Slime

She was trying to convince me that my food was flushed away into her septic tank somewhere, but I wasn't convinced. I decided I needed more information. I was looking at a dark tunnel and didn't even see my food. Furthermore, I couldn't care less if I died. I acquired a gradual desire to end my existence when I became unemployed for an extended period a couple years ago. I was unemployed for months. I laid in my bed, apathetic to life, to the point where I decided that the things I was afraid of, like dark closets and basements and darkened attics full of creepy paintings were no longer something I should fear, that I'd rather get mauled to death by a ghost or a demon or a burglar than have to face another day of joblessness.
And this is what went through my mind when I decided to climb through the hole and take a look around. I should be employed at Hallmark doing art, and I'm working at a damn call center. So what if this situation is a little unusual. I still think life sucks, so I went down in the hole.
She didn't close it up when I went in, but she did something to make the fungus on the walls glow.
The tunnel was really cramped. Only about four feet tall, I think, and I'm about six feet tall.
I didn't see it from the hole, but there was also a foot thick layer of clear slime running along the bottom. The moment I entered the compartment, I sunk into it, my clothes soaked through to my skin.
I couldn't breathe without having my ribs and arms pressing against the walls, but I didn't want to breathe too deep anyway. The smell was literally undescribable. It wasn't like any scent or odor I knew from anywhere, so I had no grounds for comparison. It wasn't like a shit smell or like dog poop or a skunk or cow poop. I don't know what it smelled like, but it made me queasy. I pushed myself ahead, looking around for my food.
What I saw ahead of me was a chamber, about three feet in height, with an oozing "pad" of something fleshy covering the floor. The "pad" was pitted all over with these cup-like holes. I looked in one and came close to throwing up.
The cups contained these little worm creatures, about the size of pipe cleaners, with little mouths on one end and sightless flatworm eyes. They squirmed in and out of these holes, and it was the most disgusting thing I've ever seen in my life.
I screamed and backed up to the hole. I was okay with dying. I wasn't okay with being infected with tapeworms or having those things crawling around in my bodily orfices.
She sticks her head through the hole and said they're harmless. I said right, like tapeworms or fecal bacteria or salmonella. I told her black widow spiders might be great in a petting zoo, but I wouldn't go there, and I wanted out. I saw my food nowhere in there anyway.
I tried to push myself out, but it was difficult to do in a frictionless confined space like that. Fortunately, she pulled me back out, and I was floating in her hallway, dripping and smelly.
Of course she told me I had to take a shower, and I reluctantly agreed. So then I went back to get my suitcase.
Problem.