Page 52 of Shroom for Improvement

“Oh, my gods!” I jumped to my feet. I needed activity. To keep my body busy and my mind occupied with something else, I stomped up the little staircase to the sleeping area and pulled clothes out of my wardrobe. “Don’t look at me as I dress.”

“I mean, I can’t not.”

“Can you at least pretend you’re not looking? You’re not fae, are you? You can lie?”

“Fine, whatever. I’m not looking.”

“Do you have a name?” I said, as I pulled my underpants on one-handed underneath the towel.

“No. I’m a house. Your father used to call me House. You may also call me House if you wish. Or you may choose another name for me? Perhaps Jenny?”

“You want me to call you Jenny?” I continued to dress, choosing one of my nicer brown woollen suits and powder-blue shirts.

“Not particularly. You can call me whatever you want. No, I’m lying. I would very much like you to call me Jenny.”

“What pronouns do you use?”

“Not he or she or they. I suppose it feels right.”

“Okay then, Jenny,” I said, in the calmest voice I had used all morning.

After I’d fully dressed, I sat on the end of the bed and stared at nothing. I thought I’d lost my mind when I was talking to the house before and it had thrown my wallet into my face, but now that the house had spoken back, I reckoned the term bat-shit might be closer to the truth.

So, whilst I was here, I would have to share every waking moment in this place with someone else. Something else. A being? An essence? Not even a person.

Until Sonny and I figured out what this ritual magic was. Wait—

An idea struck me.

“Do you know what the rhizome ritual is?” I asked.

“What, the ritual that will keep me alive? And needs to be performed twice a year at the ley lines by a direct descendant of Mycelium the first? That ritual? Yeah, I do, as it goes.”

I stood. “Well! What is it?”

“Oh, yeah, no. I can’t say. It’s protected.”

“But... you will die? Won’t you? If I don’t do it, right? Will you die?”

“Yeah. Hundred percent.” It made a sawing sound effect. “Dead as a dildo.”

“Dodo. The phrase is dodo. Dildo is...” I contemplated explaining what a dildo was to a sentient house. Decided not to. “Something else.”

“Learn something new every day,” it said in that same chipper tone. Evidently not remotely worried about dying.

“Can you at least help me figure it out?”

“I am already,” it said, an indignant edge to its voice. “I brought you Sonny, didn’t I? I’m doing everything I can to draw the answer out of you both. Not my fault if you’re too basic to see what’s right in front of your face.”

What was right in front of my face? What did that mean? I mulled it over for a few seconds, but all I could think about was Sonny. All I could see was his crooked grin. All I could hear was his bedtime sprouts oratory. Perhaps Sonny would be able to see what was right in front of my face better than I could. He was a scientist, after all. A million times smarter than I could ever hope to be.

“Jenny?”

“Yes, Claude?”

“I’m going to go for breakfast now. In the guest-house dining room.”

Jenny—the house, House—definitely sighed then. “Fine, abandon me why don’t you? Bloody typical.”

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