The Haunted Traveler Vol. 2 Issue 1

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the bone back and forth, emitting a rusty squeal; gradually,
the retractable bone began to lift up. He followed this with
the next one, and the next, while the mump cowered in the
furthest recess of the hollow stomach. When Mort had lifted
the fourth and final bone, he cocked his head to look over at
me and said, “I suggest you get over here now, Art.”
I stood right behind him. Glanced around. People
were looking at me over the rims of their cups, needling me
with their derisive stares and morbid fascination.
All of them wondering, What will the human do?
I looked back at the cell and, before I knew it, Mort
was stepping aside and the mump was leaping out of the
open jail, trying to make its escape. It jumped out of that hollow
stomach and landed with a thud on the stained flagstones
of the patio, a little disoriented for a moment. Some girls
screamed. Without delay, it began wobbling forward, trying
to seek an exit in the maze of milling, gaping mutants.
I started after the waddling mump and clumsily
grasped its slippery, rubbery torso with my hands. I had to
hold my breath for the stink of it. The thought of touching
the thing disgusted me. I lifted it up and the mump kicked
its tiny dirty feet, struggling to get away. I stood for a moment
holding it at arm’s length, clearly repulsed, not knowing
what I should do. It swiveled its head around and I saw
its green, globular eyes, which emitted a resinous fluid that
could have been tears for all I knew.
It was shaking as if it were cold.
Despite my disgust, I felt a little sorry for the thing,
and had a moment of jarring empathy. We were both hated
and reviled things, alien things; beings that were possibly
just misunderstood.
What was I supposed to do now?
Stalling, I began moving toward the rear of the patio
with the creature clamped in my hands—past rubbernecking
mutant teenagers, some of them taunting the trapped thing,