Finn stared down into the pit, and immediately his body tensed like a cat on a cold toilet seat.
Below were patches of slime scattered like moss—midnight blue, deep violet, even murky purples that looked like someone had microwaved jelly. It was like a slime sinkhole had cracked open and puked out every shade of gelatinous doom.
And Finn didn't like it. Not one bit.
The dirt down there was dark brown mixed with black, as if the ground itself had given up on sunlight. Dead leaves floated lazily into the hole, drifting down like nature's dandruff. A few rocks were strewn about, doing absolutely nothing helpful, just lying there like witnesses to a war crime.
Schlurp.
Another sickening squish echoed through the air—followed by the unmistakable sound of a blade slicing through goo.
Finn turned his head toward the sound, a shiver crawling up his spine. He wasn't sure if he was scared or intrigued. Both? Could someone be both? Apparently yes—Finn Wiggles could.
There she was.
