𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇

𝟎𝟕. 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐬

𝐒𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟔𝐭𝐡, 𝟏𝟔𝟔𝟔

There was a large crowd gathered at the well the next morning. You'd gone into town alone, leaving Sarah and Henry to do their chores. You promised her that you would talk to Thomas and convince him to stop the spread of these damaging rumors, even though they weren't really rumors at all.

Your basket was still full of deliveries—plus an additional headache elixir for Issac. You figured he would be in need of one, whether or not he was too shy to admit it.

The wall of people was packed tight around the old stone well. It had been built long before you were even born. It was a miracle that they were just now having issues with it. Two men stood on either side, putting their entire weight onto the lever that raised and lowered the wooden pail.

You nearly jumped back in surprise when Thomas stumbled out into the clearing, clothes askew and hair just as mussed as always. You could tell even from a distance that he was drunk. Drunkest you'd ever seen him, which may have scared you if you weren't already furious with him.

"The dark one has come to harvest the bitter fruit of the evil we have sown. To feast on our misdeeds! And yet, you all smile, blind to the horrors around us," he cried out, gesturing wildly. You stepped back, hiding yourself behind a flock of older ladies so that he did not catch your eye. "But you see it now, don't you? He blocks our well and clogs it with our sin. He takes our water, he takes our life blood!"

Something moved in the corner of your eye and you watched Abi Berman shuffle closer to you so that you stood shoulder to shoulder. Neither of you looked away from the spectacle as you spoke. "What's happened?" You asked quietly. "What's going on?"

"The bucket's caught on something," Abi sighed, ignoring the boy who was screaming like a stark raving lunatic right in front of it.

Not three minutes later, there was an audible hurrah as the bucket turned loose and the men worked quickly to haul it upwards toward the light of day. Even before you saw it, you could smell the rot; the death that had been brewing in that cauldron of groundwater.

Abi gasped and clutched a hand to her collar when the bucket at last appeared. Tangled in the thin wet rope was the mangled, bloated corpse of Merryboy. You had to turn your face away from the well and brace the back of your palm against your lips, lest you heave up your breakfast all over the good people of Union.

"Christ, isn't that Sarah Fier's dog?" Abi whispered to you. There was another question hidden in her voice. A silent suspicion. You frowned and shook your head, eyes squinted tight as you fought back the bile rising in your throat.

Abi rubbed soothing circles into your back as Thomas began crying out once more from the center of the crowd.

"See?" He cackled, "you've already drunk from the cup of darkness! This is the work of the devil. He has come to stake our land!" His mad laughter stopped suddenly and you feared that he may have seen you, but instead he muttered accusingly to the general gathering;

"Who among you has welcomed the devil to Union?"

Your head shot up and Abi's touch fell away from your shoulder in almost the exact moment. Images—memories—flickered through your mind like candlelight. The widow's book, the dark forest, the words scrawled across the page in chipped black blood.

The figure at the very center of the page.

The devil.

"I...I need to go," you whispered, not waiting for Abigail to reply before forcing your way back through the stream of bodies and not stopping until you've made your back back to your home.