 Zombie Fungi by King Stratton I've done plenty of research into this and now I am certain what I say is 100% true. There are still parts I don't understand but that's the reason I wrote this report so others could give me their own theories. I am 19. I go to school at Angelo State University in San Angelo, Texas. I grew up in Waco, a city in northeast Texas. I lived down there with my mom and my then 18 year old brother, David. I was 15 at the time. David was a genius. The soon-to-be valedictorian already had scored a fatty scholarship at UT. He wasn't a nerd by any standards. He was a starting basketball player and a powerlifter, literally a perfect child. Anyways, the Smithsonian Society or one of the National Honor Things had a trip for seniors that year to send 15 young brain children to Brazil to study plant life. Most people would kill not to go on a trip that consisted of putting leaves in beakers but David went apeshit and begged mom to go. It was probably three weeks he was gone. He left during Christmas break and actually missed the holidays that year but he loved it so we were okay with it. So fast forward to the day he got back from Brazil. He could have skipped about a week of school justifiably but one, he had his first game and two, he wouldn't miss school for the world. I remember the day he got back and we picked him up at the airport. He looked perfectly fine, healthy and happy. In fact, he wouldn't stop blabbering about the goddamn plants on the way home. I was surprised mom didn't drive off the road and kill all of us for a moment of silence. It wasn't until a couple of days later that I noticed something weird. It was after David's first game and he looked like hell. He was pale, walked everywhere like he was exhausted. He just said it was the first game that blew him out. I didn't have the nerve to tell him he shouldn't be tired because he played terribly and coach hardly put him in. He still got up every morning, went to practice and school, each day looking worse and worse, paler, moving slower and slower. After about a week, my mom insisted he go to a doctor. All of us went, I had to make sure he was okay. I was legitimately scared for him. It was at the office when we saw it. He pulled his shirt up to put on a stethoscope or something and we saw a large green algae like growth on the side of his ribs. I can still remember my mom's shocked expression as she shouted, David, why didn't you tell us about this before? His only explanation was a blank expression for a whole minute, even after mom yelling at him over and over for an answer. Eventually he managed. It told me not to tell. After that, he was put in the hospital overnight until we could figure out what the hell was going on. It was probably a whole month that he lay in the hospital. I visited him every day as soon as I got out of school. I could describe each visit, but frankly, they were bland and he said nothing, ever. It was on February 2, 2008 that it happened. I was laying in bed listening to some music, my typical nightly routine before I went to sleep. I felt kind of hungry. I got up and crept downstairs in hopes of snatching a midnight snack of some kind. It was at least 1 a.m. and I was tired. My half-blurred vision led me to the refrigerator. I remember hearing footsteps. Mom, I quickly but quietly tiptoed behind a wall where I wouldn't be visible. Then I heard it, the words that would haunt me forever. David's voice whispering angrily at no one. No, no, I won't do it. I'm not ready to die. Eventually his argument with a non-existent voice grew louder until he was nearly yelling. No, I won't, I won't. Eventually I grew the balls to peek around the corner. David? I flipped on the light, knowing what I saw would be terrible, but I was wrong. It was terrifying. His eyes were rolled in the back of his head. Clumps of his hair were missing. He had scratch marks all over his body from where he had apparently clawed himself. David looked around, apparently now blind from his condition. David, it's me. David looked around and replied softly, just when I was certain of what he said. Goodbye. Suddenly his whole body lost control as if he had been tased, his arms flailed for a moment, and he fell over, cracking his head on our dinner table. Blood poured onto the ground as his muscles slowly relaxed and he collapsed into a heap on the floor. He was dead. The police report stated that he died from his condition. Not a suicide, not anything, just died of natural causes. I made it along. No one believed me when I told them of what I saw, so quickly I stopped telling people. And with a closed casket funeral, I was the only one of our friends and family to see him looking like a zombie. Other than my mom, who was in utter denial about the whole thing, and ended up on her death bed from similar symptoms herself just a couple of months later. Like anything else, it kind of just disappeared. After researching the topic and essentially making it my hobby to research throughout high school, I have accumulated the following facts. In certain parts of Africa, Brazil, and Thailand, there is a rare fungus known scientifically as Ophior Cordyceps unilaterus, or its more common nickname, zombie fungi. It infects certain species of ants and essentially possesses their small brains so they will walk to a decent place for the fungi to reproduce. Then the fungi kills the ant and spreads in its new area. After the accident, I grew a green clump on my leg. I had it surgically amputated early on before it had the chance to grow. I don't know if David was the first. I don't know if my mother infected anyone. There's a chance, though. I don't know about the other 14 kids. However, I do know it is out there. And I know there's no cure.