The Voice in the Well

📅 Published on May 9, 2022

“The Voice in the Well”

Written by Dale Thompson
Edited by Craig Groshek
Thumbnail Art by Craig Groshek
Narrated by N/A

Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on CreepypastaStories.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed, adapted to film, television or audio mediums, republished in a print or electronic book, reposted on any other website, blog, or online platform, or otherwise monetized without the express written consent of its author(s).

🎧 Available Audio Adaptations: None Available

ESTIMATED READING TIME — 11 minutes

Rating: 10.00/10. From 1 vote.
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What awaits, is waiting for us all along.  There’s no changing that.

The dug bore well had been on the property for 200 years, they said. It had been dry for over half of that, but folks would come by, toss a coin in and make a wish.  It lay just inside the forest along the main thoroughfare.  Everyone who knew about it had been to it and had thrown a coin into its dark yawning mouth, but always in the daylight, for there were rumors of a little girl’s voice coming from the depths of that hollow black pit in the ground at night.  Some would say it was just talk.  Others would swear when they were young and went by the well, they ‘thought they heard something.’  Still another group of townspeople were adamant that the well was not haunted and what people heard – if they actually heard anything at all – was the wind whistling from the south like a chinook over the top of the well.  And oh, how the mistral could sing.

The farm Miller’s Well occupied was on Oscar Fielding’s farm.  He had purchased the farm some 20 years ago and mainly worked with cattle and corn.  Oscar only had 35 acres, but he knew farming and farmed it well.  His father had once had a large 500-acre spread, and Oscar grew up milking cows, bailing hay, plowing fields and every other bit of agricultural duty a person could think of.  He had strung his fair share of barbed wire and dug many a post hole.  He had become an expert roofer and all-around handyman.  A true farmer in every sense of the word.

Miller’s Well got its name from the owner of the property before Oscar purchased the farm.  “Old Man Miller,” as they called him, had a much larger farm but broke it up into smaller farms so that he would not only make more money but that it was equally divided for the community.  Twenty different small-time farmers bought up his property, and each was able to buy close to an equal share.  Oscar was fortunate enough to negotiate and acquire 35 acres which had the house and the largest barn on it.  Because Oscar bought the front part of the farm, he had to give a right of way to all of the other farmers so they could pass through to their fields.

For the past 20 years, Oscar had seen people come and go to check out his well.  It was really nothing spectacular; in fact, it was ordinary at best, but the legend of the voice of the little girl kept people coming back.  The well had become a local tourist destination as talk of the singing maiden was rumored throughout the countryside.  He placed a sign on the well as a precautionary measure that read, “Feel free to toss a coin for a wish, but do not lean over the edge, or you may become a goldfish.” He also painted a really bad goldfish on his sign. It looked more like a Greek ichthys or Christian fish symbol interpreted as an acrostic in which the Greek letters are the initials of the words “Iēsous Christos theou hyios sōtēr,” meaning Jesus Christ Son of God, Savior.

As fictitious as the history of the well was, it presented an allure that seduced people to gather around it and peer into the gaping void.  No one could explain its magnetic pull, but those who passed by found themselves under the spell of provocative temptation as they frequented the area.  At one point, Oscar thought about selling tickets for the well, but thought again because it could make it a commercial attraction where people would no longer see the novelty in it.  He was also conscious of the liability insurance he may have to pay if it became too popular and some tragedy would occur.  As of now, no accidents had happened at the well, and like many things on a farm, “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”

 

As long as the well continued to entice, Oscar was quite happy.  It was like having a brother without the real bother.  He would sometimes go to the well when no one was visiting and listen intently, but he never heard the well sing.  Another folklore surrounding the well was that it only sang to entice the children.  It played upon their innocence and immaturity.  A curious youngster lacking worldly experience of any kind would find the well attractive and wonderful, never thinking about the dangers of falling in.  In order to topple over the bricks, a child would have to climb up and lean way over to lose balance. Oscar had no concern since the well had been accident-free for all of these years.  He once was heard saying, “No kid is dumb enough to fall in.”

Children often played in the field where the well had been dug.  They would play ball and other games while the well sat at the far end of the field with a tree line separating it from the main highway.  The spruce trees were a great covering but never shielded it to the degree that they would distract people away from the area.  There was also a row of thick, flowering, purple, white and red azaleas which grew brilliantly in season, vibrant even under the partial shade of the spruce trees.

One day a group of children who often played there was there again. They were running as children do.  For a time, they played kickball, then they played tag.  There were a dozen children in all, and they were laughing, enjoying the bright sunny day, oblivious to the rays of

the burning sun.  Most would have sunburn on exposed areas by the end of the day, but as it was not the end of the day yet, they played on.  A game of hide-and-seek ensued, and the children proceeded to run and hide.  One little girl hid behind the well, hoping that the fearful legend would stop the seekers and she might win.  Although the well did have its visitors and inquisitive admirers, the superstition of the well bore deeply into everyone’s hearts.  People were always overly cautious around the well, even when visiting it to just toss in a coin.

