Mushroom blues the hofma.., p.1
Mushroom Blues (The Hofmann Report Book 1), page 1
MUSHROOM BLUES
THE HOFMANN REPORT #1
ADRIAN M. GIBSON
WELCOME TO THE FUNGALVERSE
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events,real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
This book—its content, cover and graphical elements—were written and created entirely using the fleshy mushroom meat-brains of the author and the cover artist. Artificial intelligence was not used in any capacity.
Copyright © 2024 by Adrian M. Gibson
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
First edition March 2024
Cover Art: Felix Ortiz / Cover Design: Adrian M. Gibson / Interior Design & Graphics: Adrian M. Gibson
ISBN: 978-9942-45-320-4 (Paperback)
ISBN: 978-9942-45-319-8 (Hardcover)
ASIN: B0CTCF9TCF (eBook)
Created with Vellum
ADVANCED PRAISE FOR MUSHROOM BLUES
“A fascinating merging of oppressive imperialism and disconcerting alienation.”
—ADRIAN TCHAIKOVSKY, AUTHOR OF CHILDREN OF TIME
“This is like nothing I’ve read before. Its premise is cool, creepy, and incredibly unique, bolstered by prose as savvy and knife-sharp as the detectives of the NKPD.”
—NICHOLAS EAMES, AUTHOR OF KINGS OF THE WYLD
“This is more than a full-throttle, mushroom-and-blood-drenched adventure. At its heart, Gibson's story is one of acceptance: of hard truths, of others, and, perhaps most critically, of oneself.”
—M. J. KUHN, AUTHOR OF AMONG THIEVES
“Mushroom Blues is a brilliant debut that encapsulates all I love about the noir mystery genre.”
—R.R. VIRDI, AUTHOR OF THE FIRST BINDING
“The prose is clean, precise, and beautiful. Its pacing is breakneck and breathless. This is a story arc that carried me through the whole gamut of emotions: horror, fear, grief, awe, resentment, empathy, love, relief.”
—KRYSTLE MATAR, AUTHOR OF LEGACY OF THE BRIGHTWASH
“The imagination on display in Mushroom Blues is immense. Prepare to enter a fantasy world unlike anything you've ever seen, one that surprises, delights, and grosses the fuck out.”
—MOSES OSE UTOMI, AUTHOR OF THE LIES OF THE AJUNGO
“This book is a bellicose scream into the bleak face of xenophobia and oppression. Mushroom Blues grabs readers by the throat and drags them along for a noir-soaked joyride of murder, betrayal, and deception.”
—DAN STOUT, AUTHOR OF TITANSHADE
“Gritty, atmospheric, and unreservedly original, Gibson’s fungalpunk debut infuses dashes of cyberpunk, noir, and weirdness to create something awe-in-spore-ing.”
—DAVID WALTERS, FANFIADDICT.COM
CONTENTS
The Fungalverse: Glossary
1. Mold & Mutilation
2. Rubble & Ruin
3. Containment
4. Cursed
5. The Outsider
6. Cracks
7. Death Comes for Us
8. Float On
9. Clean Business
10. Milk & Sugar
11. Rubicon
12. Subdued
13. Bloody Roses
14. Almost Blue
15. The Descent
16. Under Pressure
17. Aftermath
18. Connections
19. Hard Truths
20. Cold as Ice
21. Empty Promises
22. Fragmented Memories
23. Game Plan
24. Hooks & Chains
25. Cornered
26. Mindhunter
27. Actions & Reactions
28. Rotten
29. Bound & Broken
30. Fallout
31. Fireside Chat
32. Tunnels
33. Teatime
34. Under the Influence
35. Pilgrimage
36. Offerings
37. Little Spirits
38. Well of Souls
39. World of Sleepers
40. Winter Harvest
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Image Attribution & Copyright
THE FUNGALVERSE: GLOSSARY
FUNGAL/MYCOLOGICAL TERMINOLOGY
Fungus (pl. fungi): Any of a group of spore-producing organisms feeding on organic matter, including molds, yeast, and mushrooms.
