Through the Mycelium Veil

Inspired by the eerie fusion of wild mushroom foraging and hidden psychedelic realms, this short story explores what lies beneath the forest floor where the edible meets the ethereal. Scroll to the end for the writing prompt that sparked Through the Mycelium Veil.

Jesse had spent most weekends in the last three years deep in the forests of Oregon, camera in one hand, field guide in the other. He wasn’t just a hobbyist anymore. He was a committed forager, documenting wild edible mushrooms in hopes of one day publishing his own regional mushroom guide. His blog, Forage & Find, had started to gain traction with hikers, amateur mycologists, and survivalists looking to identify more than just the occasional chanterelle.

It was the first week of October when Jesse returned to a grove he’d visited earlier that spring. Back then, the ground had been flush with golden chanterelles and hedgehog mushrooms. But today, something felt different. The air was cooler, heavier, as if the forest itself was holding its breath. His boots crunched over layers of decomposing leaves as he ventured deeper, scanning the forest floor for signs of edible mushrooms.

He passed a familiar patch of oyster mushrooms growing on a fallen alder, snapped a few photos, then pressed forward. That’s when he noticed it-a strange distortion ahead, almost like heatwaves rising from the forest floor. Curious, Jesse stepped forward.

The moment his foot landed past the distorted air, he felt it. A rush of static hummed under his skin. The forest around him blurred at the edges. He turned back, expecting to see the trail he had walked in on, but all that remained was dense, unfamiliar woods. No markers. No sunlight. Only mushrooms.

They were everywhere.

Thick carpets of mushrooms covered the ground, some glowing faintly with bioluminescence. There were familiar varieties: shaggy manes, lion’s mane, and even morels. But others were unlike anything Jesse had ever seen. Blue caps with web-like gills, tall spires that pulsed faintly, and clusters that looked like fungal coral.

Jesse crouched beside a nearby specimen, brushing away the leaf litter. Its cap was lavender and velvet-soft, its stem translucent and rooted deeply into the soil. As he examined it, he realized something else.

He could hear them.

It was faint, but real. A low murmur, like whispering voices carried through the soil. He shook his head, trying to clear the sound. Perhaps he had spent too long without water or food. He reached for his canteen, took a long sip, and steadied himself.

He had to document this.

His camera clicked through dozens of images. Every shot focused on these bizarre mushrooms that didn’t appear in any wild mushroom guide. He noted their positions, the terrain, the temperature. Every part of him, from his instincts as a forager to his academic curiosity, told him he had stumbled upon something groundbreaking.

He decided to collect a small sample. He picked one of the glowing blue-capped mushrooms and placed it gently in a specimen bag, careful not to inhale any spores. That’s when the whispering grew louder.

“Not yet,” the voice said.

He dropped the bag.

The voice hadn’t come from within. It hadn’t echoed around him. It had emerged directly inside his skull.

Jesse turned slowly. The grove behind him shimmered like a mirage, revealing a trail of glowing mushrooms. Not just scattered patches, but a woven path of bioluminescent caps stretching into the darkness. Against his better judgment, he followed it.

The deeper he walked, the more surreal everything became. Trees arched in unnatural ways, bark covered in strange fungal veins. At one point, he passed a cluster of puffballs that released spores shaped like eyes.

The path opened into a vast cavern, though there had been no incline, no descent. A subterranean biome stretched before him, illuminated by fungal light. In the center, a figure waited.

She appeared to be part human, part fungus. Her skin shimmered like spore dust, her hair flowing like mushroom gills. Around her grew towering edible mushrooms interspersed with grotesque, unknown species.

“You passed through the Mycelium Veil,” she said, her voice neither friendly nor hostile. “You came seeking mushrooms, but you will leave changed.”

Jesse stepped forward cautiously. “What is this place?”

“This is the network beneath all things. The ancient mycelium remembers. It listens. And sometimes, it speaks.”

She gestured to the patch of lion’s mane at her feet. “Eat.”

He hesitated. Lion’s mane was a known edible mushroom with documented cognitive benefits. He had eaten it many times, sautéed in butter or added to soups. But this one shimmered like moonlight.

“This is safe,” she said. “It will show you.”

Jesse knelt, plucked a small piece, and tasted it. The flavor was unlike anything he’d ever encountered-nutty, electric, and immediately warming. He felt a pulse through his body, like electricity waking up dormant nerves.

Suddenly, he could see through the roots beneath him. Miles of interwoven mycelium branching out like neural circuits. He felt what the forest felt, the tremble of footsteps miles away, the death of a decaying tree, the thrill of new growth.

“You are part of us now,” the voice echoed again.

He awoke on the forest floor, surrounded by daylight. His camera lay beside him, still on, battery drained. The specimen bag was gone.

Jesse stumbled back to his car, confused but alive. The images he had captured showed nothing out of the ordinary-no glowing mushrooms, no veiled woman. Only standard edible mushrooms from the Pacific Northwest. Hedgehogs. Oysters. A few morels.

And one.

One single photograph of a lavender mushroom with a translucent stem. No ID match online. No entries in any wild mushroom guide. It pulsed faintly in the picture, like it was still breathing.

He posted the photo with a caption: Unidentified edible mushroom? Possibly new species. Found during October forage in Oregon. Any thoughts?

The comments flooded in.

“Never seen this before.”

“Definitely not edible. Looks magical.”

“Where exactly did you find this? DM me.”

Jesse never replied.

He returned to the grove the next weekend, and the one after. But the path to the Mycelium Veil never appeared again. He kept foraging, photographing wild edible mushrooms, updating his blog. But something had changed.

Sometimes, while walking alone in the forest, he heard a faint whisper beneath his feet.

“We remember.”

And he whispered back, “So do I.”

Writing Prompt: “While hunting for chanterelles deep in a forest known for edible mushrooms, a new forager accidentally stumbles into a mycelial sinkhole—waking up in an underground world of sentient fungi.“