The mushrooms first appeared at the bottom of the garden by the bleached wood fence. They prodded up through the carpet of dead needles and spread their bone-white caps for a week before sinking back into the earth.
That was the first year. The second year they reached the tree, the third year the washing line.
It was a slow process, the invasion, but we found out later that time flowed differently for them. As we flashed above their heads they moved patiently through the soil, and by the time we realised what was coming up from beneath us it was too late.
This is a 100-word flash fiction story, prompted by the picture you can see up there, as part of Friday Fictioneers.