Black Goo

There is a boy, but he is not very nice.
There is a house, on a hill, that holds a dark secret.
There is an ancient fountain of black goo, as warm as sun sizzling on your fingertips.
There is a deep interest, harvested deep beneath the cruel boy’s brain.
There is an enigma surrounding the house, but not everyone knows it.
There is a deep desire to venture into the house, from the boy.
There is great fear coming from the house, as the boy enters through its grimy doors.
There is a powerful wisdom, seeping through the fountain of goo.
There is an urging worry of fear from the heart of the house.
There is a crack of lightning that plummets through the house.
There is a shriek of fear from the wicked boy, as well as the house.
There is a brief silence and then mourning.
Then.
There is no more.

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