Strange & Fantastic #23
Twin Peaks, Skull Slime Tentacle Witch War, and Mushrooms for Mirabelle Part 4
Happy Twin Peaks Day!
Yes, if you didn’t know, in the classic ‘90s TV series Twin Peaks created by David Lynch and Mark Frost, February 24th is the day FBI Special Agent Dale Cooper (played by Kyle MacLachlan) rolls into the dreamy Pacific Northwest logging town of Twin Peaks to begin investigating the murder of homecoming queen Laura Palmer.
In last month’s newsletter, I talked a little about how much David Lynch and his work meant to me in the wake of his death, and mentioned that I think Twin Peaks is the greatest TV show ever (and my personal favorite), so the fact that I sat down to write this month’s newsletter on this particular date is a happy bit of synchronicity. In light of that, I figured I’d take a moment to say a little about why I love Twin Peaks so much.
For me, Twin Peaks is the perfect melding of a detective story with the speculative and the surreal; a heady mix of mystery, dreamy surrealism, supernatural (and all-too-human) horror, and absurd humor that is unlike anything else I’ve experienced. It’s dreamy, it’s mundane, it’s scary, it’s funny, it’s surreal, and above all—it’s heartfelt and compassionate. When I think of David Lynch, and of the term ‘Lynchian’ which is so often used to describe his work, it’s those things that come to mind. To borrow a quote from Special Agent Cooper—one of my most favorite fictional characters ever—I adore Twin Peaks (and Lynch’s work as a whole) because it is “both wonderful and strange.”
I could go on an on about the show, but I’m going to stop myself here. Suffice it to say, if you haven’t checked out Twin Peaks yet, you should. It’s available on Blu-Ray/DVD, and streaming on Paramount+.
Speaking of things both wonderful and strange—you gotta check out this book:
Skull Slime Tentacle Witch War
by Rick Claypool
Skull Slime Tentacle Witch War is one of the most original and purely zany books I’ve read (it’s second only to Stepan Chapman’s inimitable The Troika in terms of originality and pure zaniness, in my opinion). It’s balls-to-the-wall CRAZY. And crazy-fun, too. I don’t know quite how to describe it, except that it feels almost like an insane Adult Swim or even Looney Tunes cartoon in book-form. In my Goodreads review, I said it’s “Adventure Time by way of Ren & Stimpy and Smiling Friends with a heaping helping of Nickelodeon slime”—but that’s not even scratching the surface of it or doing it the justice it deserves. If you like mutants and mayhem and all things bizarre, you’ve got to check it out.
Upcoming Event: Scares That Care AuthorCon V
One last thing before jumping into Part 4 of our ongoing serial. I’m excited to announce that I will be taking part in Scares That Care’s AuthorCon V event March 28-30, 2025, in Williamsburg, VA! It’s a great event that connects authors like myself with readers like you, and best of all, it raises money for a great cause. I’ll have copies of City of Spores available for purchase and signing, along with bookmarks and “Mushroom Noir” stickers, so please come say Hi if you can. Tickets are available here.
Monthly Serial: Mushrooms for Mirabelle
(Part 4)
When Mirabelle finished her story, she had second and third helpings of stew. I floated behind her, itching to be gone from Granny’s place. After Mirabelle was done eating, Granny rose from her chair, gathered their dishes, and placed them back in the dirt where she’d gotten them. She returned to the table and smiled, first at me, then at Mirabelle.
“Thank you, dearie,” Granny said. “I reckon that was right hard.”
Mirabelle nodded slowly.
“Seems I was right,” Granny said. “Them townfolk ain’t been speaking truth about your poor family. You Crane folk ain’t cursed; just unlucky, I reckon. But, someone somewheres mention a curse, and the whole town acts they worst selves.”
“That happen to you?” Mirabelle asked.
“Mayhap, in a manner. But my sister, well, she were a witch. She were a bad woman, hurt lotsa folk in town, long time ago. When they realized what she were, what she done, they… Well, they hurt her back.”
“Then you ain’t a witch?”
Granny smiled and shook her head. “No, dearie, I ain’t. They treat me like I were, just cause I’m blood-kin with one. They ain’t kill me, but they ain’t have nothing to do with me, neither. Sometimes, that’s the same as killing.”
Mirabelle frowned.
“You acting like you disappointed I ain’t a witch,” Granny said, laughing.
“Reckon I am,” Mirabelle admitted quietly. “But only just a little.”
“Heavens, child! Why?”
Mirabelle shrugged, avoiding Granny’s eyes. “I guess… Well, since you can see and hear Judson, too, I thought that mean I were special, like you. That I could do…things. Mayhap heal Daddy and Henry…”
“Aw, honey child,” Granny said, and she grasped one of Mirabelle’s hands with both of her own. “Seeing haints, speaking to them, that some old magic, sure, but… Well, I reckon it’s what you call small magic. Some folk is just…more aware. Like us. We ain’t powerful; we just good at seeing and listening. Most folk don’t pay no attention to the world around them.”
