Fruiting Bodies and Other Fungi: A Witch's Dozen of Terror-tales (Roc) [Paperback]

Beginning with the best story of the collection, "Fruiting Bodies", Lumley takes us on a trip through a small, dying town that is slowly falling into the sea. But will the sea claim its victim before the Dry Rot does? Seemingly, a new and mutated type of dry rot, it is as hungry as the sea. Lumley does not deny the imagination in this tale, leaving you searching the nooks and crannies of your house for any...well...nasty accumulations.

"The Man Who Photographed Beardsley" is a short but sweet sabbatical into a demented and twisted mind, which has managed to retain its sense of propriety.

"The Man Who Felt Pain" is a tale told by the protagonist, of his twin brother and the bond they shared, through life and death. If one twin suffers, will not the other twin feel his pain...sooner or later?

"The Viaduct" reminds me of Stephen King back when he still had tight and compelling stories with real-life characters you could relate to immediately. Children can be cruel, but just where is the line drawn when one doesn't understand the rules? This is an excellent story, in which I could actually feel the desperation and the slippery palms of true terror.

"Recognition" is a ghostly tale of a haunted place, and a firm argument as to why some things are best left alone.

"No Way Home" is a surreal nighttime journey through both familiar and unfamiliar territory, with a surprise ending that is unexpected...and worth the trip.

"The Pit-Yakker" takes us back in time to a simpler life within a working-man's village, and a young man's dreams that turn to dust and disintegration in the wake of simple urges and the lack of intelligence to quench them. Questions of friendship and tolerance and personal limitations are addressed here, in a harsh and unforgiving atmosphere of betrayal and lust.

"The Mirror of Nitocris" was one of the stories I found to be a bit boring, kind of strung out and lacking, even though it is only 10 pages long. It was just a bit of a yawn in all the rest of the excitement; a tale of an acquired artifact that comes into being in a chilling climax, only to be destroyed before it can leash its evil into the world.

"Necros" is a very interesting tale of immortality, and the things one must do in order to assure that immortality is youthful and pleasant. But there is a twist to this at the end that will surprise you, and give you a peek into the horrific aspects of bowing to such a creature.

"The Thin People" is a true masterpiece of the type of horror that will leave you forever guessing about ordinary things you see every day. I am counting the lamp posts on my street now, and have had a few disturbing dreams in regards to the science of "Folding". Excellent tale!

"The Cypress Shell" and "The Deep Sea Conch" are intertwined stories, based on letters written from one person to another. The tales they tell of mysterious mollusks are frightening and disgusting, and well deserve their place here in this anthology. The creepiness Lumley portrays upon something as simple as shellfish is amazing, and you will never eat clams or muscles in the same uncaring fashion as you once did before this unnerving description of these innocent organisms.

Lastly is "Born of the Winds", the longest story in the collection, and a novella in its own right. Although, it was my least favorite of all the set. A meteorologist recovering from an "incident" of chest discomfort visits his friend in Navissa, Manitoba. While recuperating from his complaint within the house of his friend, he meets the widow of Samuel Bridgeman, an anthropology professor who had died nearby some years ago. Our protagonist becomes interested in Bridgeman's written works, and eventually becomes involved in Mrs. Bridgeman's search for her son, Kirby. How deep is the Bridgeman's connection with the Air Elementals and the Wind Walkers, and where does Kirby fit in with these spirits? Not a bad story, just a little too wordy and..well...coy, for my tastes.

Don't miss this fantastic collection of stories from Lumley, a true master of mysterious and weird stories that are well written and well told. Enjoy!

Fruiting Bodies, one of my favorite pieces in this book, incorporates the disappearance of a town and the tales of a kindly old man into a tale of a mysterious fungi that seems quite extraordinary in its abilities. In fact, as it consumes more and more, it seems downright horrific in its reproach. I particularly liked this story because of the last statements, the punctuation mark on the horror if you will, that left the terrible tale open for the mind to digest. On top of that, the detail given to the setting is deliciously remarkable.

The Viaduct, a tale containing a valuable lesson on the cost of tormenting others, on heights and the challenge they bring to the table, and on the wonderful world of falling. This tale wasn't one that I cared for simply because of its ending, a great piece of work in and of itself, but I also appreciated the detailing, quite explicit and painstakingly given. In it, I could feel the characters and taste the surroundings, something that always amazes me.

Recognition, a Lovecraftian inspired piece, focuses on an entity that dwells within a home that someone wishes to be rid of, their efforts to understand the enemy, and the subsequent means (a medium, and exorcist, and someone to draw the beast for him) used to do so. This tale is particularly inspiring because it focuses upon the notion we hold most dear, that of understanding, and the high costs that connection can bring.

The Thin People, another of the more remarkable pieces here, dwells within the domain of The Thin People and their thin homes, where lightbulbs seem to vanish from streetlights and sometimes the number of lampposts changes for the worse, and on the strange science of "folding things." Again, this was interesting because it was, in a word, original.

The Cyprus Shell, coupled with a piece Lumley states he wanted printed after it, The Deep-Sea Conch, are letters that go hand in hand detailing not one but two of the dwellers within the deep (not to be confused with Deep Ones). The first, a hypnotic piece with a mesmerizing snail, and the second, a prehistoric holdover dredged from the deep, flow well together and leave a wonderful taste in the mouth of the reader.

Lastly, Born in the Winds, another Lovecraftian pieces on the wonderfully Arctic world of the WindWalker, is something that approaches a familiar topic but does so in a grand way.

The stories I chose not to breakdown are The Man Who Felt Pain, The Man Who Photographed Beardsley, No Way Home, The Pit-Yakker, The Mirror of Nitocris, and Necros. This, in no way reflects upon them as stories because all are quite good, but more on the laziness of the reviewer himself and his need to keep some things nameless.

All in all, the way this collection bounces from topic to topic, from beastly horror to loathsomely fungoid terror, is a sight to behold and well worth the read. I especially find it nice to fear something new for a change.