead, determined to get my sample. 

Dropping it into my makeshift collection bag, I noticed how its torn base wept, a glowing neon yellow fluid dripping out. 

Sniffing, I nearly gagged. Putrid smell.

Tying the bag closed, I tucked it safely inside my backpack, then snapped a few more photos for good measure. 

Flexing my fingers, I noticed the burn there had ebbed, replaced by numbness. I frowned, pulling out my water bottle and dousing my hand—rubbing it to remove whatever substance the mushroom had transferred to my skin. A note of concern entered my mind then, thinking of toxins. But I brushed the thoughts aside. Such a brief touch couldn’t cause any real harm. 

I swigged my water, mouth pasty dry.

Thank goodness I didn’t eat one.

Wiping sweat from my brow, I slung my backpack over my shoulders once more and stood, wobbling at the apex. Stepping carefully across uneven ground, I headed toward the well-worn path I’d abandoned earlier.

I wobbled again, then again, my arms whipping out to steady my balance. What the… My equilibrium was way off, and my head felt light, too, my vision swimming at the edges. The whispers from before returned, only they shouted now, telling me to remain calm and crying out with delight in an almost orgasmic way.

Goosebumps rose on my skin, fear curdling in my gut. The numbness still claiming my fingers spread to infect my entire hand, then moved up my arm.

“Shit, shit, shit! What is going on?” I spun in circles, losing track of where I was. Suddenly everything looked the same and I couldn’t make sense of what I should do. My voice cracked. “Did you poison me?”

The whispers moaned with joy as the numbness took hold of my torso and made its way down toward my hips.

A strange sound reached my ears—like friction—and when I looked down at my bare limbs, coarse fur grew from every follicle in my skin at a terrifying speed. The hair continued thickening, the dark strands doubling and tripling, punching holes in my epithelial, the violence of it coating my arms with blood. I screamed, waving while jumping into a frantic run.

But my legs didn’t want to cooperate. The icy claws of numbness had grasped them. Not fully, but enough to keep me from having any semblance of coordination.

I face planted in the dirt and moss.

A sharp pop rang out. Another followed, accompanied by a symphony of similar sounds that echoed as they bounced off the trees. Despite the numbness, acute pains stabbed my back and shoulders, and I knew all those pops were bones cracking—mine.

Blood dripped from my face onto the spongy green flora beneath me. Several sharp things protruded from my gums, pushing against the flesh of my lips.

That burning sensation returned, searing my fingers again. Rolling onto my back, crying and moaning, I ran my hands over my features—the rapidly elongating jaw, widening mouth, and disfigured nose. Hair matted my whole face, and those sharp things… were teeth. Big ones.

No, no, no! Make it stop! No!

Oh yes… the whispers trilled back.

Trembling as my body finished cracking, stretching, and twisting into its terrifying new canine-like form, my mind somehow separated from my body, simultaneously disconnecting from the pain—a blissful relief. My consciousness now floated above the abomination I had become.

The creature snarled below, pushing itself up from the forest floor, now marred by blood and shredded clothing, and shaking its grungy fur out like a dog exiting water.

Is that thing me—or am I dead?

The whispers sighed blissfully. Not dead.

The beast snapped its teeth and sniffed the air, then took off at a run, weaving deftly between trees and over uneven terrain. Abruptly, I jerked into motion, my ethereal self floating after it, tethered. 

We were headed in the direction of town.

Up ahead, a hiker appeared, his steps clearly rushed because of the now dark sky. I wished I was him right now—so close to the parking area. If only I hadn’t been lured in by those damn mushrooms. That’s exactly what they’d done, wasn’t it? Lured me? The whispers, the urges, the glowing. It should be impossible, all of it. Maybe it’s all just a horrible nightmare.

Below me the monster born from my own flesh pounced on the hikers back without hesitation, sinking its teeth into the poor guy’s neck and thrashing side-to-side. A piercing scream ripped through the air before it was sharply silenced.

No, I didn’t wish to be that hiker now.

I cringed, looked away from the gore of tearing flesh and spilled intestines below. Having no solid form or voice, my mind screamed this is all just a nightmare!

The beast looked up, its molten irises finding me with unsettling ease. Not a dream. We’re one now.

Amidst the chilling symphony of a beast’s brutal carnage, I released tearless sobs, weeping beneath the rising full moon.

.

Fiction © Copyright R.A. Clarke
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 

More from author R.A. Clarke:

Don’t Look, Just Run

Consider this book a cautionary tale. The short stories, flash fiction, micro fiction, and poems contained within this collection are the stuff of nightmares—things you should’ve run from when you had the chance.

You’ll read a rhyming tale about a crafty northern witch with a deathly holiday fetish, the journal of a troubled woman who’s been offered revitalization in the form of experimental skin therapy, and two flirty college students who learn exactly why taking strange drugs is bad. Lock your doors and pull your blanket up a little higher while you navigate a feud between neighbours that spirals out of control, operate a camera with a thirst for blood, and even chuckle while a family of vacationing demons let their hungry lil’ guy trick-or-treat, human-style.

If you take away anything from this book, besides a cramp from turning pages too fast or a case of spine tingles that won’t quit—it should be this… Don’t look, just run!

Available on Amazon!