Tall Tale TV
Scifi and Fantasy Short Story Audiobooks
Of Monsters and Mushrooms
By Lesley Herron
Chapter 1
Parasola
“Ow, my head.,” Attila groaned, as he
pried open his one good eye.
Pain flooded his senses in response, and he
flung an arm over his head, shielding his
face from the blinding light.
His ears buzzed, like the sound of someone
shouting at him in an ear splitting whisper.
Even with his eye clenched shut, he could
tell he was laying on a cold hard surface.
There was also something painful stabbing
him in the back.
He reached behind him, as he sat up, and pulled
out an old porcelain bed pan.
He gave it a dirty look as he set it off to
the side.
With his vision finally adjusted for the light,
he looked around.
He was in a small concrete room with a high
ceiling.
Several windows sat high up on the walls,
and the ones that had not been plastered in
news print allowed little light through their
yellowed panes.
Further up, many small glowing eyes stared
down at him from the rafters.
Attila frowned at them, and moved his attention
elsewhere.
The walls were hidden behind tall, teetering
stacks of bookcases filled, not with books,
but containers.
Countless jars in different sizes and shapes
containing an even greater variety of specimens.
Animals, plants, and even mushrooms filled
each container.
Attila squinted at them, unsure of who would
have this many jars, or why.
A blob of inky goo sloshed around in it's
jar like a jellyfish, turning to present a
giant eye to him.
Attila shook his head vigorously, muttering
'nope' under his breath.
The rest of the room was lack luster compared
to the impressive collection of specimens.
There were unsteady piles of text books, ranging
in subject from string theory to mycology.
A desk bowed under the weight of stacks of
papers, more books, and a couple of precariously
placed jars.
And a small basin, set deep into a stone outcropping,
dripped slowly from it's rusted faucet.
Attila tried to recall this place, trying
to pull it from a memory.
But he just sat there, his bare feet dangling
over his resting place, drawing up a blank.
In fact, he was struggling to remember anything.
He looked down at the table he was on, and
felt another shudder of 'nope' run up his
spine.
It was an old, cracked, and chipped porcelain
operating slab, complete with yellowed hoses
and a sinister looking groove in the edging.
He pulled a face at the sight of the massive
spider spinning a web between two faucets
near the end of the table.
He reached for the small, portable welding
torch he always carried in his tack vest,
but found the entire garment missing.
Along with his flash bangs, his box of matches,
-and- his homemade napalm.
He was at a loss, unsure of -how- he was going
to light the little hell-spawn on fire.
He shrugged, and decided to use the bedpan,
smacking it over and over as the chihuahua
sized arachnid squealed, writhed, and eventually
stopped moving, save the occasional twitch.
This place was in desperate need of an exterminator.
Unable to shake the feeling he was forgetting
something, or someone, Attila slid off the
table.
His bare feet hit cold concrete, and he began
to scan the room for the remainder of his
clothes.
He had to get out of here.
He couldn't shake the feeling, but why?
What was so important?
Attila tugged one boot on, and then reached
for the second.
He was halfway through pulling on his other
shoe, when his toes met with something large,
damp, and sticky.
He pulled his foot from the boot faster than
Brig could snatch a meal out of his hand;
a speed that would make most gunslingers jealous.
Brig!
A memory snapped back into place, and Attila
recalled images of something dragging off
his friend into a forest.
It was black and inky, with too many eyes
and too many teeth.
Brig's face was written with fear as he was
pulled backwards into the dark.
Attila snapped back to reality just in time
to see something with tentacles climb it's
way out of his shoe and slide down a drain
pipe.
“Okay.
This place is just -too- weird!
I gotta get out of here.,” Attila said aloud,
to no one.
He decided to forgo his once occupied boot,
and grabbed his poncho from off the corner
of the table.
He slung it on over his head, scanning the
room for a door.
The light from the rafters glinted off a doorknob,
as if to highlight his escape.
His hand was outstretched, ready to pull open
the door, before he stopped.
He still felt like he was missing something.
He turned on his heel once more.
There, sitting on the slab near the twitching
remains of the spider, was his hat.
Attila smacked his forehead.
Duh!
No -real- merc would ever be caught without
his hat.
He retrieved the gambler style cowboy hat
and gave it a quick once over before shoving
it atop his head.
Much better.
He turned and wrenched opened the door, unsure
of what to expect.
Perhaps there was a hallway that led deeper
into this hospital of horrors, or perhaps
just a storage closet full of more specimen
jars.
But as luck would have it, neither of those
things greeted him.
Instead, a wave of sheer panic ripped through
him.
Two large white eyes peered back at him from
within the veil of blackness.
