The Well Keeper

The rain had just stopped when Arman stepped into his grandfather's backyard. The scent of damp earth filled the air, mixing with the biting cold. Crickets chirped in the distance, their rhythmic song interrupted by the occasional hoot of an owl. The moon cast an eerie glow over the small house and the surrounding trees, but Arman’s focus was locked onto one thing—the old well in the corner.

The stone well had been abandoned for years, covered in moss and tangled roots, almost as if the earth itself was trying to reclaim it. Since childhood, Arman had heard stories about it. Some villagers swore they had seen something—someone—lurking around the well at night. A woman in white, standing by the edge, staring into the abyss.

But his grandfather always dismissed the tales, calling them mere village myths.

Yet tonight, something felt different.

The silence was too deep, too unnatural. A strange unease crept into Arman’s chest as he gripped his flashlight and cautiously approached the well. The air grew colder with every step. He peered inside, but the darkness swallowed everything whole.

Then, a gust of wind blew past him, carrying a whisper.

"Help..."

Arman froze. His breath hitched.

"Help me..."

The voice was clearer now—soft, desperate. It was a woman’s voice.

His heart pounded against his ribs. There was no way someone could be inside the well. It had been abandoned for decades. Yet, curiosity outweighed logic. He picked up a small stone and dropped it into the well.

No sound. No splash. Just an eerie silence.

Then, his flashlight flickered. Once. Twice.

And then, complete darkness.

The temperature plummeted. The air turned icy. Arman fumbled with the flashlight, his fingers trembling. Suddenly, he heard footsteps.

Slow. Heavy. Approaching.

He stiffened. He was no longer alone.

From behind the gnarled shadow of an old tree, something emerged. A woman, her long, drenched hair clinging to her pale face. Her white dress was soaked and filthy, clinging to her frail body. Her feet were bare, leaving wet footprints on the ground.

Arman’s throat went dry. His legs refused to move.

The woman’s empty eyes locked onto his. Her lips moved silently before a whisper escaped.

"Why did you wake me?"

A Dark Secret

The wind howled, sending shivers down Arman’s spine. The woman stepped forward, her frail hand reaching toward him. He wanted to scream, to run, but his body remained frozen. Her fingers were just inches from his face when—

"Arman! What are you doing out there?"

His grandfather’s voice thundered from the house.

The porch light flickered on. In an instant, the woman vanished.

Only the rustling leaves and the cold wind remained.

Arman stumbled backward, gasping. His grandfather rushed toward him, his expression filled with fear. He grabbed Arman’s arm and pulled him inside, bolting the door behind them.

The old man’s hands were trembling as he turned to face his grandson.

"You saw her, didn’t you?"

Arman could only nod.

His grandfather sank into a chair, rubbing his temples. His face was pale. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he spoke.

"Years ago... a girl fell into that well. No one found her for days. And when they finally did..." He swallowed hard. "She was never the same again."

Silence stretched between them.

Arman finally found his voice. "What happened to her?"

His grandfather’s eyes darkened. "She kept saying she wasn’t alone in the well. That something else was down there with her. Watching. Whispering."

A chill ran down Arman’s spine.

"She didn’t survive long after that," his grandfather continued. "Some say her soul never left that well." He exhaled shakily. "And now, when the rain falls, she calls out... waiting for someone to answer."

Arman’s hands clenched into fists.

Somewhere outside, the wind howled again.

And in the distance, from the depths of the well, the faintest whisper echoed through the night.

"Help me..."