Namaru

For fans of T. Kingfisher's House with Good Bones and Hollow Places, movies such as Annihilation, and the quiet madness of Picnic at Hanging Rock. This one is for you.

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Every seven years, a flooded basin in a remote rainforest blooms with a species of fungal bloom that lasts for exactly twelve days. The spores are hallucinogenic, yes, but it's not the hallucinations that drive people mad.
A reclusive ethnobotanist joins a scientific expedition tasked with studying the basin during its bloom cycle. The team is chosen carefully: those with no immediate family, no online footprint, no one to miss them. Alya is there for the plants, but her real reason? A memory of her mother, who disappeared during the last expedition. Officially, it was a drowning accident. But the final transmission from her mother's voice contained a single phrase: "The ground remembers."
As the bloom progresses, time dilates. The team stops sleeping. Language starts to collapse. They begin to act out one another's memories. Faces are wrong. Alya's own hands don't feel like hers.
Alya finds an old notebook buried under a half-decomposed tarp, written in her mother's hand, but parts of it are in her own.
And then the ground opens up.
They descend.
Not a cave. Not a ruin. A place shaped like a wound. Where the fungus grows in the shape of human limbs and breathes with heat. Where memory is not personal, but shared, like fungus.
Down there, the only thing more terrifying than losing your mind is remembering exactly who you are.