As the little girl knelt beside the stones of the well, she heard a little girl’s voice.  It sang to her, “Hey little one, look down into the well. Hey, little one, what is there to tell?  Take a peek; I won’t tell or say, Your secret is safe with me today.”

The little girl did not know what to make of this voice singing from the well.  She had been told about the legend and the folklore, but because she was a child, it did not frighten her as it did the more superstitious adults.  What it did, however, was make her curious. This was a good hiding spot behind the well.  She was out of sight, well-hidden and concealed.  She figured no one would think of looking for her behind the well as no other playmate had ever taken refuge there.  It was just an unspoken precaution that children were to stay clear of the well without a parent or adult present.  None of the other kids were as fascinated and intrigued with the dry hole in the ground as she was.  She had read what was posted about not peering down into it, but the temptation was so strong.  Did she want to give up this secluded hiding place, maybe give away her position in the game just to get a quick look down into the well?  ‘It’s just a game,’ she thought. ‘Just a silly game.  Maybe just one look?’

She hesitated with uneasiness.  Her reluctance was not so much indecisiveness as it was wondering whether one of the other children would tattle on her and tell her parents.  She questioned herself if this was the right thing to do, or did she want to stay put and win the game of hide-and-seek?  How important was it to win this game?  She debated a moment, reasoning in her little mind what the outcome might be if she peered into the hole which sang to her.  If she did win the game, then the kids still might tell on her because she was near the well, and everyone knew that it was taboo to even get near it without supervision.  She had no real disclination, just concern over the outcome.  She told herself that she wasn’t afraid.  Maybe the voice she heard was her imagination?  She wondered.  There was only one way to find out, and that was to give up her position in the game, surrender defeat, and take a look in the well to satisfy the intrigue which now had her in its grip.

The little girl with rosy cheeks could still hear the melody of a girl coming from the mouth of the well.  ‘I’ve just got to look.  Maybe my friends won’t see me raise up?’ The little girl who was on her knees on the ground reached up with her hands and curled her tiny fingers tightly around the top of the brick.  She then slowly raised up just enough to peer over the lip of the brick.  She could not see nor hear any of her friends at the moment.  “Coast is clear,” she whispered to

herself and raised all the way up. She leaned slightly forward from the waist and craned her neck, eyes wide, focusing straight down into the unknown abyss.  She saw nothing, and the voice had ceased.  She peered as deep as her sight would allow her and saw nothing, just the lightless well with no bottom to be sure of.  The caliginous hole lay like a sleeping thing.  There was no longer singing; it was just still and unknown.  Mesmerized in machinations not her own, the fascination of this comatose hole in the ground captivated every fiber of her being.  In suspense, she peered, dismayed by what she could not see. The peaceful serenity of the dark called to her but not like the singing; it was more like a beckoning in her bones.  Vagueness pushed away all consternation.  Transfixed, she did not hear her friend slip up behind her.  Then came a loud voice, and someone grabbed her shoulders which gave her the most horrific fright.  She let out a shrill scream and spun around.  It was Edwin who was always menacing her but not in a bad way.  They were little kids, but Edwin liked the little girl a lot. However, being young and naïve, he had no way of expressing his feelings except to tease her and act like a lug most of the time.

“Edwin!  You scared me,” she said, frustrated and halfway angry.

“What ya looking at down there?” he asked – but dared not take a look himself.

“I thought I heard the voice of a little girl singing, so I peered over to see if I could see her,” answered the little girl.

“Can’t you read that sign?” Edwin pointed out.  “It says don’t be doing what you were just doing.”

The little girl grinned sheepishly and replied, “I know, but I heard a girl singing.  It was coming from down there,” she pointed into the mouth of the well.

“Just the wind Maggie, just the wind,” Edwin assured her as if he had great knowledge of this well and surroundings.  By now, the other kids had emerged from their hiding places and had gathered around the well to see what was going on.

“Well, Maggie here decided to look into the well,” Edwin said, raising his concerns.

Another little boy pointed to the sign.  “Didn’t you read the sign? You’re going to get us all in trouble if that farmer catches you looking down into the well.”

Maggie stood her ground, “I was just curious, that’s all.  It wasn’t like Iwas going to lean so far over as to fall in.”

“I was just curious; famous last words, Maggie.” The boy laughed. Edwin changed the subject.  “Do we have one more game left before it gets dark?” The kids all agreed to play one more round of hide-and-seek and told one another that hiding around the well was off-limits; it was out of bounds.

