The Tanglewood Terror

by Kurtis Scaletta

  Maybe I could go to the museum and talk to one of the old folks who lecture kids when they come on school trips. The problem was that the museum wouldn’t even be open again until after Halloween, and for that matter I was probably banned for life.

  I was turning into Mandy, I thought, reading and researching instead of taking action. I didn’t need to be digging in the past; I needed to be digging in the soil. I’d read about it on Wikipedia, that the fungus was one big organism with a heartlike center. I knew where the center was, too—right in the middle of that black circle in the woods, where we saw the mushrooms for the first time. That was where the fungus started growing, so the core had to be there. Why not dig it up? All I needed to do was find the core and put a stake through it, or crush it with a big stone. You did that with vampires and werewolves and all kinds of monsters. You stabbed them in the heart.

  I went out to see the black circle in the woods as soon as the sun came up. The air was damp and cool, but not cold enough for a frost. The mushrooms were still booming. I walked out on the pile of fallen trees and dead boughs, the wood crunching under my feet. I had to take my hands out of my jacket pockets to steady myself as I clambered up a tree trunk, finding the highest point to survey the area. The spot in the forest was about sixty feet across, maybe wider. The layer of branches was between two and three feet high in places.

  I’d imagined picking up a few branches and digging, but this was going to be way more work than I could do by myself. It was more than I could do even if I got Mandy and Brian to help. We needed a lot of people, preferably people with muscles.

  I started by calling the one guy who couldn’t help at all.

  “Hey, Randy. It’s Eric.”

  “Dude, it’s like five a.m. On a day we don’t have school.”

  “It’s eight.” I’d waited until it was reasonable to be calling people.

  “Well, it’s early. What’s up?”

  I told him about the mushrooms, and my theory of how we could get rid of them. He was the only one who might halfway take me seriously. He did, too—exactly halfway.

  “The news said they’ll go away after the first frost,” he said.

  “What if they don’t? Or what if something bad happens first?”

  “Like in a Max Bailey story?”

  “Exactly like in a Max Bailey story.”

  He didn’t answer for a minute, and I expected him to hang up on me.

  “We got to play it like it’s all about the trees,” he said. “If we tell people there’s a fungus getting ready to eat the town, they’ll send us both to a shrink.”

  “Will they care if it’s about the trees?”

  “They will if I tell ’em they do,” he said.

  Tom was the first person to show up, walking around the house and meeting me in the backyard. By that time Brian was up, wanting to help. We were piling tools into a wheelbarrow: shovels and spades, axes and saws—anything that might help.

  “Hey, guys,” he said, really normal, like we hadn’t shoved each other around the last time we talked. “I’m here to help.”

  “Hey,” I said back. I hadn’t called him, but Randy must have. “Good to see you.”

  “So you’re sure this will make a difference?”

  “No, but we have to try something,” I said. “Nobody else is doing anything.”

  “Everything’s already infected,” he pointed out.

  “We have to start somewhere.”

  “Yeah, I guess so. At least nobody at school will talk about us losing the game.”

  “I missed school on Friday,” I reminded him. “Was everybody talking about it?”

  “Not really. They mostly talked about the mushrooms. And they talked about how you ran smack into that goalpost. They would have talked about us winning, if we’d won.”

  The tools were loaded up, so we threw a football around while we waited. I hadn’t realized that Brian was a good receiver. Tom and I took turns tossing him long bombs, and he got right under them. I was beginning to worry nobody else would come when Will’s mom dropped him off. A few minutes later three eighth graders walked up the road, wearing their letter jackets and work gloves.

  “Is this everybody?” one of them asked.

  “So far.”

  “Who’s, like, in charge?”

  “Nobody,” I said. “All of us.”

  “All right. Just asking.”

  I was satisfied. Six guys made a good work crew—seven, with Brian—and we were big for our age. But we ended up with twice that many before we trooped into the woods, and then more guys came, including a few high school kids who’d been Owls last year.

  I lost track of exactly who was there, because I was too busy lifting and hauling, axing and sawing—we’d brought almost every tool in the shed out with us. We needed a big area to dump the dead wood, and the only thing I could think of was our own yard. The guys formed an assembly line to cart it off and dump it on the fringe of tall grass between the woods and our house. The wood was crinkly and gave off a cloud of dust when you dropped it.

  Brian worked there, breaking up the wood and forming it into a tidy pile. Allan tried to help but didn’t last long, even wearing a dust mask. The air made him cough and wheeze too much. Brian had to beg him to leave.

  “Eric!” I heard Dad hollering my name, turned around, and saw him at the back door. I went over so we didn’t have to shout. Hopefully he wasn’t mad about dumping the wood in the yard.

  “The football team has an ecology project,” I told him. “We’re clearing out some of the dead stuff in the woods.”

  “Sounds awesome,” he said. “What are you going to do, plant new trees?”

  “Yeah, but not until spring.”

  “Hm.” He scratched his head. “You should be taking it easy, though.”

  “I actually feel pretty good,” I told him. “And the woods are in bad shape. Nobody’s doing anything about it. We wanted to do something.”

