Page 82 of Shroom for Improvement

Sonny

“Uh, I guess that’s the penguin room?” Claude said, hastily slamming the door shut on the vast arctic tundra—and the eight thousand screaming penguins—before we could all freeze to death. He looked at me. “Did you know we have a penguin room?”

“I did not,” I said, fighting back my smile, and definitely not hyperfixating on Claude’s use of the possessive we.We have. Like it wasourroom, inourhouse. “But this house is full of surprises.”

Mr Greene recorded a voice note on his phone. “Penguin room, approximately one kilometre squared. Probably uninhabitable.”

We were taking Mr Greene and Mr Cope on a—so far extremely unsuccessful—tour of the house. Claude and I figured out pretty quickly Jenny had an ulterior motive. It seemed to be doing everything in its power to make itself as unappealing to an estate agent, and therefore potential buyers or renters, as possible.

Claude opened another door. “This, ah, fuck, appears to be the lace-pantie display room.”

I snorted. There were strings of panties in a rainbow of colours hanging from the ceiling like bunting. Panties in glass cabinets and ornate gold frames, and a pantie-shaped rug. Pretty.

“Small closet just off main landing on first floor. Potential for bedroom perhaps,” Mr Greene said, once again into his phone.

Claude closed that door, walked a few paces down the corridor, opened another door, and exhaled loudly. “Sure, sure. Welcome to the...” He took a few steps inside the unnaturally cool room and pulled the handle on a square metal drawer. A black, zippered bag filled with something heavy and lumpy appeared. “Morgue.”

“Is that a body?” said Mr Cope with an audible swallow.

“It is indeed cadaver shaped,” Claude replied. His tone, the precise words he’d chosen, and the emphasis onshapedled me to believe that either from his vantage point it was obviously not a dead body, or the house had told him it was not.

“Room thirty-six appears to be a mortuary. Unclear how many corpses are here. Best check with the authorities on regulations before renovating,” Mr Greene said into his phone’s recording device.

Beside me, Oggy and Willow whispered into each other’s ears. Occasionally, Willow would chuckle, and Oggy would sigh. Their hair, previously jet black, was purpling at the ends.

We left the morgue, and Claude opened the next door. “Of course. Because what else do you keep next to the morgue but a sex dungeon?” He stepped inside, sidestepping to let the visitors in. There was a dais in the centre, with a cagelike contraption around it and, dangling in the middle, a swing... of sorts. Lining every wall were whips, and paddles, and harnesses, and ball gags.

“Uh,” said Mr Greene. He lifted the phone’s recorder to his mouth but simply stared wide-eyed into the room.

Claude elbowed me, and when I looked at him he leant closer, burying his mouth in my hair next to my ear. All at once, my skin erupted in goosebumps.

“Do you think Mr Greene’s realising he’s bitten off more than he can chew?” he asked.

“Was there really a body in there?” I whispered back.

“Jenny informed me it was turnips.”

I stopped myself before I laughed and spoiled everything. “Of course it was.”

“Now it’s a party!” said a booming male voice. Jasper strode out of the shadows and into view. Stark bollock naked. His arousal jutted out in front of him like the gangplank of a ship.

“Good lord!” Mr Greene whispered, only a fraction louder than utter silence.

“Who wants first go?” the fire daemon said. It was unclear whether he was talking about the swing or his cock. Or perhaps he meant both.

“Woah, steady on there, fella,” said Mr Cope. “We’re just conducting a property survey of sorts.”

Jasper snapped his attention to Claude. “You selling?”

“Jees, uh, goodness, well, that’s still to be determined,” Claude bumbled. I wanted to hold his hand, softly stroke his skin with my thumb.

Jasper didn’t bother to acknowledge his answer, instead he turned to me. “And you!” he bellowed accusingly.

I was sure a little pee came out. “Yes?”

“Have you even looked into the further research I asked you to do?” he boomed.

It took me a moment to rewind back to that conversation, and that particular “further research” he was referring to. “You mean... about certain by-products being beneficial to soil health?” He nodded, gave me awhat else would I be talking abouthand gesture. “Um, no, I haven’t looked into it. It’s not really the time nor place for... that.”

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