The grey-green clouds were the first indication I'd stepped off the bus and into the wrong neighborhood. I held my breath until my lungs burned, then I choked down the moist, heavy air around me. I thought for sure I'd be dead in seconds from poison, but I survived. The air tasted like liver and I gagged, but I was alive. I scanned the ground and saw holes; some shallow, some six feet deep. If there was a pattern in where and how they'd been dug, I didn't pick up on it. I couldn't figure out what the silver substance was that rippled in the craters closest to me, either. I was very careful where I placed each footfall as I moved slowly across the pitted terrain. A shriek, from overhead in the dead twisted trees, scared me and threw off my balance. I toppled forward, my knees hit the ground in a squishy thud, and I landed full on in the muck. My eyes stung and I wiped at them with the sleeve of my sweater. I'd missed by an inch the total submersion of my head in a hole filled with jiggly liquid. Then the hole spoke.
"How did you get out? Misshapens are kept down below. For your own safety, naturally." I began to speak, but all I heard was a grunt and a snort. I tried again, each word a strain to enunciate. The squeal that came out was louder than the shriek in the trees. I clutched at my mouth. It was gone. "Reach around to the back of the second stump," said the hole. "There you go, just a little further to the right."
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