  “I know, I know. How about if I go to Papa’s and get pizzas for everyone?”

  “That would be terrific.”

  “Sodas too,” he said. “And those big chocolate chip cookies they make there.”

  “Yeah. That would be awesome.”

  “This is good stuff, Eric,” he said. “I’m proud of you.”

  School was canceled again on Wednesday—the county health department had taken the samples, but not all the tests were done. It was a good thing, because even with a dozen guys, it took us well into the second day before we were finished. I’d never worked that hard, not even for football. I was achy all over.

  We did more than we needed to. I mean, I would have been happy just dragging enough of the dead trees out of the way to get a shovel into the dirt. But since we’d explained that we were going to ready the ground for new trees, we were committed to clearing out the whole area, and that took some doing.

  As soon as everybody left, I grabbed a shovel and a spade from the shed and headed back. I had another two hours of daylight, and that was all I needed. I’d find the core and smash it.

  “Whatcha doin’?”

  I wheeled around and saw Brian and Allan tagging along.

  “Going to kill the fungus, I hope.”

  “Kill it how?” Brian asked.

  “I’m going to rip out its heart,” I said.

  “Mushrooms don’t have hearts,” said Allan.

  “Funguses do. They have cores.”

  We reached the big rock at the front of the clearing. I walked to what I thought was the dead center of the clearing, then looked around and decided I was off by a few paces. I went to the left and decided I was still wrong.

  “I could go get measuring tape,” said Brian. “And flashlights.”

  “Never mind. We don’t know it’s right smack-dab in the middle anyway.” I picked a spot, grabbed the spade with both hands, and drove it down into the soil with all my might.

  “Now that’s a piledriver,” I said, but the spade had bare
ly made a dent. The forest floor was hard and stony.

  “You have to dig harder,” said Brian. He was helpful that way.

  “Maybe get a jackhammer,” said Allan.

  “We don’t have a jackhammer.”

  I dropped the spade and grabbed the shovel. I set my foot on the back edge of the blade and put all my weight on it. The blade went in an inch, maybe an inch and a half. I scooped out about a handful of dirt and tried again with the same result. Brian swung the spade at the ground, but it just bounced off.

  “Don’t whap yourself in the face,” I told him as he took another swing and nearly did just that.

  “This is dumb,” said Allan. “You need a big Caterpillar machine that can rip up the ground.”

  “Even if we had one, just getting it out here would do too much damage.” I set the shovel aside and knelt, scraping soil away with my hand until I saw the problem. There were tough, stringy cords running just below the surface, spreading out in every direction, forming a network that made it nearly impossible to get into the ground. It would take me hours to dig down, working all by myself, even if I knew exactly where the core was. I was tired enough without having to muscle my way through a steel spiderweb.

  The quiet was interrupted by what sounded like an angry moose headed right for us, groaning and crashing through the bushes. A moment later Mandy appeared on Howard’s quad, slamming on the brakes when she saw us and popping a rear wheelie about a foot off the ground.

  “I want to try that!” Allan shouted.

  “I drove it once,” Brian told him.

  They reached her before I did, begging for a ride.

  “You owe me!” Allan said. “I helped rescue you.”

  “It’s true. He did,” said Brian. “But I helped more, so I should drive while he rides.”

  “Not now,” she said. “I need to talk to Eric.”

  “Why, what’s up?”

  “Howard knows the manuscript is gone,” she said. “She called it ‘the big one.’ ”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It was, like, his masterpiece, I think.”

  “Is she mad?”

  “It’s hard to know with her. I don’t think she’s happy about it. Did you read it?”

  “Yeah. It’s got everything we need to know except what we need to know.” I told her in five sentences about the psycho kid Benjamin Keats throwing the spores around so the fungus could overtake the town.

  “It doesn’t even say how the old Meetinghouse survived, but it doesn’t matter,” I told her. “We’re just using science and force.” I told her about the fungal core, and that I intended to rip it out of the ground and smash it to pieces.

  “Sounds too easy,” said Mandy.

  “Actually, it’s wicked hard, and we don’t even know exactly where to dig.”

  “Allan was right. We need a Caterpillar to come and rip up the ground.” Brian imitated one by making his hand into a claw and making low grumbling noises as he scooped imaginary soil and cast it aside. Allan nodded. They were probably thinking if we did get one, they’d both get to operate it.

  Mandy watched him for a moment, then turned to me.

  “Maybe this is a dumb idea,” she said, “but don’t you have access to a pig?”

  That’s how I added “pig thief” to my rapidly growing list of criminal accomplishments.

  We went on foot, leaving the quad where it was in case the motor scared Cassie.

  “You guys wait here,” I said when we got to the back fence. I hurried past the compost heap toward the sty. The sky was just getting dark, and the mushrooms were beginning to brighten.

