Foraging for mushrooms can be a difficult hobby, even for someone with experience.

Even a seasoned mycologist, say, a man with a PhD in Biochemical Potential of Filamentous Fungi, might occasionally make a mistake, whether or not they realize it. After all, scientists are human too.

The first day after ingestion, the mycologist sent a burger back for being overcooked.

By the third day, the mycologist grabbed raw bacon thawing in his refrigerator, and slurped every piece down raw.

He knew what was happening to him, to some degree. He even took notes, which is why we know anything at all.

The mushroom he mistook was changing him somehow. Possibly by altering his hormone levels, maybe even altering sensory perception as a whole.

The mycologist began hunting. Deer, squirrels, rabbits, wolves, it was just like foraging, except with the rush of predation.

Unless the food he ate was meat, the mycologist would vomit, and unless that meat came from a recently deceased animal, the mycologist thought it would taste horrible. It registered in the back of his mind

(Decay decay it has to have begun to decay)

but not in the front. The front part of his mind was preoccupied with other changes. His veins seemed darker, almost green in color. Blood vessels in the eyes burst almost all the time. Any excretions or bodily fluids carried mold within them. The mycologist began keeping his house extremely warm and damp, and within weeks, the walls were covered in slimy green film.

But within weeks, nothing seemed wrong with any of this. The mycologist felt at peace, in a way. The back of his mind was screaming at him to get help, but the front allowed him to pick up the squirrel he had just shot, and chomp into it almost immediately after it stopped twitching.

The mycologist hid from the public, but eventually, when sneaking into town for supplies, he was spotted.

The car shook as it bounced over the cat. He got out to inspect the damage, and watched the cat slowly stop breathing.

Without even a moment's hesitation, the myoclogist began to chomp down, only stopped when the cat's owner, a young woman, began to scream at him.

When the mycologist registered her, he did not see a woman. His instinct took over, and he simply saw foodfoodfoodfood.

After he was finished with her, he wandered the street, her blood covering his almost green skin and dripping down his chin.

He was starving, despite it all.

Down the road, he saw it. A hospital, children lying sick in their beds, looking out the window while wishing for a kinder world. Some even made eye contact with the mycologist, and waved warmly.

The mycologist began to grin, and then stepped inside.

When the police arrived, many of them rushed out the main doors, vomiting at what was inside.

“What happened there?” The chief demanded.

But in response, almost as if it was rehearsed, the officers began to scream.