“Harold, you’re pullin’ too much juice again.”

Neck craned out the side of the vehicle, Harold’s goggles were covered in gnat guts. The buggy careened over the sandy dune. His passenger, Maggie, was being just as annoying as the day they were born. Harold was older by 5 minutes and never let Maggie forget.

“Hold on, Maggie.” Gunning the engine, they flew over the next dune and finally saw their destination. The Black Pool was about twenty yards ahead. There were rings around the pool, a gradient of dark sand. The pool itself was a local myth and the reason for Harold and Maggie to be in this desolate place.

Harold jumped out of the coasting buggy knowing it would stop before hitting the pool. Harold was wrong, the buggy continued on through the outer three rings of sand and stopped just inside the lip of the pool, probably due to friction.

Maggie jumped out of the buggy, and backed away from the sludge. Her shoes had turned black. It was crawling up Maggie’s leg. Crawling indicates feet. This was oozing.