Where to even begin?
After getting married, the wife and I saved every penny we had and scrapped together enough money to buy our own house out in rural Minnesota. Two kids and ten years later, our family faces a situation that I doubt any others have ever dealt with.
Our home came with two beautiful acres of property. Most of it is empty grass fields, which the wife loves because it offered plenty of room to fulfill her gardening hobby. The lone tree in our yard holds a tire swing and a tree house I built with my son some summers ago.
After the first year of living there, I decided to convert the guest bedroom into my personal office. The window there offered a full view of the entire yard. I liked this because I could admire my wife tending to her flower beds if I needed a break on the computer. Once my kids grew old enough to appreciate the outdoors, I could even sit at my computer with the window open on nice days and listen to the kids play outside.
One autumn night I stayed up late on the computer, working on various projects that my boss wanted done by the weekend. When I needed a break, I’d gaze out of the window and into the vast sea of twinkling stars in the sky. We lived in a small town out in a secluded stretch of grassland, so light pollution was non-existent. On that night, I remember being taken back by just how gorgeous the Milky way appeared, hanging perfectly in frame of the window.
The feeling of wonder and admiration quickly vanished when I noticed a flaming ball materializing in the sky. It started out as a speck, but gradually got bigger and brighter. Panicking, I stood up from the chair and began to call my wife’s name:
“SIerra!? Are you awake?”
Alas, she and the kids had been fast asleep for at least an hour. Watching the fireball streaking closer and closer, I stepped away from the window and felt every muscle in my body tense up. After about 30 seconds which felt more like ten minutes, the fireball streaked down to the Earth and crashed with a mighty flash, landing right in our backyard.
The sound it made awoke Sierra, who ran into my office with saucer-wide eyes.
“What was that loud banging noise? Are you alright?”
Glancing out the window, I nodded my head.
“Yeah, I think a meteor just landed in the back yard.”
Sierra raised one hand over her mouth and stared out of the window.
“Oh no, my Peony garden!”
She rushed back out the door and I followed close behind. Grabbing the flashlight from the emergency supplies drawer, she headed outside and trotted through the grass. I opted to stay on the porch by the front door in case the kids woke up.
Sierra returned a few moments later, a sunken look in her eyes. She handed me the flashlight and meandered back inside.
“That stupid space rock destroyed my garden!”
She huffed, walking back into our bedroom. I knew she needed emotional comfort, but morbid curiosity got the better of me and I decided to head over to the back end of our property to take a look at the damage.
A sizeable boulder about four feet tall and six feet wide had indeed planted itself in the center of the Peony garden, rendering it and the surrounding area into an impressive impact crater. Examining the rock, I found its porous surface rather odd. It had a deep brown hue with patches of gray, with cracks covering the bottom, presumably created by the impact. Compelled to touch the cosmic wonder, I reached out with my index finger and felt the still warm surface of the rock. The texture reminded me of crumpled up sandpaper.
With the amusement of the space rock wearing off, I returned to the house and spent a good hour cheering up Sierra. A good shoulder massage and hinting at a possible cash value for the meteorite cheered her right up.
Predictably, our kids were absolutely engrossed with the space rock the following morning. My wife kept an eye on them while she cleaned up the ruins of her garden. I was busy trying to contact scientists and collectors who might offer a handsome payout for the fallen meteorite. Come noon, Sierra walked into the house with a puzzled look on her face.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
“I need you to come outside and look at this.”
She gestured me to follow her and we walked up to the meteorite where the kids were still playing. Sierra walked around the back of the rock and got down on her knee.
“Take a look at this,” she said, pointing down at the loose soil near the bottom of the meteorite. Squinting my eyes, I saw a tiny blue bulge sticking out of the soil. It appeared to be the top of a mushroom, about the size of a quarter and speckled with red and yellow spots.
“That’s a weird looking fungus,” I chuckled, peeking over at her with a grin. Her dead serious expression remained unchanging.
“Okay, one, our yard never grows mushrooms, the soil doesn’t have enough decomposing matter. And two…” she paused, taking in a deep breath and looking down at the odd little plant.
“I know just about every species of fauna, flora, AND fungi native to this area, and I have never in my life seen a species like that.”
Crouching down next to her, I placed a hand over my neck and thought about what I should say.
“So, are you suggesting this mushroom is an alien?”
Her head snapped in my direction and we locked eyes.
“I’m saying that I’ve never seen anything like this, and I think you need to get a specialist out here ASAP.”
It proved to be a long day after that conversation. Sierra was glued to the computer, researching every species of fungi known to man while I scoured the internet for a botanical specialist who might be able to identify the unknown plant.
After hours of searching, someone from a few states over offered to share their knowledge about the fungus. All I had to do was take a few good pictures and send it to him. Cell phone in hand, I returned to the meteorite and opened my camera app.
Then I saw it.
Those mushrooms were now surrounding the meteorite, growing out of the soil like gangbusters. A few of them had gotten alarmingly big, the bulbous tops easily the size of my balled fist. Freaking out, I ran back inside and grabbed the attention of my wife. When she saw the rapid spread and growth of this unknown mycelium, she was convinced it wasn’t Earthly in origin.
“No, there isn’t a species on Earth which propagates that fast,” she remarked hysterically.
We took a multitude of pictures on our phones and spent a good hour outside staring at the mushrooms. The things had what I can only describe as growth spurts, meaning they remained perfectly still until suddenly and rapidly increasing in length and size. During these spurts, new mushrooms would pop out of the soil with enough force to send a small sprinkle of dirt cascading into the air.
Fascinated and horrified all at once, we resolved to contact the non-emergency support number, who connected us to a few different agencies before finally sending someone out to take a look.
Before nightfall, dozens of government vehicles had arrived at our doorstep and promptly ordered us to evacuate the property. The last thing I saw before driving away from our quiet countryside home was a group of people kitted out in heavy duty hazmat suits setting up a plastic barrier around the property line.
Now, months later, I’m sitting here in our government paid hotel, unable to sleep because I can’t help but wonder what exactly has taken over our backyard.