And then the owner of those giant eyes began
to move.
Slowly, it stepped out from the shadows and
into the light.
Attila took a lengthy step back, and then
another, and then one more, trying desperately
to put some distance between his self and
the thing struggling to pry itself from the
doorway.
A large red point began to emerge, unmistakable
that of a beak.
It was long, sharp, and covered in battle
scars.
Spindly fingers appeared on either side of
the door frame, crushing it to splinters to
widen it's exit.
It's broad shoulders scraped past the opening
and revealed the rest of the creature.
Bathed in an eerie yellow light, Attila gazed
upon a terrifying monstrosity.
Even hunched over, the creature was taller
than he was.
It's body was thin and black, with a cloak
of thick, matted, brown fur.
The monster's large white eyes swiveled furiously
in it's head before the tiny pin prick pupils
focused on him.
Long tangled black hair was gnarled in the
thorns and branches on the beast's back and
shoulders.
A plume of dusty air issued from the visible
nostrils in the creature's beak before it
pulled it's head back, opened it's mouth,
and let out a terrifying shrill shriek.
Attila tried to let out a manly yell, in hopes
to scare off the monster.
Except, what came out of his mouth was an
incoherent squeak of panic.
He tried to run, but his legs wouldn't move.
Come on!
You stupid legs!
He reached down and pulled one up, and then
the other until he felt like they could finally
move on their own.
Ready to put some more distance between the
two of them, he turned around and lunged.
Nope.
His legs were still resistant to moving, and
he collided, face first into something hard.
And then, it all went black.
Brig!
There was that flash of memory again, but
more pieces began to slide into place.
They had headed out to their favorite watering
hole, a beacon of sophistication, hospitality,
and intoxicated knife throwing.
Something had followed them, waited patiently
for them to leave, and stalked them on their
way home.
Brig had imbibed a few too many drinks that
night, despite his assurances that he was
fine, and was relying on Attila to support
him.
The problem was that Attila had consumed a
few too many drinks as well, and was relying
on Brig for similar stability.
The pair of them were a stumbling mess of
drunken laughter and horrible off key singing.
Something dissolved out of the dark and reached
for Brig.
Try as they might, they couldn't break it's
iron grip on Brig.
It had it's long, spindly black fingers wrapped
around his arms, his neck, his legs.
Attila could remember asking Brig how many
hands a normal ooze monster had, because he
was fairly certain this one had too many.
Immobilized, Attila sat helpless as his friend
was dragged off by a monster with too many
appendages, too many mouths, and thousands
of eyes.
A creature that looked as if it were made
from a jumble of other animals, a form made
by something that had no idea of how it -should-
look.
Brig gave one last look at Attila with a face
of drunken horror, and Attila snapped awake.
He felt a strangled cry fall from his mouth
as he sat bolt upright.
His head reeled in pain in response to his
action, an agonizing throb ached against his
left temple, and he winced.
He felt the familiar cold porcelain of the
operating table beneath him.
Attila reached a hand up and felt a large
knot on his head, tender to the touch.
“Hey.
Easy.
Don't try to move around so much.”
Attila turned around, trying to find the source
of the voice.
He had just got his eyes adjusted to his surroundings
again when a pair of fingers pried his good
eye wide open and a blinding point of light
filled his head.
“AAAHHG!”
“Well, you're responsive this time, so that's
good.
But, I think you might have a concussion.”
“What do you want from me!?,” Attila asked,
his voice on edge as he swatted at the hand
holding the flashlight to his eye.
It fell to the ground with a clatter and the
sound of a breaking light bulb.
“What do I want?
Well, I suppose it's not too much to ask for
a new flashlight.,” the voice said waspishly.
Attila blinked away the last remnants of blinding
colors from his eye and the room settled back
into focus.
It was the same room he was in before.
The same jars on the same shelves and the
same leaky sink near the same paper laden
desk.
He had even been returned to the cold hard
surface he had laid on before.
The only difference this time was the man
standing a few feet from him, scribbling something
down on a clipboard, his blue eyes reading
lines behind a pair of cracked spectacles.
Attila began to ask where he was.
But suddenly, realization set in.
The table he was on, the skulls, the text
books, the jars!
“This is a morgue!,” Attila blurted out.
The man looked taken aback.
“What?
No!
It's a doctor's off-”
“It is!
And that makes you...you...”
Attila remembered the thing from the closet.
“...A VAMPIRE!!”
He squealed in horror as he scrambled from
the table.
He was still a little light headed, and fell
to the floor with a thud.
He tried to scurry to his feet, as he quickly
as he could, gave up, and hauled ass on all
fours.
