Smokin’ Mirrors

by Theodore Lee

Cold Open/Prologue

EVERYTHING’S GOT ’EM

The dawn set in without a warning. The sun obscured itself beneath the dark canopy, hidden behind a thick curtain of fog and mist. The air was cold and wet, and only the trees could be seen—outstretching branches and thickets, leaning in and out of every direction, perhaps unsure of where to go. Nature has a strange way about it, almost indifferent at times, though not entirely apathetic; the Earth is an organism after all, and just like any organism, its one purpose is to survive—to adapt in order to preserve itself and self-produce. What good is an organism if it doesn’t follow its coding, its very purpose?

Without purpose, there is nothing.

The lights of a lone Tacoma shone through the heavy fog. Drizzling rain speckled the windshield like self-replicating microorganisms. The mud dappled truck sat idle, with no other vehicle in sight, at the edge of a dirt road surrounded by a wild, deciduous Tennessee forest. Barely visible train tracks lay nearby, but it was clear they hadn’t been used in decades, and the underbrush all but covered them.

In the passenger seat of the Tacoma, Heather Oakes glanced at Joseph Brown in the driver’s seat beside her. He was gazing out the window, lost in thought, with both arms over the steering wheel. Through the rear-view mirror, they noticed the headlights from a sedan now approaching from the narrow road behind them, treading unsteadily through uneven mud and thick water puddles.

“Is that them?” Heather asked Joseph, glancing back.

Joseph eyed Heather. “Yeah.” He nodded, almost absentmindedly. “I think that’s Ben’s new car.” He turned off the engine, opened his door, and exited the truck, slamming the door shut behind him. Still inside, Heather watched as Joseph waved to the oncoming car with an eager grin.

For a few seconds more, Heather waited, perhaps debating why she was even there in the first place. She had met Joseph their first semester at APSU, almost a year ago, and the two had quickly hit it off, both having shared similar interests. She had never considered herself the best student—perhaps a little above average, at best, but never honor rolls—though somehow she had managed to catch his eye. Of course, ever since hitting puberty, she’d had a habit of catching men’s eyes. During a group assignment, he had approached her regarding extracurricular activities—particularly, her favorite spot in town and a certain movie coming out that week—and despite her being four years his senior, he had shown her an undeniable confidence that instantly attracted her, despite a somewhat reckless naivety. Given her track record with dating daring (if not brash) men, she had accepted his invitation without question, perhaps out of habit, hoping that this time he would be better than all the others. To her welcome surprise, however, their first date had been a major success, and she soon discovered that he had a tenderness about him—an inviting, warm aura contrary to her initial assumptions about him—and one date had turned into two dates, and, soon after, the proceeding dates had become a regular occurrence.

Although they had been going strong for almost a year now, there was still one thing about Joseph that bothered her, however. Not necessarily a trait of his own, per se, but traits that she attributed to his friends. You see, Heather was a southern girl, and being a southern girl, she had certain ideals that set her apart from others. For starters, she loved Jesus—loved Jesus—and far more than she loved herself, let alone anyone else. Moreover, she saw the world in black-and-white and secretly despised those who didn’t. Her convictions were so zealous, in fact, that she even saw drinking alcohol as an absolute sin, worthy of damnation, regardless of the very texts that she considered sacred having depicted Jesus literally getting the guests at a wedding party drunk. Of course, many of her convictions she kept to herself—including Joseph. She would rather judge in silence than judge vocally—at least, not always anyway. And not that all southern girls were like her, although living in the Bible Belt certainly made encountering one with such an outlook far more likely. Nor to say that all Christians were like her, either; after all, Jesus’s philosophy had been one of love and compassion (or, at least, most versions of him had been depicted that way).

So, given Heather’s dichotomous view of life, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that she didn’t like Joseph’s friends one bit. For Heather, there was something about his friends that brought out the worst in Joseph—everything about him she despised, and she despised a lot. But it wasn’t all that terrible—at least, not as bad as it could be. She hoped it was just a phase for Joseph. When they were alone, his attention remained fixed on her, as she felt entitled to, regardless of the fact she wouldn’t allow him to even kiss her until their wedding day. When his attention didn’t remain on her, however . . . well, she would certainly let him know how selfish he was being.

The sedan pulled up next to the Tacoma, and Heather finally got out of the truck, deciding it was best to get on with this. The cold air hit her with full force, and she saw her breath billow out in thick clouds of smoke. She sauntered to Joseph and took his hand in hers. The driver’s door to the sedan burst open, and the engine immediately cut off. Joseph’s best friend, Ben, walked out with a cigarette in his mouth and flung his backpack over his shoulder nonchalantly. He slammed the door shut with his foot and strutted to Joseph with a pep to his step.

