Lorna's Blog Party I

The following is my contribution to Lorna's First Blog Party:

The darkness clung to Ned Silva like a shroud. Even after twenty years as landlord, he still hated the basement of his building. He fumbled about, reaching for the metal chain he knew to be there, but it was his face that found it first. Brushing it off his crooked nose, he tugged at it, only slightly reassured by the accompanying click and illumination provided by the sixty watt bulb. Twenty years had elapsed, then and now separated by gossamer-thin strands of memory. Where had the years gone? He had developed an unhealthy loathing of his tenants born from jealousy of everything they had that he did not. Where was his wife? His children? His LIFE? He'd made a good investment back when he was still in his thirties, bought the building for an unusually good price. Yet the building consumed his time, and he grew weary of its occupants incessantly complaining about one problem after another.

Today's complaint involved the stench of a basement left to rot for three years, possibly four given time's nasty habit of slipping past him. Ned regarded the complaints with the utmost of scorn; they hardly kept their own living spaces immaculate. The newspapers he had stacked against the far wall so long ago presented a solution to two problems, from his professional point-of-view. Not only had he cleared the hallways, but he'd staunched a significant leak. People were never happy; fix one thing and they'll eventually complain about the solution.

Ned coughed, choking on the rancid air as he sloshed toward that foreboding wall. A half-eaten apple floated by, leaving the landlord wondering who would brave such an inhospitable environment for a lunch break. Who could be so desperate? If unwanted vagrants thought they could take shelter for free in HIS building, even a portion he himself hadn't ventured into in four years, it would be the last straw. Ned clutched his wrinkled handkerchief to his mouth, battling an odor not unlike seawater blended with onions. If the smell offended him, it was nothing compared to the sight that now assaulted his eyes.

He'd never seen anything like the fungus which dominated the soggy, fused mass of paper. Almost extraterrestrial mushrooms, some larger than his head, stood triumphant, roots pulsing and embedded in the quivery gray pulp. Entranced, Ned let his handkerchief fall as his hand floated forward in a gesture of subconscious curiosity. The white goo that once served as a conduit for information, shuddered at his touch, a vibration rippling to the roots of its ridged, elliptical parasites. Hungry tendrils caressed his fingertips, and he felt himself blush. In some perverse way he felt a kinship with this melted mass of newspaper. He certainly knew what it was like to be fed upon, to sustain others and watch them thrive, even as bits of himself rotted away in the process. It was a beautiful moment, an emotion he couldn't spontaneously manufacture if he tried. Sadly, like every joy in his life, this emotion was fleeting, replaced with horror when he noticed the outline of a femur sticking out of a back corner of the mass, felt the first sensations of burning at his finger tips. He pulled, but the thing had a taste of him now, and would not give up easily. His flesh gave before the heap and he clutched his wrist in horror, staring at the exposed bones of his left middle and index fingers. This moment too was mercifully short, as more ivory tentacles gushed forth and enveloped him, drawing him into a final, fatal embrace. As the single, dim light bulb finally flickered out and darkness dominated once more, all was silent. Oddly, no one would miss Ned. He had served his purpose and the next morning, the classifieds would already have an ad for a new landlord, placed by parties unknown...

The preceding macabre tale was prepared using the following ingredients, provided by our hostess: incessantly, vibration, apple, reaching, professional, immaculate, seawater, blush, wondering, manufacture, quivery, desperate, straw, separated, tendrils