There was no way Attila was going to let himself
get stuck here as a meal for some cannibal
crazed hermit.
He reached a different door before Count Clipboard
could even register what was happening.
He hauled himself to his feet with the doorknob,
flung the door open with a flourish, and jumped
out into the open air.
He didn't even care that his hat was missing.
A -real- merc didn't need a hat.
He'd make Brig replace it, anyway, once he
found him.
After putting some space between himself and
the morgue, Attila came to a stop.
He'd regretted leaving his boot behind the
moment he stepped out the door.
The outer reaches of the Ashlands were spread
out before him.
A wasteland of desert.
He could see the heat waves rippling the horizon
in almost every direction.
No cities.
No towns.
No women.
Attila turned back the way he had come and
felt his jaw fall slightly.
Downwind from the morgue a ways, was a giant
forest.
Not a forest of trees, though.
This one had towering mushrooms and bright
red ground cover.
Perhaps he'd be safe from the doctor-monster-vampire
guy in there.
As Attila drew closer, he felt the pull of
apprehension.
Perhaps the forest was -not- the best place
to hide.
Like dust falling in a sun beam, there were
many twinkling tiny orbs of light drifting
down from each mushroom.
The ground cover was actually a spongy red
moss that released puffs of air with each
step he made.
Even though he was feeling lightheaded, he
pressed on.
It wasn't until he felt the ground tilt away
from his feet that he stopped.
Going deeper into the woods was not a great
idea.
Suddenly, as if a pair of hands had seized
him around his neck, Attila felt his wind
pipe close up.
He began hacking and coughing, as he collapsed
to his knees.
The more he struggled to breath, the harder
it became.
Red flooded his vision as he became paralyzed,
face down, in the moss.
He could feel the darkness threatening to
take him again.
This was it.
This was how he was going to die, and all
Attila could think about was how angry he
was that he wasn't dying in the arms of a
beautiful busty babe.
Or three.
“Alright, let's try this again.”
There was that voice again.
That familiar voice accompanied by a very
similar stiff surface.
Attila would like to think that he reacted
quickly, that he jumped to his feet, prepared
to fight.
But in truth, all he managed to do was fall
off the table and land on the hard ground.
A pair of hands gripped him tight and pulled
him back up onto the table.
“Don't eat me!,” Attila cried out, his
voice muffled by his own hand, that was busy
trying to stem the flow of blood from his,
now, broken nose.
The man handed Attila an old rag.
“I'm not going to eat you.,” he said,
extending a hand in what he hoped was a friendly
gesture.
“The name's Errik.”
“Oh.
Good.”
Attila shook his hand, more to check for a
pulse than anything.
After pumping Errik's hand up and down for
a good thirty seconds he was fairly certain
Errik was not of the undead.
“So, uh, what happened?”
Attila pressed the cloth against his tender
nose, looking around again.
Errik chuckled a little.
“Which time?”
“Oh.
Sorry.”
Errik waved him off and turned to pick up
a small table lamp.
He grabbed Attila's face again, shining the
light into his eye before he could protest.
“The first time you woke up here, I had
found you, unconscious and dehydrated, out
in the desert.
You looked like you were following tracks
or something.”
Oh right!
Brig!
“Something took my friend!,” Attila blurted
out, trying to blink away the spots of light
from his eye.
Errik nodded, his mouth forming a line as
he thought of a response.
“Well.
That's never good.
You did look like you were headed towards
the forest.
Which is where I found you the second time.”
Errik shoved a wooden tongue depressor into
Attila's mouth and looked at the back of his
throat.
“But...,” Attila began.
He didn't know what to say, or how to process
everything.
Satisfied, Errik tossed the depressor onto
the table.
“The mushrooms were just starting to spore,
so I think you'll be alright.
Wouldn't want you turning into a mushroom
in my office.,” Errik chuckled.
“I'm...so confused.”
“Aside from being highly hallucinogenic,
the mushroom spores are parasitic.
If exposed to too many spores or for too long,
you'll become a host.”
“What, like ZOMBIES?,” Attila cried out,
panic setting in.
He didn't want to become a zombie!
There were so many other things he needed
to do before he died.
All those people out there who didn't know
his name or his deeds.
All those women!
Errik stopped and stared at Attila, curiously.
He chuckled again.
“Pfft.
Nah.
That's absurd.
No, they don't control your mind or your movements
or anything like that.
Once afflicted with the spores, assuming you
survive passing out, they begin to set to
work on turning your body to nutrients.
You won't even notice.
You'll go about your daily life until suddenly,
you can't move.
And then, boom, you're just another pizza
topping.”
Errik patted Attila's shoulder.
“But don't worry, I'm about eighty percent
certain you're okay.”