Heather eyed Ben with contempt, tightening her grip on Joseph’s hand.

Ben was a tall, lean Pakistani, wearing a black baseball hat with a maroon and yellow APSU letterman. Two others exited the car, joining them outside, one after the other. First came Makaila, whom Heather judged more than all the others—solely because she was the only other female. And second came Anton, whom she judged the least—and only because he spoke the least.

“Took you guys long enough,” Joseph said with a smirk.

Ben smiled. “The weather wouldn’t hold up.” He thumbed behind him at the sedan. “You’re not gonna mention the new car?”

Joseph glanced at the sedan, feigning ignorance. “Oh, you got a new car?” He was clearly being sarcastic. “Certainly doesn’t look new.”

Ben gave him the middle finger. “We both know you’re not here for the car.”

The two embraced like old friends. Heather, having known Ben since dating Joseph, couldn’t say that she was fond of their friendship. She wasn’t fond of many things, really. Besides, there was something about Joseph’s relationship with Ben that erred her the wrong way. Perhaps it was the way she felt invisible when they were around. Or perhaps it was the fact that she wasn’t the center of attention.

“So, did you get it?” Joseph asked Ben.

Ben beamed. “Hell yeah, son, we got it.”

Hunger shone in Joseph’s eyes. “Show me.”

Ben nodded to Anton, who stepped forward and pulled out a thick ziplock bag from in his jacket pocket. Mushrooms, Heather could see—dehydrated mushrooms, from the look of it.

An icy wind crept up Heather’s spine, and an uneasy feeling accompanied it. She turned around, half-convinced that they were suddenly being watched. As if something unseen lurked within the dark woods surrounding them, past the heavy fog and mist. But only Heather seemed to feel it, she observed. The others were too fixated on the shrooms to notice anything else.

Joseph’s grin widened. With one hand in his pocket, and the other hand on Heather’s shoulder, he glanced from Ben to Anton. “And these work?”

Anton returned his smile. “It’s good shit.”

“Anton’s studying mycology,” Ben reminded Joseph. “He grew it himself.”

Joseph remained impressed. “That so?”

Anton nodded, pleased with himself. “Found the spores here, actually.”

“I didn’t know mushrooms grew here.”

The pudgy Filipino laughed. “Bro, look around you—they’re everywhere.”

Joseph chuckled. “I mean, psychedelics.”

Anton shrugged. “New species are being found every day.”

“Like he said,” Ben started. “‘It’s good shit.’”

Heather watched from the side, eyeing the fungi with an uneasy feeling in her gut. She glanced at Makaila, who had stepped away and took hit from a vape pen. Makaila glanced back at Heather, and the two exchanged a silent look with each other, hard to determine exactly what was being communicated. Makaila often steered clear of Heather, and no one could blame her for that; were you in her shoes, you would probably do the same. Still, Heather wished she was elsewhere. If Joseph hadn’t kept bugging her to come with him, she probably would have been at home right now, studying as she ought to. But no, that opportunity had ceased to exist. Instead, she was in the middle of the woods—and in the rain, nonetheless—surrounded by Joseph’s friends that she wished he had never met. I’m gonna regret this, she thought and avoided Makaila’s gaze, glancing back at the dark woods surrounding them.

“You know, mushrooms are closer related to animals than they are plants,” Anton began, putting the bag of shrooms back into his jacket pocket. “They’re the ultimate survivalists; the fuckers can survive in space.”

Ben took another hit from his cigarette. “So, we gonna do this or what?”

Joseph nodded. “Just what I was thinking. Are we dividing it now, or later?”

Ben shrugged. “I was thinking once we find that river spot Anton keeps hyping up.”

“And what’s the fun in that?” Joseph chuckled. “If we take it now, it’ll hit sooner.”

Ben shrugged again. “Let’s get a move on, then. No time like the present.”

They set off into the woods, with Anton in the lead. There was no official trail, but it was apparent that others had wandered this path before—and many times, too—due to the occasional plastic bottle or aluminum beer can lying among the thickets (trash left from trash, really). Ben and Joseph walked side by side, and Makaila followed in the rear as the group bickered with one another, tossing jokes back and forth. Eventually, Heather watched as Anton pulled out the bag of mushrooms once again and began dividing them between everyone, even handing Joseph a small portion; Heather didn’t like that latter part one bit. At last, Anton turned to Heather and offered her a small handful.

Heather shook her head, trying not to scoff. “No, thanks.”

Anton raised an eyebrow. “You’re not having any?”

Noticing Heather’s hesitation, Joseph interjected. “She’ll be our eyes and ears,” he remarked playfully. “Safety first, right?” Of course, by the exchanging glances that Ben and Makaila gave each other, Anton saw that there was more to the story than just that. Shouldn’t he have known better? She never liked anything they did.

