The fountain behind the church

In the Forgotten Village of Elmridge, the Forgotten Village, was buried deep in the English landscape, standing with an old stone church that had been left behind for a long time and was mostly consumed by Ivy. The villagers spoke little about it - only when whispered, and the wind was crying through the marsh at night. Behind this church was a fountain - black, bottomless and cursed. No one knew who built the church or why it was ruined. Some people said the ground itself was cursed. The other language of missing failure is the language of a priest who was crazy and threw himself into the fountain. But most of them simply avoided it, and over time there remained a place in the wilderness. In the spring of 1963, a young man named Thomas Gray arrived in Elmridge. A scholar of folklore and forgotten religion, Thomas began studying country traditions for his dissertations. When he heard the mention of the church and its fountain, his interest in attachment changed. He rented a small room at the Village Inn and walked the bent path towards the abandoned inn every morning. The villagers warned him. "Things are good for peace," tweeted the old Dobbins, who had too many milky eyes. "This place listens when you speak close by." But Thomas was not a slightly frightened man. He discovered that the church, as described, looked exactly like a roof, sleep, and a quiet grave. Despite its expiration date, the building was strong as if it had rebelled against itself. Behind it was a wall. The crushed stones squeal like mouths, dark and incredibly deep. Thomas puts in the stone and waits. The sound didn't return. He lowered the rope-bound lantern - 100 feet later, swallowed by the shadows. For the next few weeks, Thomas came back every day, taking notes, drawing diagrams, and even collecting moss from the stones. He never saw another soul near the church, but he was always seen. The birds avoided the area. The wind has never touched this trough. One night, I couldn't sleep, so Thomas came back with a camera and an audio recorder. He placed them in the fountain and waited under the moon. I came in the middle of the night. There was also a voice saying: It died and rose from the depths of the well. There is no wind. It won't be repeated. voice. Whisper. And it said his name. "Thomas..." He frozen. "Who is there?" He called out a Heart Hammer Ring. The whispers are back. “Set us free...” But when he played the cassette back, there was only silence. Not a single whisper had been recorded. But a camera? It showed something - a photo next to the fountain. Form. Fake. There is no face. When the photo was taken, it was not there. Thomas retreated. Sleep escaped him. He began tweeting in Latin - words he didn't know what he knew. The hotel was scared and asked him to go. Thomas rented a cottage near the forest, near the church. By yourself. The villagers heard strange sounds at night - sometimes screaming. The cow disappeared. A few days later, near the church, a child with large eyes and unclear eyes was missing. She died before dawn. Despite this, Thomas continued to return to the fountain. He began to believe in his voice. They were asked to be released for take-back from "The Depths." He studied rituals, old texts, and necromatic traditions. The deeper he immersed, the more the church seemed to change - the warmer the flowing stones. I breathed. Then the storm came. During the night of the summer solstice, lightning rolled the way of war. When Thomas was tied to leather, lightning split the sky. He began to sing - low and stable, crazed words from his neck like an insect. The earth trembles. The church bell rang - despite her absence. The fountain began to shine. A little rise from his depths. Wet, broken, old. Not one, but many similar, twisted hands make their nails. They were not alive. He's not dead. But it's free. The last thing Thomas saw was a mouth full of jagged teeth and a hundred eyes. The villager discovers that his cottage is empty. The church door was sealed. And a fountain? Away. In his place, the damaged specks of the earth have become black and still feel warm. The birds didn't sing. The animals were not approaching. years have passed. Elmridge continued to shrink until it was more than the name of the old card. But some say they can hear church bells ringing on nights when the wind and moon hang low and hang. And when you stand where the fountain once was and whisper the name Thomas Gray...just blow.