“Hallucinogenic?,” Attila repeated, as
if that was the only thing he had heard.
He turned his head to the door that creature
crawled from.
“Oh yeah.”
Errik let out a bark of a laugh.
“That was certainly entertaining.
I don't know if it was the dehydration or
if you had chowed down on a mushroom, but
you were -not- of sound mind when you woke
up the first time.
You sat up, glared at a bedpan like it insulted
your mother, tossed it aside and grabbed one
of your boots.
You blurted out some nonsense words, and played
with your shoe for, I dunno, a good fifteen
minutes before you pulled it on.”
Errik was finding it hard to continue the
story with a straight face, but he muscled
through it.
“You then tried to put on your other shoe,
freaked out and threw it over there somewhere.”
Errik pointed behind him with a jab of his
thumb.
“Then, you started banging the bedpan on
the table, walked in circles a few times,
put said bedpan on your head and opened my
supply closet there.”
Errik pointed over to the wall.
“You freaked out again, started tugging
on your legs, fell over and hit your head
on the table.”
Attila felt his cheeks flush with heat, and
adverted his eyes.
How embarrassing.
Here's hoping this wont be the tale I'm remembered
by, Attila thought.
At least Errik wasn't a pretty lady.
“Okay, so.
How do I get my friend back?,” he asked.
“You said a -thing- took him, correct?”
“Yeah it was...a blob of arms and teeth
and eyes.
Ugh.,” Attila replied with a shudder.
“Hmm.
Sounds like a creature from the Otherworld.”
Errik turned to look at the wall that faced
the forest.
“I've never heard of a corporeal that far
from the anomaly though, it's really rare
to find a visible entity of even minute size,
let alone one large enough to abduct somebody.”
“Okay.
Are you done making up random words?
Can you help me get my friend back or not?”
“Well, that's the problem.
The creatures from the Otherworld, or the
Unseen, are invisible in this realm.
And there are very few people who can see
them.
And judging by the direction you were headed,
your friend was probably dragged into the
forest.
There's a gateway to the Otherworld at the
very heart of it.”
Attila didn't say anything.
He just sat there, staring blankly at the
doctor.
Nothing was making any sense.
Errik sighed.
As a doctor, he should be used to having to
over explain something by now.
“Well, the forest spawned -from- the gateway.
Which means the creature was probably headed
that direction.
So all we need is someone to help us get there.
Then we'll be able to get your friend back.”
He moved to his desk, where he pulled a map
from beneath a stack of books.
“Lucky for you, I happen to know someone
who can help.
I'll gather some supplies and we can leave
in a few days.”
“Wait, days?
That thing might be chowing down on Brig as
we speak!
And who said anything about 'we'?”
“There are three types of unseen, what you
described take time to.
. . absorb it's prey.
Your friend has time.
And as for 'we', do you know anything about
this area?,” Errik asked, looking up from
the map.
“No.”
“Alright then, I'm going.
I've been eager to return to the gate for
more data anyway, and hopefully my brother
feels up to helping.
It's been so long since we've seen one another.
Hmm.”
Errik's voice drifted off as he started mumbling
to himself, scurrying around the shop tossing
things into an old doctors bag.
Attila sat there, trying to wrap his head
around everything.
But none of it had stuck.
He was too concerned for Brig to retain anything.
He gave a sigh as he looked down at the bedpan,
and made a mental note to take a shower the
first chance he got.
Of Monsters and Mushrooms is an ongoing, serialized
novel by Lesley Herron.
Originally she was creating it as a four chapter
short story, but then, as the project ballooned
into a full length novel, the first chapter
became less and less accurate to the plot.
This production has been the rewrite of chapter
one, produced to celebrate the 50th episode
of Tall Tale TV.
If you'd like to listen to the original, there
will be a link in the notes.
Hi!
I'm Attila, and I'd like to-
Whoa, whoa!
You got to do the last one, it's my turn.
Whaaaaat?
I mean, technically this is chapter one, so
how could I have done the last one?
Oh come on, there's already ten chapters published
and you know it!
You got to do that fun brochure thingy for
chapter ten, so that means it's my turn.
No, no.
Technically.
. . it would be Evan's turn.
And since he's not here yet, I know he would
want me to do it.
Because I'm his favorite!
He can't stand you!
UH!!
Just.
. . give it here!
You just want it because it's episode 50!
So what if I do?
Give it!
NO!
Come here!
Let go!
Argh!
Did you bite me?!
Fine!
How about we share it?
I suppose that could work.
On three?
Sure.
1.
. . 2.
. .
I'm Attila Rex and that's it for Tall Tale
TV!
HEY!