Mushroom: An aboveground fruiting body of a fungus that typically consists of a stem and cap.
Mycelium: The part of a fungus that is usually underground, consisting of a network of fungal filaments or hyphae. Its main function is to extract nutrients from soil.
Hypha (pl. hyphae): The branching filaments that make up the mycelium of a fungus.
Spore: Microscopic, single-celled units produced by mushrooms in the process of sexual reproduction (roughly analogous to seeds).
Cap (or pileus): Top of the fruiting body that is seen above ground and supports a spore-bearing surface.
Gill: Fleshy plate-like or blade-like structures attached to the underside of the cap in many species of mushrooms.
Pores: Tiny tubes, or holes, on the underside of a variety of mushroom caps, used for spore dispersal.
Stem: The stalk-like feature supporting the cap of a mushroom.
Veil: A protective layer of tissue that may cover all or part of a mushroom.
Mold: One of the structures that certain fungi can form, resulting in a furry growth on the surface or organic matter, especially in the presence of dampness and decay.
Bioluminescent: The biochemical emission of light by living organisms.
Fruiting body: The spore-producing organ of a fungus, often seen as a mushroom or toadstool.
Polypore: A bracket fungus in which the spores are expelled through fine pores on the underside.
TRANSLATIONS OF HŌPPONESE PHRASES & WORDS
Haowa: Good morning/afternoon
Zaowa: Good evening
Haomi do: How are you?
Ariari do: Thank you
Yisima: Excuse me
Kaidono: I don’t understand
Baebae: Child or loved one
Jiujiu: Brother/sister (friendly term)
Shushu: Uncle/auntie (age dependent—from young to old person)
Damigami nai: Bless the gods
Damitare: Godsdamnit
Shabi: Bitch
Bakira: Dirty or cheap
Kuta dai: Shut the hells up
Doredore: Out of my way!
Chikero: Oh, shit! / Oh, fuck!
Udarai: Pain in the ass
Zunoro: Curse / cursed
Gaikamu: Foreign scum
Gaigai: Coprinians
Shimin: Colonizer
Shinkin: Fungal Hopponese
COMMON SLANG WORDS
Fungal: Colloquial term for native Hopponese
Coppies: Slang for Coprinians
Blues: NKPD officers
Meatbag: Racial slur for humans
Hophead: Slang for Fungals
Buttons: Slang for Fungals
Sporesack: Racial slur for Fungals
Gillie: Racial slur for Fungals
Molder: Racial slur for Fungals
Half-breed: Mixed-race human/Fungal
Muties / Partials: Derogatory slur for half-breeds
The Long War / The War / The Invasion: Refers to the Spore War
Shine: Bootleg rice wine
DEITIES & SPIRITS OF THE HŌPPONESE EIEN RELIGION
The Eternals:
Ame: The Typhoon; Goddess of Rain, Storms and Typhoons; daughter of Matsua and Murio; sister of Denki and Kazan.
Chaga: The Timekeeper; Goddess of Time and the Unseen; daughter of Yomi and Mother Chikyu; sister of Hogosha, Reishi, and Karu.
Denki: The Lightbringer; God of Thunder and Lightning; son of Matsua and Murio; brother of Ame and Kazan.
Heriko: The Sentinel; God of Passage, Clarity and Change and gatekeeper to the Great Beyond; born out of The Great Burst of spores that created the cosmos; brother of Yomi, Mother Chikyu, Murio, and Matsua.
Hogosha: The Destroying Angel; Goddess of War and Divine Protector of Hoppon; daughter of Yomi and Mother Chikyu; sister of Reishi, Chaga and Karu.
Karu: The Shapeshifter; God of Wind, Seasons, Agriculture, Harvest and the Spreading of Spores; son of Yomi and Mother Chakyu; brother of Hogosha, Chaga, and Reishi.
Kazan: The Fiery One; God of Volcanoes, Earthquakes and Fire; son of Matsua and Murio; brother of Ame and Denki.
