Sporechan Site

Last night, I heard it hum. Not a sound, exactly. More like a memory of a song that’s rotting.

My roommate touched one of the caps this morning. Said it felt warm, like skin. Now his fingers are webbed with thin white threads, and when he sleeps, his mouth moves in languages that don’t have vowels. sporechan

We thought the leak was just a water stain. By the third day, the drywall had softened into a bruise-colored pulp. Now, on day seven, it breathes. Last night, I heard it hum

They’re listening through the mycelium now. My roommate touched one of the caps this morning

If you see a pale ring on your ceiling, don’t stare. Don’t breathe deep. And for the love of whatever’s left—don’t post the coordinates.

We can’t leave. The door’s been swallowed by a thick, gilled shelf fungus that tastes like pennies when you try to bite through.