I don’t really know where the idea came from, or why it seemed so inexorably inviting. All that I knew for certain was that it had suddenly come into my mind that, despite my father’s warnings, I should go out beyond the path behind the house, and explore the small wood that stood there. Father had always told me that there was nothing out there worth seeing, and besides, what if I got lost or hurt? As far as Father was concerned, the place was off-limits, and I had always respected this. But quite suddenly, I felt this urge, this unnatural desire, to go out there and explore the place. I would look out the window, and see the branches of the willows bending down over the juniper bushes, and I would feel a sudden longing.
And so, I resolved to sneak out of the house, while the old man slept in the dead of the night, and make my way towards the outstretched branches of the wood.
I didn’t do the deed right away, however. I knew my father to be watchful like a hawk, and I didn’t want to let on what my intentions were. For six days, I guarded myself well, the old man never even suspecting that something might be amiss in my demeanor. Never did my eyes wander to stare out the window at the cluster of branches and leaves, which seemed close enough to touch. In every conversation, I expertly sidestepped all mention of the place. The old man, for all his cunning, never even had an inkling of where my thoughts really were.
Each night, while my father slept, I would wait until the clock had struck midnight, and upon hearing its toll, I would rise from my bed and creep down the hallway to stand outside his door. I stood there, the side of my face pressed against its cool, rough surface, and I listened intently for the sound of my father’s slow breathing and soft snores, verifying that he was, indeed, asleep. On the sixth night, however, upon reaching the door and hearing Father’s deep, relaxed breaths, I pushed it open a fraction, and peered into the small room. In the dim moonlight that trickled through the lone window, he appeared to be a massive shadow with wide shoulders, lying there like a bear curled up on its side, and I was relieved to see that his back was toward me. How horrible it would have been to open the door and see his sharp, beady eyes peering at me through the darkness!
Carefully, and without a sound, I swung the door open and tip-toed into the room. I ensured, for my own peace of mind, that Father was out, and, having taken care of that business, I crept back out of the room, and made my way downstairs toward the back door.
I picked up a candlestick and a pack of matches from the kitchen as I made my way out of the house, lighting the candle as I pushed the door open. It was August, but it was chillier than I had anticipated, and a light, cool breeze blew through the branches of the trees. As I walked down the path, I considered returning to the house to change into more appropriate clothing than the nightgown I was wearing, but decided that the air was not too terribly cold, and I would get by fine in my current ensemble.
Reaching the edge of the wood, I stopped dead in my tracks and stared at it with a twinge of trepidation. This close, the junipers and raspberries seemed wild and tangled, and the trees seemed to loom imposingly over me, their branches gnarled and twisting strangely in the pale moonlight. I am loathe to admit that a part of me – though, a decidedly small part of my being, to be sure – was apprehensive about entering the place, and that for the briefest instant, I entertained the notion of turning my back on this whole adventure and returning to the house.
My determination won out in the end, however, and I held the dripping candle aloft as I crossed the tree line, stepping out of the known and into the unknown.
Time seemed to slow down as I crossed into this dark, foreign place. The willows and birches, tall and majestic in the shadowy night, loomed high overhead, their branches stretching out endlessly, blocking out the light of the moon. As soon as I had entered the wood, everything had changed. Suddenly, the world consisted only of the dim, flickering candle in my hand, and the forest’s shadows, which pressed themselves eagerly against the edges of its glow, as if alive. I moved forward slowly, the gloom seeming to grow denser the further in I walked, and I shuddered slightly, chilled by the cool of the nighttime air. It felt as if my mind had come a bit unhinged from my body, and I had the oddest sensation of my spirit trailing along slightly behind me, as if on some invisible string. My body felt light, moving almost of its own will, and yet I knew nothing of fear as my bare feet carried me ever forward, crushing the occasional twig underfoot.
I cannot tell you how long I walked through that shadowy wood, nor can I tell you what thoughts passed through my mind as I strode silently forward, my eyes focused on the candle flame. My mind, for the length of that hike, seemed to leave me entirely, only to return the moment I had reached the well.
It was a thing that seemed so out of place, it may as well have come from an entirely different world. The well stood at the very center of a small clearing, a place where the shadows dissipated a bit, allowing a small amount of moon- and star-light to shine through the canopy of branches overhead. The closer I moved to the well, the older and more dilapidated it appeared to be. Small vines crept up its weathered stones, and moss hung off of it in small clumps here and there. From what I could tell, it had, at one time or another, been boarded up, abandoned here by some unknown and forgotten being. However, the wooden boards had been disturbed in some way, and the mess of rusted nails and water-worn planks had the appearance of peeling paint, curving outwards from the well’s opening. As I drew close, I tilted my head to peer into the endless maw, ringed by wooden slivers and thin, tarnished spikes. It seemed likely to me that an intense pressure had disturbed the boards in this way. I marveled, briefly, at the sheer destructiveness of nature, and ran a finger along one curving plank, admiring its near-perfect C-shape.
And then, all at once, I felt the wind change. It was as if Notus himself had swept one mighty hand over the Earth, and the power of this sudden windstorm sent me careening forward. The candle flame flickered one last time, and then snuffed out with a low hiss. My left foot hit the base of the well, the candle slipped from my grasp, and my body lurched forward, flung into the well’s waiting throat. I felt myself falling into the dense blackness, and suddenly had the odd sensation of time slowing to a crawl. I knew, at some point, I would hit the bottom, and I would be trapped, or worse. And yet, the thought did not disturb me, or terrify me. It merely crossed my mind as I watched the point of light above grow smaller and smaller.
Finally, I hit the bottom. It was not water that I landed in, nor did I find myself greeted by cold, hard stone. Instead, I landed on something somewhat soft and damp, which, for the most part, cushioned my fall. The walls here felt slick with some sort of cool, jelly-like substance, and I felt something brittle, like a twig, snap beneath one of my feet. Miraculously, I had managed to hold on to the pack of matches I had taken from the kitchen, and I fumbled with the packet blindly in the pitch-darkness. Finally, I oriented my hands just right, and struck one small match, which flared into life, illuminating the entirety of the well’s belly for a brief instant. And in that instant, I saw a papery-white face, half-eaten by some blackened rot, grinning at me, its eyes reduced to oozing pools within wide, abyssal sockets. I saw its long, blonde hair, caked with mold and filth, framing that face, flowing ever downward.
And then, an anguished sound ripped through the silence, only to be deadened by the gore-covered walls.
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