The Fungus in the Bayou
The crater had been there since before Abby could remember. It sat at the edge of her family's marshland, a perfect circle about fifty feet across where nothing grew—not grass, not cypress knees, not even the usual tangle of vine and swamp muck. The land around it was thick with vegetation, but inside the crater, the soil was grey and fine, like ground glass, and it smelled faintly of ozone....
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