  Michelle’s jeep wasn’t in the driveway. I would have asked for permission if she was home, but was glad I had an excuse not to. I opened the gate and grabbed Babe. Cassie grunted a couple of times in surprise but trotted after me, through the field and into the woods. Pigs are faster than you might think, even a big one like Cassie. I wasn’t sure how she’d do in the woods, but she didn’t have much trouble with the rocky but mushroom-padded path. She didn’t even get distracted—she kept her eyes on Babe and followed like a loyal cocker spaniel. Mandy and Brian and Allan trailed after her, shouting encouragement.

  “Go, pig, go!” said Allan, clapping his hands. It seemed to do the trick, at least for the first quarter mile.

  What Cassie lacked was stamina. We got about one-third of the way there and she started to grumble. About halfway she flopped down and whimpered.

  “She’s out of shape,” I said.

  “Aren’t we all?” said Mandy.

  We weren’t far from my house, so I ran in and got the last two chocolate chip cookies from yesterday’s lunch, running past Dad in the kitchen.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Cookie emergency,” I shouted. I was already halfway down the hall on my way back out the door.

  Cassie sniffed at the cookies and got up, followed me for two or three steps, then stopped again. I broke off part of a cookie and let her snatch it out of my hand, then led her a bit farther before giving her another piece.

  Fortunately, they were big cookies. We got to the clearing before she finished the first one, and I rewarded her with the second one.

  “You should have saved it for the way back,” said Mandy.

  “Good point, but too late.”

  “Now what?” asked Allan.

  “I don’t know,” Mandy admitted. “I thought she would find it on her own. Pigs are famous for finding truffles, and truffles are practically the same thing as mushrooms.”

  “There are mushrooms everywhere, and she doesn’t seem to care.”

  “I know,” said Mandy. “It was just an idea. I read this article once that said truffles produce enzymes that girl pigs naturally respond to. The fungus actually wants the truffles to get eaten to reproduce, because the pig drops the spores somewhere else and another fungus grows in the droppings.”

  “Gross,” said Allan.

  “It’s interesting is all,” she said. I kind of agreed with her.

  “Maybe if we led her around, she would do something near to the core,” I suggested.

  “Good idea!” Mandy said.

  The problem is pigs aren’t dogs. You can’t lead them anywhere. I called Cassie, but she just grunted and flopped to her side, looking at me with squinty eyes.

  “Find the mushroom core, girl,” said Brian. Maybe because she liked Brian or because she was overcome by fungal enzymes or because the sugar from the cookies kicked in or because of all three, Cassie suddenly jumped up and galloped around the clearing. After a couple of laps she snorted and started circling inward on a spiral. We had to jump out of the way to avoid getting upended as she passed by. She skidded to a halt and rolled around in the dirt, then got up and scratched at the soil.

  “No way,” said Allan. “It worked.”

  “We don’t know that yet, but I guess we’ll start digging here.” I scratched a big X with a branch. “But let’s take Cassie home first.” It was nearly dark now, except for the eerie blue-green glow the mushrooms cast over everything.

  “Let’s go, girl,” I said, holding up Babe so Cassie would follow me.

  She must have had a few too many of those enzymes, because she snorted and scuffed at the ground with her back hoof like a bull getting ready to charge, then bolted toward me like a bullet.

  I braced myself and dug in with my heels. I caught her shoulder with my shoulder, rolled, and tried to make the tackle, but she squirted away, getting me good in the shin with one of her hooves before she sprinted off into the woods.

  I took off after her, but she was too quick, disappearing into some bushes in the distance.

  “We’ll get the quad!” Mandy shouted after me. I waved to let her know I’d heard her but didn’t take my eyes off the forest in front of me. I couldn’t see any movement anymore, and couldn’t even hear rustling. I followed broken twigs and flattened ferns amid the glare of mushrooms. Cassie couldn’t have gone far. She
was already tuckered out from her walk out here.

  The darkness fell fast, and soon I was lost in the bright sea of mushrooms. I trekked on, zigging and zagging between the trees, listening for Cassie’s snorts and breaths. I was way off the path and didn’t care. I couldn’t go home without Cassie anyway.

  I’d expected to hear the roar of the quad, but they must have lost track of me as quickly as I lost track of Cassie.

  An hour later I started to wonder if I’d made a big mistake trying to find a lost pig in the dark woods, and two hours later I knew I had. All around me there was nothing but dark forest speckled with blue-green fungus. Nothing looked familiar. I’d heard that you’re supposed to stay put when you’re lost in the woods. That way if they send out a search party, you won’t keep missing each other. It made perfect sense but was hard to live by. I couldn’t just pull up a bed of mushrooms and wait until morning. I blundered on through the woods, even though I was so tired I could barely keep putting one foot in front of the other.

  I found an ancient narrow trail and decided to stick to it. It had to go somewhere, and anywhere was better than lost. Then the trail petered out in the trees. All right, some trails did that. I’d turn around and walk the other way. There was no such thing as a trail that petered out at both ends.

  But wait—there was a square of something gray against the blue-green light. I blinked, seeing rust-colored dots swim in front of my tired eyes. Yes, there was something there. Something rectangular. I stepped closer and nearly cracked my head on the wall of a cabin.