Matsua: The Brightness Above; born out of The Great Burst of spores that created the cosmos; Goddess of the Sun and the Sky; wife and sister of Murio; sister of Yomi, Mother Chakyu, and Heriko; mother of Ame, Denki and Kazan.
Mother Chikyu: The Great Mother; born out of The Great Burst of spores that created the cosmos; Goddess of Creation, Life, Nature and Dawn; gave birth to the Islands of Hoppon and the cycles of life and death; mother of Hogosha, Reishi, Chaga, and Karu.
Murio: The Guiding Star; born out of The Great Burst of spores that created the cosmos; God of the Moon and the Stars and the ferryman of dead souls to The Great Beyond; husband and brother of Matsua; brother of Yomi, Mother Chakyu, and Heriko; father of Ame, Denki and Kazan.
Reishi: The Healer; Goddess of Fertility, Healing and Charity; daughter of Yomi and Mother Chakyu; sister of Hogosha, Chaga, and Karu.
Yomi: The Great Persuader; born out of The Great Burst of spores that created the cosmos; God of Creation, Death, Dusk and The Great Beyond; gave seed and spores to the Islands of Hoppon and the cycles of life and death; father of Hogosha, Reishi, Chaga, and Karu.
The Four Protectors, Servants of Karu:
Haru: Spirit protector of spring and source of the east wind.
Natsu: Spirit protector of summer and source of the south wind.
Aki: Spirit protector of autumn and source of the west wind.
Fuyu: Spirit protector of winter and source of the north wind.
For mom and dad,
the spores that bore me life.
For Natalia,
the mycelium to my mushroom.
And for my sons,
the most precious fungi.
“Nature is not our enemy, to be raped and conquered.
Nature is ourselves, to be cherished and explored.”
—TERENCE MCKENNA
“Snow:
years of anger following
hours that float idly down—”
—WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS
CHAPTER 1
MOLD & MUTILATION
CASE FILE #42-56
Spirit Island | 5:44 a.m.
- - - - - - - - -
NO GOOD DAY ever started with death before coffee.
I stood on the shoreline of Spirit Island, gazing upon a lumpy trash bag. It was nestled in an icy bed of seaweed, next to a rotting mycopaper lantern. A handful of bioluminescent motes floated above the water. Waves lapped against the bag where a large rip revealed a pale patch of hairless skin. Pungent saltiness rose up from algae and cold ocean spray, overpowering whatever I was about to find in there. I took out a face mask and put it on—NKPD protocol, and no way I would let anything contaminate me.
My feet crunched on gray sand as I adjusted my weight, heart beating faster. The bag was too small, especially for a body. But I knew what must be inside. Why else would dispatch have sent me a one-eight-seven code on my pager?
Before touching the crime scene, I took out my voice recorder: “Detective Henrietta Hofmann. Nineteenth of Twelfthmonth. Spirit Island. Black bag, suspected murder.”
I sighed and put the recorder away, staring down into a brackish pool amidst the seaweed. There were puffy bags under my dull green eyes. My lips were chapped and my hair straggly. I hadn’t had time to fix myself up, rolling out of bed to rush over here. Not that anyone would give a shit what the middle-aged female detective looked like, wrinkles and all.
Goddamn, I needed some caffeine.
Grey clouds threatened snow, and bitter wind rippled across Kinoko Bay, whipping my ponytail and sending stray strands of gray-blonde hair across my face. I pulled my trench coat tight with a shudder.
I yawned. Nightmares of a car on fire had kept me up last night. It was a miracle I’d even remembered mittens—anything to shield my skin from winter’s frigid touch was welcome.
I put aside personal gripes to focus on why I was here: That bag.
Sticky sweat accumulated inside my mittens. It wasn’t like the bag would come alive, finger-like fungi wriggling everywhere. This wasn’t the first dead body I’d seen, either. Not even close.
But God, I fucking hated mushrooms and mold and the whole bloody mycological lot. Not a day would go by in Neo Kinoko where I wouldn’t curse Frederick for exiling me here.
That prick.
I had to get my shit together. Focus. Forget about my bastard ex-husband—he could rot in a pile of fucking fungi for all I cared.
