Mutant Mould Or Whatever

20251027

Written for Bradley Ramsey's "First Indulgence" event.

It’d been a long day. Like, ‘boss grabbed me right before closing and I only escaped just in time to catch the last train home’ kinda day. I braved a storm of drunks for an undercooked kebab, failed to win over any cabbies despite my best arm-waving, and finally sloped home in a fugue. Hoping that my flatmates weren’t feeling rowdy.
Thankfully the place is quiet when I walk in - but my relief vanishes as I register the sprawling purple… mass… spread across the hallway ceiling.
I freeze. My tired mind goes blank.
It’s… fleshy. Veiny. Pulsing. Ripples shuddering through it like breathing. But the structure puts me more in mind of lichen, or one of those weird mushrooms, than any kind of animal.
What. The. Fuck.
“…Hello?” Debbie sticks her head in from the kitchen, her frown easing when she sees it’s me. “Oh, hey. Are you waiting for someone, or…?”
“Uhhh…”
“Then why’re you holding the door open?” Debbie scoffs with gentle patience. Seemingly oblivious to the thing lurking right over her head.
Unable to muster words, I point to it. She glances up.
She doesn’t blink. Just says “Yeah, she’s been grumpy today”, in the same bored disgruntled tone used for bulletins like “the hot water’s acting up again”.
Uhhhhhh??
While it’s true my mornings are always rushed, and it was dark, and coffee hadn’t kicked in yet… I am positive that thing wasn’t there when I left. And it definitely wasn’t there last night. So why’s she talking about ‘today’ like it’s as much a feature of the flat as the peeling wallpaper???
“Jeeze, are you plastered, or what?” Debbie pushes the front door shut, heedless to this blocking our escape from the mysterious mass, and tugs me right under it into the kitchen. “Sit down, you look like you’re gonna fall over.”
As I collapse into the chair she nudges me towards, I look up. There are fleshy purple tendrils stretching across the ceiling from the hallway.
It’s everywhere.
I swallow. I whisper “Deb?”
“Need some water?”
“N-no.” I don’t trust the taps right now. I don’t trust anything in this apartment. “What is that?”
Debbie looks quizzically at me. I point again. She follows my finger, then shrugs. Her expression bemused yet unbothered. As if I’d just asked ‘what would you call that exact shade of yellowed off-white plaster?’.
Before I can muster proper questions Robert walks into the room. Absently ducking under the mass like it’s some low-hanging lightbulb.
“Coffee?”
For most people, suggesting caffeine at this time would be weird. But Robert’s one of those people who swear that alternating coffee with booze staves off hangovers. So this was a perfectly normal Friday night occurrence.
Which was deeply upsetting, given how this was clearly not a normal Friday night.
I look between them. Trying to figure out if I’m hallucinating, or perhaps losing my mind. “C-can you two see that, that thing on the ceiling?”
They stare blankly at me, then exchange a quizzical look.
Just when I think I am seeing things, which while worrying is at least a mundane sort of worrying where I can call an ambulance and hope people will know how to make it go away, Robert points at the hallway mass and says “You mean Bubby?”
They’d named it???
I manage to croak “Purple… pulsing… lump? With tendrils?”
“Yeah. Bubby.” Robert says slowly. His expression concerned. Not about the mutant mould or whatever it is that’s invaded our space, but about the fact I’m making a fuss over it.
“Cripes, you really are high, aren’t you?” Debbie scoffs, her brow furrowed. “I think you’d better get her a coffee. And some water.”
“No, no, I don’t want…”
What if it’s in the taps? I don’t see any purple in the sink, but the thought knots my throat.
“Come on, whatever you’ve been taking, you’ll want to stay hydrated.” Debbie says authoritatively. “I don’t think it’s agreeing with you.”
“No no no I just… I need fresh air.” I lurch to my feet and scurry towards the front door. Shrinking as low as I can under the lump.
Need to get out need to call someone need to get help-
A tendril detaches from the ceiling and lashes like a whip. I don’t have time to blink before it’s wrapped around my neck and probing at my face I grab and tug and try to stop it but it’s too strong it’s got in my nose I CAN’T BREATH I CAN’T
What was I doing?
I pause, blinking away the wave of dizziness. I’ve got my coat and shoes on, and I’m at the front door. Was I going out? But… I only just got in, didn’t I?
Robert and Debbie are chatting in the kitchen. I walk over, ducking under Bubby, and ask “Did we need something?”
“You said you needed some air?” Debbie says, giving me a perplexed and concerned look.
“I did?”
But I just got in. Didn’t I?
“I think you really do need some water.” Robert urges. “What have you been taking?”
“I haven’t… I just worked late…”
Didn’t I? I do feel dizzy, though. My whole head hurts, and my stomach’s roiling… oh.
I seize onto this nice, simple, normal explanation with relief, rising panic ebbing away now that I have something mundane to hang this weirdness on. “I think that kebab wasn’t cooked right.”
“Ohh.” The other two relax and nod, their concern settling into sympathy.
“I’ll clean the lav. Just in case.” Debbie says kindly. “You sit down and drink slowly.”
“Right. Thanks.” I collapse into a chair and close my eyes. Waiting for the throbbing to settle. There’s pain going all the way back under both eyes. That part might be overwork.
Overhead Bubby’s tendrils continue to creep. Stretching. Growing.
As I accept the glass of water from Robert I observe “We really ought to call the landlord.”
“Yeah. Hot water’s acting up again.”

Prompt was “You take the last train back home. When you arrive, things are different, but everyone is acting like nothing’s changed…”