Whispers in the Well

When Emma inherited her grandmother’s farmhouse, she thought it would be a charming weekend escape from the city. The house, nestled deep in the countryside, was old but picturesque, with sprawling gardens, ivy-covered stone walls, and, in the far corner of the property, a decrepit old well.

Her grandmother had always kept it covered with a heavy slab of wood, muttering that it “wasn’t safe.” Emma remembered hearing stories as a child about the well and its “echoes”—whispers that her grandmother said could drive a person mad. She’d laughed it off then, but standing before it now, Emma felt a chill despite the warm afternoon sun.

That first night, she couldn’t sleep. Strange noises drifted through the house—creaks, soft murmurs, like distant voices—but when she turned on the lights, everything was silent. It must have been the age of the house, she reasoned.

The following day, curiosity got the better of her, and she made her way back to the well. Removing the wooden cover took more effort than she expected, and when it finally slid off, a damp, earthy smell wafted up from the darkness below. The interior walls were lined with crumbling stones, slick with moss, and the darkness inside seemed… thick, as if it was alive.

Emma leaned over cautiously, calling down just for fun, “Hello?”

At first, there was silence. But then, faintly, she heard it—a voice, muffled, echoing her words. “Hello…” She shivered, telling herself it was just an echo. But as she stood there, her pulse quickened as she heard it again, this time, louder, clearer.

“Emma…”

She stumbled back, heart pounding. There was no one else here; she was alone. How could it know her name?

Shaking, she replaced the wooden cover and hurried back to the house. But that night, the voices returned, only now they were stronger, almost pleading, filling her mind with whispers. “Emma… come back… come back…”

She tried to ignore them, pulling the blanket over her head, but they grew louder, relentless, until she could bear it no longer. She found herself drawn, almost against her will, to the well in the darkness.

With a flashlight in hand, she removed the cover once more, peering down into the shadows. Her breath caught when she saw it—an eerie, translucent face hovering just above the water’s surface, eyes wide, mouth open as if screaming. The face was familiar, too familiar—it was her grandmother.

“Emma…” the voice hissed, soft but desperate. “Help me… they’re here…”

Emma’s hands shook as she gripped the edge of the well. She knew she should run, close the cover and leave, but she couldn’t move. Her grandmother’s ghostly face held her in place, as though she was caught in a trance.

“Who’s here?” Emma whispered.

The water rippled, and other faces began to emerge—more pale, tormented visages, their eyes hollow and haunting, each one mouthing her name. They were people Emma didn’t recognize, their faces twisted with sorrow and rage.

“They’re trapped…” her grandmother’s voice echoed, a raspy whisper that seemed to come from everywhere at once. “Release us…”

Terrified yet compelled, Emma looked around, searching for something that might explain these horrifying visions. Her flashlight beam landed on an old iron chain attached to a hook near the well. Following the chain down, she saw it plunged into the murky water, disappearing into the depths.

With trembling hands, she began to pull on the chain. It resisted, heavy and slick with rust, but slowly, something began to emerge from the water. As she hauled it up, a small metal cage surfaced, and inside was a bundle wrapped in decayed cloth. When she unwrapped it, she found a withered, ancient book, its pages sealed shut with some strange, blackened wax.

The voices around her began to howl, growing louder, more desperate. “Read it!” her grandmother’s voice cried. “Free us!”

Emma’s fingers trembled as she tried to open the book. The wax was cold and oily, but it broke with a sickening crack as she pried the cover open. The pages inside were covered in symbols she didn’t understand, but her eyes were drawn to one passage, written in a deep red ink that almost seemed to shimmer.

As she read aloud, the ground beneath her feet shook, and the well began to bubble and hiss. The voices grew more frantic, screaming her name, and as she reached the end of the passage, the faces from the well shot up, swirling around her like a tornado of shadows.

The last thing she saw before everything went black was her grandmother’s face, finally smiling, as her spirit was released.

Emma awoke hours later, lying next to the well, the book gone and the wooden cover back in place. Her head spun, and she barely had the strength to stand. She staggered back to the house, feeling somehow… lighter, as if something inside her had been drained.

For the rest of her days, Emma kept away from the well, locking up the farmhouse and leaving it to decay. But every so often, in her dreams, she would hear the voices calling her name once more, whispering, begging…

And she knew that someday, she’d have to answer them again.

Thank you for reading this tale of dark mysteries! If it gave you chills, please hit the like button and share it with others who love a good scare. Who knows… maybe you’ll be the one to free the voices in the next haunted place you visit.