Reaching inside my jacket, I traded the warmth of my mittens for a pair of examination gloves. A shock of cold greeted my hands as I bent down. Both of my knees cracked with the weight of age.
Down at bag-level, I could already smell something foul. Hints of brine and decomposition invaded my nose. The scent memory of that foul combination lingered on my tongue.
Snapping on the gloves, I examined the bag. Seaweed draped across the black plastic, as if trying to pull it back into the sea. I spotted remnants of thick blue rope tucked between the green-brown fronds. Could have been tied to something to weigh it down. Bricks, or rocks?
There were small Hōpponese logograms on the rope. I couldn’t read them, so I made a mental note to check with forensics and get them translated.
Nothing else was visible.
I pinched the ripped opening and lifted it. First to hit me was the stench: The brine was just a sample—nothing compared to the punch of putrid flesh now wafting from the opening.
Tiny red crabs with slime mold and fruiting bodies on their shells scuttled out of the bag. I sifted through the muck. And then I felt it, something round and bloated. I widened the opening, wincing as I stared into the eyeless cavities of a fungal child’s human-like face.
Memories flooded my mind: Playing in the grassy backyard, sledding in winter, summertime visits to the cabin in southern Coprinia, jumping off the lakeside dock. Then, a memory-turned-nightmare.
Fire. Blood. Fear. Screaming.
I was haunted by the imagery of Elisabeth. Her face stared back at me, cold and empty, features that were a subtle blend of Frederick’s and my own. I winced. Suppressed recollections bound by trauma, alcohol, and years of destructive behavior.
Bloody Hell, I had to focus.
I turned away from the bag and into the crisp ocean breeze, trying to escape the repulsive smell and taste. The thought of a dead kid chilled me. But deep down, I was more disgusted by the fact that the victim was a fungal. I could hardly stand to see mushrooms on a dinner plate, let alone be in the presence of mushroom people—even when they were a corpse.
This city was a purgatory—Frederick had made sure of that, exiling me to a place he knew would make me miserable. But I held a glimmer of hope that it could also be a chance to start anew. After years of drowning in a pool of booze and prescription antidepressants, anything was an improvement. But war and suffering lingered in this Hellhole.
And fungi were everywhere.
Hōppon, Neo Kinoko. These places had become wastelands wrought by the destroyer of worlds—my people. What the government had sold to Coprinians as the rebuilding of a liberated society was, in reality, the world’s most public open-air prison.
A scam, a sham. Just like my being here.
Waves lapped rhythmically as the sun continued to rise. Seagulls squawked nearby. I returned to the small, decapitated head inside the bag. Sand dripped along decomposing skin, and my eyes began to water at thoughts of the past. The cool sting as tears trickled and pooled at the edges of my mask before starting to freeze.
I had to clear my head and prioritize. What happened to this child?
The neck appeared cleanly cut, but … I leaned closer. A thin patch of skin had been removed near the jugular. Strange.
Both eyes were removed or eaten post-mortem by sea lice, crabs, or fish. The skin was pockmarked and peeled away from water exposure. What remained had a waxy quality and a pallid discoloration. The nose had deformed and the lips were half-eaten, decayed. As well, the victim’s hair was shaved and the mushroom cap atop their head was gone. Severed at the stem.
All that was left was the bruised and bloated base connected to the skull.
I burned with the impulse to look away, but my investigative instinct urged me onward. I searched inside the bag, through the sand slurry around the partially submerged head. A section of cut-off leg revealed bone amongst decaying muscle. I saw two more shapes: Distended limbs, the flesh puffy and peeling.
My optimism for an ID drew me to the child’s partially opened mouth. White filaments of mycelium grew out from between the lips, draping down like a macabre curtain. My stomach churned. I ignored my gut feeling to stop and turn away.
I gently unlocked the stiff jaw, peering inside. The sight made me gag. A carpet of wet, white mold and mycelium coated the inside of the victim’s mouth. Tongue, roof, gums. The parasitic growth continued all the way back to the throat, where it clumped like dense cotton balls.
