The light shone from the window, unmoving, unchanging. It was all you could see for miles, like a lighthouse guiding lost souls to a safe haven, or a place of worship, but the closer you got, the more sinister it became. You realised the light was attached to the house, covered in a dark oily sheen that never seemed to come off, yet was always moving. You always have the strangest urge to touch it, to see if it would harm you, but you hold back, your human instinct to live taking over. The house itself is large, much larger than you can remember, but you don’t remember much do you? Where is your family? How did you get here? The light is unchanging, no shadows pass it, the rest of the house remains black, only noticeable through the dim twilight that never leaves the area, bathing the land in a soft blue hue that has no source, or at least not one you can see. The windows are lined with white, a contrast to the black oil that covered the rest of the building, but it's still too frightening to touch, to know what it feels like to have your hand pressed against its bare wood. Maybe step inside? Seen where the light is coming from. Perhaps an old woman has fallen and needs your help? Or maybe a little boy is scared and lost. Step inside, there’s only one way to find out. Step inside, there’s no need to be scared. Just don’t touch the oil.