The Whispering Well

When Daniel and his family moved to the countryside, he was immediately drawn to the old stone well that sat at the edge of their new property. Its stones were covered in moss, and the wooden cover was so weathered it looked like it might collapse at any moment. Local legend claimed the well was cursed, but Daniel didn’t believe in curses.

One chilly evening, he decided to take a closer look. As he lifted the creaking wooden cover, a rush of damp air hit him, and the silence around him seemed to deepen. Curious, he peered down, trying to see the bottom, but it was nothing but darkness.

“Hello?” he called, his voice echoing faintly.

To his surprise, something answered.

“Hello, Daniel…” The voice was soft, barely more than a whisper, and it seemed to drift up from the depths of the well, curling around him like fog.

Daniel’s heart skipped. He looked around, expecting to see someone playing a trick, but he was alone.

“Who’s there?” he asked, his voice shaky.

The well was silent, the only sound his own breath. But as he leaned closer, the whisper came again, closer this time, as if the speaker were right beside him.

“I’ve been waiting for you…”

He stumbled back, nearly tripping over a rock. The voice was familiar, achingly so. It sounded like his older sister, Lily, who had passed away in a car accident a year before. He shook his head, rationalizing it as a trick of the wind or maybe just his imagination.

But that night, he couldn’t sleep. Lily’s voice, so soft and sad, haunted him. She had been his best friend, the person he’d trusted most, and he hadn’t been able to say goodbye. The memory of her face, her laugh—it all came rushing back, sharp and painful.

The next night, he went back to the well, drawn by a pull he couldn’t resist. His breath formed clouds in the cold air as he leaned over the edge, whispering, “Lily? Is it really you?”

The darkness was silent, but after a moment, her voice floated up to him, weaker this time, almost pleading.

“Daniel… come closer…”

He reached down, his fingers brushing the rough, damp stones. His heart ached, and he felt a strange, compelling urge to climb in, to descend into the darkness and find her.

“Are you… are you trapped?” he whispered.

“Yes,” the voice answered, barely audible, “and I’m so cold…”

Ignoring his instincts, he swung his legs over the side of the well, ready to climb down, when he heard his mother calling from the house.

“Daniel!”

He snapped back to himself, shaking off the fog that clouded his mind. Quickly, he pulled himself up and away from the well’s edge, heart racing. He looked back down, feeling foolish, but the darkness seemed to stare back at him, waiting.

The next morning, he placed a heavy stone on the cover, sealing it shut. But that night, as he lay in bed, he heard it again—the faintest whisper from far away, drifting through his open window.

“Daniel… please… let me out…”

And from then on, whenever the wind blew, he could swear he heard her voice, calling to him from the bottom of the well, waiting for the day he would listen again.