Rook

waiting for the other to go up. Myfanwy went first, one step at a time, her booted feet sinking slightly into the fungus. The dim violet light cast an eerie glow on their faces. Looking down at her hands, Myfanwy was taken aback. They looked like the hands of a corpse. She and Shantayslowly proceeded, the chanting continued, and Myfanwy found herself becoming hypnotized by it.
    “Myfanwy” came Shantay’s voice behind her, shocking Myfanwy out of her reverie. She gave a little scream and clutched at the fungus covering the banister, which peeled off in her hands.
    “What? What?” the Bishop exclaimed, looking around frantically for some supernatural horror to shoot.
    “Nothing! Just… don’t
do
that!” snapped Myfanwy irritably.
    “Do
what?
”
    “Don’t suddenly blurt out my name when I’m concentrating on not dying.”
    “Sor
-ry,
” said Shantay, not sounding sorry at all.
    “So what did you want?” asked Myfanwy.
    “I have a really bad feeling about this place. It’s giving me the creeps, and I’ve been in a lot of weird places.”
    “
You
don’t like it?” said Myfanwy. “
I’m
the one who’s going up the stairs first! You’ve done all these ops. What happened to the chick who was all ‘I’m going to kick some ass’?”
    “That was before we came into the house that smells like some giant porcino mushroom. How do we know that the landscape isn’t going to just swallow us up like it did all those Pawns?”
    “It asked for a Rook. Do you want me to give it a warning?” Myfanwy yelled up to the next story. “Hey! You asked for the Rook! Well, I’m here, so don’t try any shit!” She turned back to Shantay. “Satisfied? Why are you looking like that?” She followed Shantay’s gaze to the wall, where the fungus appeared to have spontaneously remodeled itself. Where previously there had been an irregular surface with bumps where framed pictures had been absorbed, there were now hundreds of growths. Each one was twice as long as her index finger and tipped with a shiny black orb that was unmistakably an eye gazing piercingly at them.
    “Should I shoot them?” Shantay whispered out of the corner of her mouth.
    “Is that your approach to everything?” asked Myfanwy out of the corner of
her
mouth.
    “Pretty much. Maybe that explains why we have so few manifestations in the States.”
    “Maybe,” said Myfanwy. “Let’s just head upstairs.” Turning her back on those hundreds of giant snail eyes was one of the hardest things she’d had to do in her very short life. But Shantay followed her and they moved much more quickly this time. At the top of the stairs, there was a long hallway with doorways spaced along it on both sides. Every door was open, and more unflattering purple light was spilling out into the hallway. Motes of dust and spores hung in the dim beams. The chanting was oppressive now. They could practically
feel
it hammering the air.
    Carefully, they padded toward the first door, checked that their weapons were ready, and peeked inside. The same fungus grew here, but it seemed more intense in color, as if it were closer to the root of it all. The purple had darkened to the shade of an eggplant, and there were thick veins of crimson shot through it. It almost
glistened,
sweating a thick ichor that stank of rotting meat.
    Whatever furniture had been in the room had been absorbed, just like downstairs. But it looked as if previous to the eruption of the mold, someone had stacked everything in the far corner of the room so that there was a large space in the middle. Crouching in the fetal position, knees drawn up to chests and chanting monotonously, were two rows of people who had also been covered by the fungus.
    The two women drew their heads back around the door and shared a grim moment.
    “That’s pretty messed up,” allowed Shantay. “Did you see their faces?”
    “The only parts of them that weren’t draped in that stuff. It’s like they’re wearing robes of gunk.” Myfanwy shuddered. “What do you think we should do?”
    “Well, I don’t think it’s these guys who called you in,” said Shantay thoughtfully. “They don’t seem to be conscious of what they’re chanting. They don’t seem to be conscious of anything, really.”
    “Someone else, then?”
    “Let’s check the other rooms.” They made their way down thehall. Every room had its group of people chanting in unison, staring blankly. There were men and women of every age, arranged in