Anton nodded. “I guess more for us.”

As they continued further through the forest, passing over the rustic rails of a long-forgotten train track, the woods seemed to get even darker, as if the sun was now setting behind the thick fog and it wasn’t still morning but the afternoon had been skipped over entirely. The rain poured heavier now, and the air was even wetter. Fallen trees covered their path, and they had to work their way around the deadfall. The underbrush intensified the further they trekked, with some ferns nearly sprouting up to their waists, and the moss underfoot growing in even thicker patches, as their feet sunk into the soft, spongy ground. With a full week of rain, fungi dispersed from the ground in numerous clusters, larger in quantity the closer to the deadfall.

Anton eyed the fungi with wonder. “Mushies are fascinating as fuck,” he stated loudly, trying to speak above the rain. He glanced at Joseph as he chewed on his dried mushrooms. “Bro, you know the ‘wood wide web?’”

Joseph shook his head.

“It’s how trees and plants talk to each other,” Anton explained. “Through their roots and whatnot.” He shrugged, shaking his head with a smile. “Well, anyway, the only way they can do that is through mycelium.”

“Mushrooms?” Ben asked, for further clarification.

Anton nodded. “Yeah, bro. Through a symbiotic relationship, giving plants the ability to communicate through long-distance and even send nutrients from one tree to another.”

“Interesting,” Joseph remarked with a smile.

“Oh, yeah.” Anton’s smile widened. “The thing is, without mushrooms, none of us would even be here.”

“Are we almost there?” Makaila suddenly asked, more tentatively than she had been prior.

Anton stopped walking, and the group also stopped. “I . . .” He looked around, frowning, and shook his head. “I think so.”

Heather didn’t like the uncertainty in his voice. “We’re not lost, are we?”

“No,” Anton said, and yet his tone betrayed him.

Ben chuckled, stepped to the side, and took another drag from his cigarette, almost at its end. “Figures.” He eyed Makaila, watching him, and offered her the last of his cigarette. She declined with the shake of her head before taking a hit of her vape pen.

“Should we head back, then?” Joseph imparted, glancing from one person to the other.

“This can’t be right,” Anton insisted, shaking his head repeatedly. “We were going the right—”

A booming sound echoed across the depths of the forest, and everyone pivoted toward its direction. What sounded like a large tree falling down—or a gunshot in the distance. Only there was rustling movement afterward. Footsteps, perhaps—as if coming toward them.

“What is that?” Heather voiced in a whisper, clutching onto Joseph’s arm with alarm. Her breathing quickened, and she found it hard to control the panic running through her. Fight-or-flight at work, no doubt.

At first, no one replied. Finally, Joseph shook his head. “Just a wild animal, most likely.”

The rustling was coming closer, however. Heather squeezed her fingernails into Joseph’s arm, and Anton took a long step back, followed by Makaila. Through the fog and rain, Heather saw a figure moving toward them. Shuffling on two feet—though favoring one, as if injured.

“It’s a man,” Makaila voiced; an underlying caution persisted in her tone.

Indeed, it was a man. He stopped six paces from them, stumbled onto his knees and hands, and groaned loudly. Heather noticed his clothes were torn to shreds and coated in thick mud, and his wet hair was long and dark, covering most of his face. Was he homeless? Drunk?

Ben took a step closer. “Hey, man, you okay?”

At the sound of Ben’s voice, the man groaned even louder.

“I don’t like this,” Heather told Joseph, shaking her head repeatedly.

“Help me,” the man choked, struggling to get up again.

Ben exchanged a dire look with Joseph. “Well?”

Joseph nodded. He unclenched Heather’s grip on his arm and ambled toward the man, cautious every step of the way, with Ben beside him.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Makaila exclaimed, taking an even further step back. “What are you guys doing?”

“I don’t like this,” Heather repeated once again.

Anton remained motionless, paralyzed with fear.

The man screamed an agonizing cry filled with pain as he frantically scratched at his neck. “Help me. . . .”

“You alright?” Ben asked, getting even closer now.

“He’s clearly not alright,” Makaila snapped. “What the fuck are you doing?!”

The man began writhing, grabbing at his head and stomach. Screaming in more agony, somehow even worse than before—like an animal getting tortured.

“I don’t like this,” Heather kept repeating, and her body continued shaking uncontrollably.

Ben set his hand on the man’s shoulder, as if that could somehow ease his pain. “Hey, do you need—” His eyes widened, and he took a long step back, almost tripping over himself. “Holy fuck!”

Joseph closed the distance between himself, Ben, and the man. “What’s wrong?!”

The man looked up then, and Joseph saw that the skin on his face seemed to be melting off his skull. Even worse, his eyes were entirely black. “Help . . . me.”

