The Whispers in the Well

Lena had always dreamed of escaping city life. When she inherited her grandmother’s farmhouse in the countryside, she saw it as a fresh start. The house was old, covered in vines, but it had charm. She spent her first few days cleaning, exploring, and taking long walks through the overgrown backyard.

That’s when she found the well.

It was hidden behind tall grass, its wooden cover rotting. The stones were worn, moss creeping between the cracks. There was something unsettling about it. It felt… wrong.

That night, as Lena lay in bed, she heard something strange.

A whisper.

"Help me."

She sat up, heart pounding. The house was silent. Shaking her head, she convinced herself it was the wind.

But the next night, it happened again.

"Please… I’m still here."

The voice was soft, almost childlike. It was coming from outside. From the well.

Lena grabbed a flashlight and stepped onto the porch. The wind was still. The night was eerily quiet. Slowly, she walked toward the well.

She hesitated.

"Don’t open it."

The voice had changed. It was deeper now, more urgent.

Her hands trembled as she reached for the wooden cover. With one push, it slid off, revealing a gaping darkness. She shone her flashlight inside. The well was deep—so deep she couldn’t see the bottom.

Then, something moved.

A hand. Pale, thin fingers gripping the stones.

Lena gasped, stumbling back. "Who’s there?"

Silence.

Then, from the depths, a voice.

"You should have left me alone."

The ground beneath her feet trembled. A shadow stretched up from the well, too tall, too long-limbed. It crawled, pulling itself upward with unnatural ease.

Lena turned to run. The wind howled, the trees bent violently, and the whispers grew into a chorus of voices—moaning, screaming.

She reached the house, slamming the door shut. Her heart pounded as she locked every window.

The whispers didn’t stop.

They never stopped.

The next morning, the well was covered again. The wind was still.

But Lena was gone.

Only her flashlight lay beside the well, its beam flickering into the darkness.

Waiting.

For the next person to listen.