The Well.

Chapter 1

Opening my eyes seems like an impossible task. My head feels like someone has been repeatedly bashing it with a rock, but eventually I am able to open my eyes and stand up. What I saw was something I really did not expect; it appears that I’m at the bottom of some kind of well. It’s almost pitch black in here, apart from the shimmer of light coming through from the well entrance, although that seems miles away from where I am right now.

Realising my situation I begin to slightly panic, frantically shouting “HELP!!!” in the vague hope that someone will hear me, but alas there is no-one to help me. I’ve got to find a way out of here by myself. This will certainly prove difficult seeing as though I can barely see anything, let alone the walls just inches from my face. I rest myself against the wall and slowly slide down until I’m sitting on the floor of the well. I immediately realise that the bottom of the well is covered in huge clumps of moss; very wet, spongy moss. There are also a couple of snaps and crunches as I rest myself on the floor. I dread to think what it is. “W-what if it’s the bones of someone else who fell down here?” I nervously say to myself.

I reach for the origin of the snaps, and somewhere between the moss, there is something that feels out of place; it’s sharp on both ends but brittle enough to be snapped fairly easily. I deduce from this that it must simply be one of several sticks that have fallen down here in the past. “Of course it wouldn’t be bones, I’ve watched too many horror movies. This is reality.” I pause for a moment and reflect on the situation on hand. “This is reality, isn’t it? How did I end up here? How long have I been here?”

They say that talking to yourself is the first sign of madness, but in this situation, it seems like the only thing I can do to keep myself sane.

I start to feel around the small confines of the well, hoping to find something out of place, or some bricks I can use to climb out of this place. Finally, a bit of luck! There is a brick that is slightly different from the others, I check around the wall again quickly and there are no other bricks like it. There must be a reason for it to be like this, it must be some sort of way to get out of here. I decide it must be the first stepping stone in order to climb out, so I place my foot onto the brick, and move myself up, hopelessly grabbing for another brick. Suddenly, the brick gives way, and I fall down into the moss and sticks.

“Great, looks like I’m stuck here. What the hell am I supposed to do?” While I’m talking to myself, I don’t realise that the brick has receded into the wall, activating some kind of mechanism. There is an almighty rumble, followed by what sounds like gears clanging together and turning for the first time in decades. “What’s happening now?” I look in the direction of where the suspicious brick was, and I can’t believe what is happening. Even though it’s very dark in the well, it’s obvious that part of the wall is moving, revealing a passageway. I don’t believe what has just happened; have I finally found my way out of here?

I try to see if anything is down this newly opened passage, but it is somehow even darker than the bottom of the well, and there is a constant dripping sound from where water is falling from the ceiling. After mustering up what little bravery I have, I take a deep breath and enter the passageway. It is quite a bit narrower than I imagined it would be, and it looked fairly narrow in the first place. As I slowly step further and further into the inky blackness, I hit something sticking out of the wall. It feels like a large wooden stick, although I can’t remove it no matter how hard I try. After wobbling it around for a minute or two, I manage to pull it down like a lever.

The moment I do this the door to the well begins to close, trapping me in perpetual blackness. I can’t even see my hand in front of my face. I used to be frightened of the dark but had grown out of that during my teenage years, but stuck in this place now I can feel the fear coming back, resting heavily on my shoulders. When suddenly a lick a flame comes out the bottom of the lever, which illuminates the passageway. I’m now able to remove the lever and carry it as a torch. I see some crude sketches and writing on the wall; most of it is incomprehensible jibberish, although there is a phrase that is repeated over and over. I feel a shudder down my spine when I read it. “THE WELL IS THE END”. I try to fathom what this could possibly mean, although I know it means that this place will most likely be my final resting place. I walk further down the passageway and the phrase is still being repeated, THE WELL IS THE END. THE WELL IS THE END.

I begin to ponder “Why is it the end? Surely it can’t be so definitive, someone must’ve made it out before.” Then, something amazing happens. I can feel a draft , although very faint it’s still a draft. “I’m going to get out of here, finally I’ll be free!” This echoes down through the passage with some volume for a few seconds, until it eventually dies out. To my shock, somebody responds to my echo; “Not if we can help it.”

End of Chapter 1