This time Maggie would be the seeker, so she turned her back, closed her eyes and counted slowly to 20 to give her friends time to find their hiding places.  The key was to search for them until she found them all.  As she counted 20 and said, “Ready or not, here I come,” she heard the soft melodic melody of a young girl’s voice emerging sweetly from the well, like the voice of an angel.  She stopped in her tracks, tried to ignore it, but the perfumed sound was compelling her like the sirens of the sea did to fishermen.  The voice was too beautiful, too intoxicating to ignore.  ‘Who could be singing with such sweetness?’ Maggie thought. The seraphic melody with the fragrance of beauty amplified in her small ears.  The tone was lovely; it was scrumptious, like something to be consumed.  Her hunger was growing.  A sense of poverty and need washed over her as if she were starving for what the well was offering.  She needed to satiate her craving for this delectable treat.  Edacity now had her, and she could no longer resist the temptation.

She could not see any of her friends and did not know if they had vantage points where they might be able to see her from their hiding places.  To resist this melodic chorus was an impossibility.  Never in her life had she heard such immaculate singing.  Maggie afforded her way back to the well, abandoning the game altogether.  Once again, but this time with more boldness, tenacity, and resolve, she took a glimpse

into the mouth of the well.  It felt so cold over the opening, like ice, but she did not mind; she had been sweating for hours while playing. The coolness was refreshing.  Invigorated by this strange but powerful gratification, she wanted the tonic that was being pledged to her.  Her ambitiousness was driving her, and since there was no curtain between her and the well, she felt that she was rightly able, if she wanted to, to look down in there to see what she could see.  She was convinced that there was a reward, a prize, maybe a gift if she would just take a look.  The aperture was most inviting, and for reasons she could not answer to herself, she climbed up onto the parapet and continued to look straight down into nothingness.  For Maggie this was thrilling, to be inches away from dropping straight down into the void.  Edwin emerged from the grassy area where he had been laying, waiting to be discovered, when he saw Maggie in reverie, as still as the Venus de Milo.

“Maggie, are you crazy?  Come down from there,” he shouted as he began to pick up his pace.  He could see she was lost in a trance, absorbed by her own purposelessness, for there was nothing of any relevance that Edwin could see or hear.  But for Maggie, there was now a cacophony of harmonies and songs ringing true to her.  It was right before Edwin reached out to take her by the arm that he said two words, “Dumb girl.” Reconciled to her fate, she took a step into the well and as desperate as Edwin was to save her from falling, she was gone, straight into the glum.  He did not hear her scream; there was no sound where she had hit bottom.  She was still falling seconds later as far as Edwin was concerned.  He screamed down into the hole as their friends came to his side.  But there was no reply; no one answered back.  Gone, she was gone.  Gone, of her own accord.  A couple of the boys who had bicycles jumped on their bikes and rode like the wind for help.  The nearest place was the farmer’s house, and they knew that he would have a phone.  They raced at breakneck speed, knowing that time was of the essence.

Once the boys reached the farmhouse, they had to catch their breath and, in their exasperated excitement, had told an abbreviated recollection of the horrific event twice to Oscar in order for him to realize that they were saying, “someone has fallen into the well.”

Oscar did not hesitate; he ran to the barn and grabbed a rope and a flashlight, he tossed the boys’ bicycles into the back of his truck and together, the three of them drove back to the well, kicking up a plume of dust down the old half-graveled lane.  Once at the well, he instructed everyone to step back.  They did as they were instructed, then he proceeded to work his way down, strapped by the rope which he secured to the bumper of his truck.  He had dialed the police on his cell phone on the way to the dreadful accident site, but because they were very rural, it would take the police and emergency services 30 minutes or more to arrive.

Oscar rappelled down, stopping every few feet to shine his flashlight. Eventually, he managed to plant his feet on the bottom, but to his dismay, there was no body.  He felt around on his hands and knees. The dirt at the bottom of the well was dry and hard, and there was no way that she could have fallen through this layer of solid dirt. Confused and distraught, he emerged from the well.  He was grief-stricken, and the children were crying and sobbing.  He could not reconcile the event. If the boys had told him the truth, he would have found her at the bottom of the well.  He looked at their sullen tear-stained faces and could not imagine that they would have made up such a horrendous story.

Oscar aggressively hushed the children and looked back into the darkness of the hole from which he had just emerged.  He alone could hear what he recognized as a little girl’s voice singing from the well below him now.  She sang:

“Thank you for looking for me, but now I am free.  Free with the friends I have down here; look though you may, I will not appear. I made a wish, and now it’s clear to see, I wished to forever be a wishing well that calls unto thee.”

Rating: 10.00/10. From 1 vote.
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🎧 Available Audio Adaptations: None Available


Written by Dale Thompson
Edited by Craig Groshek
Thumbnail Art by Craig Groshek
Narrated by N/A

🔔 More stories from author: Dale Thompson


Publisher's Notes: N/A

Author's Notes: N/A

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Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on CreepypastaStories.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed, adapted to film, television or audio mediums, republished in a print or electronic book, reposted on any other website, blog, or online platform, or otherwise monetized without the express written consent of its author(s).

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