Short Stories Anthology

A poisonous fungus

━The prey, the predator,
the huntsman.

"Puny little bastard."
A gruff, scratchy voice cursed, reverberating amongst the hollow hallway, followed by the clack of exquisite soles against marbled floor. It was a rhythmic, tapping noise, paused with a time interval of a split second in between each steps. The way the flurry of footsteps picked up in a hasty manner indicated he was late for an occasion. If not, he was in search of someone else.

"Do I have to clean up whatever that little crook does? Goddamnit! These are new shoes!"
The manly figure's hurried behavior was followed up with another boisterous string of profanities, unsuitable for the untainted ears of children. When the trace of the man grew fainter and fainter with each step, he finally disappeared into the distance.

A small head full of pale locks poked out from beneath a rectangular-shaped trestle table, placed lazily at the side of the mahogany-coloured walls. The young child seemed to be no older than seven. Crawling on the ground like a newborn toddler, there was no way of linking the identity as the young master of the manor to this unkempt youth. He looked side-ways, observing for any alert of any newcomers. The long and spiraling hallways that seemed to be endless had no sign of life, only carrying the empty sounds of chatter at a distance.

Having made his surveillance clear, the light-haired child crawled out into the open. No longer having to be burdened limited enclosure of the table, the young child rose to the full extent of his height which was no bigger than the trestle table. His cautious demeanor of raising his head into the air, much like a herbivore listening to the slightest crack of a twig, was reminiscent of a rat that scurried to find cheese. The child patted himself free of remaining dust, and whirled his body around, following the same trail the man from previously had taken, but his destination was not the same.

The young child was hasty with his short, stubby legs. It took him an extended period of time, with the multiple twists and turns of the manor that was akin to a maze in a young boy's eyes. After the multiple futile attempts at freeing himself of this unbridled confusion, his small feet carried him to a pair of looming doors. A pair of double doors, grand in appearance, with its metal-lacquered edges, and the set of shiny golden doorknobs that was much too high for the boy to simply grab a hold of. However, the youth was no discouraged. He bent his knees, preserving momentum, and in the flash of an eye, jumped, and successfully caught onto the lower end of the golden handle. The gears of the door was well-oiled, and did not create the usual creaking noise. Soundlessly, it swept open, encouraging the young boy to take a peek inside.

Unable to resist the temptation, the child pushed the door further back with his mightiest shoulder. The doors separated, blossoming a sight of a sickly woman laying in the center of a large, spread-out, king-sized bed, much too big for one person to occupy. As if dead, the woman's wane, wrinkly hands layered on top of each other, settled over her lower abdomen. Beside the bed, a translucent bag of nutrients had been strung up on the protruding handle of a metallic pole. The child's eyes glimmered with excitement, and he skipped over to the edge of the bed, placing his folded arms on the foot of the elongated structure.

"Grandma! Grandma!"
The young boy chirped in a crisp, youthful voice, stirring the old woman from her deep sleep.

Her lashes fluttered, then a pair of gray eyes were revealed. The child was not startled by the view, and he even edged closer towards the sickly patient.

"Grandma, do you remember me?"
The youth grinned, revealing a pair of upper and lower gums that were missing few teeth.

The frail woman blinked her eyes slowly, once or twice. Watching the boy's smile, it took her a few minutes to register the identity of the boy before her. As soon as she recognized the plump face before her, her thin brows curved up with visible joy, copying the expression of the youth. She raised her hand, creased from old age, and landed it on top of the boy, who at once, immediately snuggled into her diminishing worth. He was truly lovable, appearing even close to a doll with his beautiful exterior.