Don’t Look in the Well

“Don’t look in the well,” Grandma had warned. “If you do, it’ll look back.”

Liam always thought it was just one of her weird old sayings—like “never leave shoes upside down” or “whistle after midnight and the dead will hear.” But the well behind her farmhouse was real. Covered with warped wooden boards and coiled in vines, it sat like a mouth waiting to open.

He shouldn’t have peeked.

It was the last day of his visit. The sun was low, casting long shadows. Curiosity gnawed at him.

“I’ll just look. One quick glance,” he whispered, pulling away the boards.

The opening yawned black and bottomless. He leaned over, expecting to see water or stone.

Nothing.

Then—movement.

A ripple of pale skin far below.

“Hello?” he called.

Something moved again. Closer this time. He should’ve stopped. He didn’t.

He squinted harder.

Two eyes blinked open in the dark. Not his reflection—someone else.

They smiled.

Liam fell back, heart hammering.

“Probably just water… probably just my face,” he muttered.

But that night, he couldn’t sleep. Something scraped at the farmhouse windows. Soft tapping. Like fingernails.

He checked outside. Nothing. Just fields and fog.

The next morning, Grandma made tea without a word. Her hands trembled.

“You looked, didn’t you?” she said.

He hesitated. “I… yeah. I think something’s down there.”

“You fool,” she said, dropping the teacup. “It knows you now.”

That night, he woke to the sound of whispering.

“Liiiaaaam…”

He sat up. The voice came from inside the walls.

He turned on his phone’s flashlight and scanned the room. Nothing.

Then he saw it.

A wet handprint on the inside of the window.

Not outside. Inside.

He backed away, breath shallow.

Suddenly, the lights went out.

In the darkness, the whisper came again—closer.

He turned toward the mirror above the dresser. His reflection smiled.

He wasn’t smiling.

The reflection raised a finger to its lips. Shhh.

Liam bolted from the room and ran outside, barefoot, into the cold night.

The boards were back on the well. Nailed down. But they were damp.

He heard footsteps behind him. Slow. Dragging.

“Grandma?”

No answer.

He turned.

There she was—but her eyes were completely black. Water dripped from her mouth.

“You brought it back,” she croaked. “Now someone must take your place.”

She reached for him with a soaked hand. He stumbled back—

—right into the open well.

He screamed as the world fell away.

Then silence.

The next morning, Grandma sat on the porch, sipping her tea.

Behind her, in the bedroom mirror, Liam stared out. Screaming silently.

The boards creaked back over the well, sealing it shut once again.