The International Mystery of the Ghost Slug
The hunter is ghostly white, but down here in the burrows far from the surface that matters not. The hunter touches the walls, exploring to find an opening, however small. Its prey is smaller, outnumbering the hunter hundred to one, and these burrows are purpose built for its survival. But they had never dealt with a creature like the hunter. There, at the bottom of the burrow, it feels an opening, freshly dug out. It twists in the confined, dark space. Pebbles and some exposed root rub against its back as it twists in impossible ways for its head to reach the opening. Slowly it reaches into the burrow, one tiny appendage reaching, reaching, thinning out as it moves forward. Slowly and surely the hunter makes its way through the burrow, ghostly white body thinning to a small proportion of its size and traveling in search of prey. After a short eternity crawling through the tunnels deep underground, the hunter attacks. Its head extends farther out. It clamps on the tail of the unsuspecting worm. And starts feeding.
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