The Whispering Well

Nestled deep in a forest so dense that the sun hardly touched the ground, the settlement of Shonirgram sat shrouded in stillness. Only old trees and dwindling memories remained of the place, which had been forgotten by time. The remaining peasants were elderly, cautious, and constrained by hushed cautions that had been passed down through the ages. A stone well in the center of the village was fractured and covered in moss. The locals referred to it as "the spring of Murmurs." Nobody ventured to approach it. They asserted that it uttered names, secrets, and profanities in voices that were not those of the living while whispering at night. They said that Leela, a healer who was charged with witchcraft more than a century ago, had passed away there. She had been pushed into the well by the terrified townspeople. Before the silence overcame her, she had screamed for hours. She began to whisper to anyone who came close to the well after that day, pleading for her release or, worse, promising companionship.

Arian, then 17 years old, laughed at the myths when he and his father visited their family house in Shonirgram. Arian was a city-raised, rational person who rejected ghosts, curses, and kid-scary tales. His father cautioned him not to approach the well. Long ago, my grandfather attempted to seal it. When it wants to feed, he claimed, it speaks. Arian chuckled. "It is merely an old pit." Unable to sleep that night, Arian wandered around the unkempt yard. Clouds shrouded the moon, and an odd mist enveloped the earth. He was standing in front of the well, which was wet from years of rot and rain. Inside, he dropped a tiny stone. Not a sound. Then a whisper, very faint. “Arian…” He tensed up. Was it his imagination? Like the rustle of leaves, the speech was quiet. However, it had mentioned his name. Heart thumping, he dashed back inside. He kept the light on the rest of the night, listening for any sound.

He heard it again at 3:17 AM. A murmur. within his chamber. “Arian… I am chilly. The temperature fell sharply. Clouds formed in the air by his breath. Something moved in the corner. She was there when he blinked. A woman, her hair sticking to her face, drenched and pallid. Her mouth was half-open and her eyes were hollow, as though she were screaming all the time. She gestured to the forest. "Come, let me go." Then she was gone. Arian was pale and trembling the following morning. He kept it to himself. But like a hook in his brain, the voice followed him around all day. He stood by the well once more that night. "Who am I?" he muttered. Instantly, the response hissed up from the shadows. "My body was buried alive!" I was not guilty. They were afraid of me. You can assist.

Around him, the fog grew thicker. The trees held on to the shadows. Arian fastened the other end of a rope around his waist and connected it to the corroded winch. With a lantern in hand, he slipped carefully down the well, the wet stone grazing his shoulders. The chill grew deeper as the light overhead dimmed. The flashlight flickered halfway down. Then his foot came into contact with something. A hand. He kicked wildly as he screamed. The cold, powerful hand seized his ankle. He noticed her when he looked down. Leela. She had pale blue skin that was excessively tight over her bones. Her eyes glittered like wet stones, and her hair hung loosely around her cheeks. "You came," she said gruffly. "You stay now." There was a jerk in the rope. Something drew him in. The sound of Arian's cry for assistance was muffled by the well. Her face, inches from his own, with lips extending into an overly broad smile, was the last thing he saw. The people discovered the rope swinging into nothing the following day, limp and tattered. Arian had left. That same day, his father, troubled by the loss, left the area. Weeks went by. Months after. The whispers then came back. Soft sounds riding the wind now came more often. However, it was not only Leela this time. Another voice could be heard. The voice of a boy.

He warned anyone who ventured near the well in hushed tones. "Do not pay attention to her." Run "She tells lies." However, it was always too late by that point. The well is said to be more hungry now. They occasionally hear distorted, fractured, and innocent laughing reverberating from the depths. Additionally, the fog deepens if you get too closely. The air goes dead. Your name is also remembered by the well.