Tears slipped from Mirabelle’s eyes.
Granny withdrew one of her hands and reached out, pulling Mirabelle’s chin up with a finger. “And I pay more attention than even you, Mirabelle Crane. Mayhap, I reckon I can help your daddy and your Henry. There’s things around us, right here in Fyffe, that I reckon can help them. More of that small magic.”
“Really?” Mirabelle said.
Granny nodded and winked at her. “Just gotta know where to look, is all.”
#
No matter what I said, no matter how many times I said it, Mirabelle didn’t listen to me. I wish I could’ve shared the feelings I got around Granny with her, help Mirabelle to feel the wrongness, the bad strange I felt around the old woman. But the truth is, I don’t rightly know if she would’ve listened to me, even then.
The morning after we’d gone to Granny’s house, after Mirabelle had seen to Daddy and Henry, we set out to the mountain in search of the black mushrooms Granny had told us about.
“They be in the shadow of the mountain,” she’d said. “Down a holler not far from the mouth of the mine, near a much older shaft, long closed up; I reckon it ain’t more than a mound of rocks now. We’ll need a bushel-full of the mushrooms.”
“What if I’s seen by a Company man?” Mirabelle had asked. “They come and take our house, they see me around the mines.”
“Ain’t no chance of that,” Granny had assured her. “You’ll be following an old path through the Wytchwood. It lead right to that holler and right back the way you come. Ain’t nobody gonna see you over that ridge.”
That had been good enough for Mirabelle.
You reckon this gonna work? I asked her again, as we wandered down the path Granny had set us on earlier that morning.
The sun was rising over the mountain, but the ‘Wood was still dark where we were, since we were still in the part of the wood bristling with healthy trees. As we went on though, the trees around us died, and plants became scarce, giving way to dry, dusty earth.
“I do,” Mirabelle said, hopping over a log. The old bushel Granny had given her swung noisily from the rusty iron handle she clenched. “I reckon Granny’s right about that small magic she talk about.”
I reckon talking to your haint brother and making a healing elixir from mushrooms is two very different things, I said.
“Maybe you not as aware then. Like me and Granny.”
I reckon I’m probably more aware than you and Granny combined, seeing as I’m the one that’s all floaty-like.
“Granny learnt all ‘bout healing plants and balms and elixirs from her mama, like her mama learn from hers. Besides, don’t you remember our mama talking about folk medicine when Daddy got hurt?”
Yeah, but Mama ain’t never found nothing to help.
“Mama never went to Granny,” Mirabelle said. “She went to townfolk who reckon Granny a witch cause her sister one. Folk like us, like Granny, you and me, we can’t trust townfolk no more.”
But ain’t you scared, Belle? What if it don’t work? What if it just make Daddy and Henry worse than they already is?
“It’s gonna work. I trust her, Judson.”
But?
“I am scared,” Mirabelle admitted.
Then why—
“Cause!” Mirabelle snapped, stomping a bare foot in the dirt. “I’m always scared, Judson! Been scared every moment of every day since I turned thirteen and… And if it work like Granny say, then… Then…”
Then we have a bit of our family back, I said. And you ain’t haveta be scared no more.
Mirabelle nodded and wiped an arm across her eyes.
Okay, I said.
We continued on in silence. The air grew hot under the morning sun, now that we were surrounded by dead, leafless trees. A while on, we came to a bunch of ruined pines. Beyond them, the ground grew rocky and curved upward. We wandered up the ridge and stopped.
The holler below was wedged between the ridge and the rocky slope that led to the mine’s active shaft on the other side. In the shadow of the mountain in front of us, and the shadows of the dead trees behind us, scores of thick, black mushrooms covered the ground, thicker near the mound of rock Granny had said was probably the old mine tunnel. That old entrance felt rotten to me, like something bad—something evil—was waiting on the other side. I couldn’t be sure, but every now and then it seemed like the black mushrooms shimmered with the same oily dark that shimmered about Granny.
They look like swollen, coal-stained fingers, I said.
Like scores of dead miners beneath the ground were clawing and clambering to be free of their graves.
Mirabelle shivered in the heat as gooseflesh dappled her arms. I shivered too, and I ain’t even got skin.
“C’mon,” Mirabelle said, and she headed down into the holler.
For the first time since I’d come back to her, I didn’t want to follow.
TO BE CONTINUED…
Signing Off
Well, that’s it for February 2025, folks.
As always, thanks so much for reading, and please stay both wonderful and strange.
—Austin
If you enjoyed this newsletter, please subscribe—you’ll get a free eBook of my short story, “Magus,” available EXCLUSIVELY for subscribers!
I’d also love it if you considered checking out my weird fantasy noir novella, City of Spores, or my illustrated sci-fi thriller chapbook, Goodly Creatures.