Makaila made a run for it. “Fuck this!”

Joseph could barely get the words out. “What . . . what the hell’s happening to him?”

Ben shook his head, stumbling back even more now. “I don’t know.”

The man cried out again, and there was something ghastly within that scream. Something inhuman.

“I’m getting the fuck out of here,” Anton muttered, and he ran the other direction, following Makaila.

“We need to go,” Heather pleaded to Joseph, but he didn’t seem to hear her. “I don’t like this at all.”

The man struggled to walk toward them but collapsed to the ground again, groaning as he clutched at his stomach. Joseph took a cautious step forward, continuing to eye him from a distance. “I think—”

The man lunged at Joseph, grabbed an ankle, and pulled him onto the ground with a hard tug.

“Joe!” Ben ran to Joseph’s aid and tried kicking the rabid stranger off him.

The man was unaffected by Ben’s kicks, however, as he continued pulling Joseph closer to him, now using both hands. The man grabbed Joseph’s head, and a projectile of black liquid shot out of his mouth, blanketing Joseph’s entire face. At last, Joseph managed to escape the man’s grip and stumble backward, blindingly trying to wipe away the black goo from his face. Ben continued kicking the man relentlessly until the moment Joseph was completely free from his grasp, and he also took a long step back, trying to catch his breath.

As Ben retreated, the man on the ground suddenly lurched forward and pulled himself up from the ground, one hand after the other. Dark roots began crawling out of his mouth, along with white mycelium inching out in all directions. His skin was pulsing, and something was moving within him. His neck craned, snapping out of place, and his bones began to misalign, transforming into something grotesque.

Joseph stumbled his way blindly, still trying to wipe the black liquid out of his eyes. “What’s happening?!”

“I think it’s time to run,” Ben panted, stating the obvious. Before Joseph could even register his words, Ben sprinted the opposite direction, disappearing into the woods.

“What’s going on?!” Joseph cried out, panic running through him. Still, he could see nothing. “I can’t see anything!”

Heather grabbed Joseph by the arm and started pulling him away. “Come on,” she shouted, attempting to drag him out of there. He followed her lead, blinded, as they ran through the forest, crashing through thickets and brambles.

It all happened so fast.

Suddenly, the ground sloped downward, and Joseph couldn’t slow himself down anymore. He slid until his body flipped over from the momentum, unable to do anything but roll down the hill, colliding with tree after tree.

At the bottom, Heather’s momentum stopped as soon as she collided with a large maple. The sound of her ribs breaking echoed, cracking like thunder, before she reeled into a blackberry bush, which finally stopped her descent. The thorns clasped onto her skin like meat hooks, and she struggled to break free, screaming as she fought to get out of them, feeling them tear at her skin without mercy. Once loose, she started searching for Joseph, frantic, all the while panting. “Joe! Joe, where are you?!”

Heather stepped on something soft and glanced down to find Joseph lying there, with his head resting on a rock. The only problem, of course, being that there wasn’t much of a head left—not from the impact, at least. “Oh, God. . . .” She took a step back, covered her mouth with a hand, and turned around, trying with all that she could not to faint.

A rustling emanated from above her, coming from the incline she had descended. She had to keep moving. She couldn’t stop now. Forced to leave Joseph there, she started sprinting as fast as she could, jumping over fallen trees and underbrush.

At last, she could see something ahead. A wooden structure in a semi-clearing: a ramshackle, disheveled and falling apart, with a large tree taking root in the middle, breaking apart the foundation and causing most of the roof to crumble onto itself. As she ran toward the building, she—

—tripped on a fallen branch and landed hard in a puddle of water.

The rain continued to pour, unabated. She tried to get up, tried to get a move on, but felt too weak, too exhausted, and it hurt her just to breathe. The image of Joseph lying there kept returning to her, more vivid by the second. “Oh, God. . . .”

More rustling nearby. Louder this time—closer.

Heather managed to get a foot on the ground, wincing as she did so. She pushed herself off the wet earth but immediately collapsed from exhaustion, once again falling face-first into the water. No use, she thought. I can barely stand up.

She glanced up at the ramshackle again, so close that she could almost taste it.

The rustling was behind her now—right behind her.

She turned around, not knowing what to expect. But what she saw now was even worse than she had previously imagined. Standing there, his head nearly gone, was Joseph Brown. And behind Joseph, more bipedal figures emerged from the darkness and fog, one by one. Anton—Ben—the rabid man from before—even Makaila—and at least a dozen others. Ghastly malformed bodies straight out of a John Carpenter film. And suddenly, she was surrounded.

There was nowhere left to go. Nowhere left to hide.

They were on her before she could even scream.

Copyright © 2025 by Theodore Lee

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