Creepy Stories to Tell by Candlelight.

1: The Whispering Well

There's a well in the middle of a dense forest near my hometown, a place everyone avoided and spoke about in hushed tones. They called it the Whispering Well. Legend had it that anyone who listened to its whispers would be driven mad or worse, taken by the forest itself.

I didn't believe in such things. I was a skeptic, a science teacher at the local high school who believed in facts and evidence. So, when my friend Mark dared me to visit the well with him, I accepted. We both had a fascination with debunking local legends, and this one seemed like a perfect target.

We set out one crisp autumn morning, backpacks loaded with snacks, flashlights, and a map Mark had drawn from old descriptions and rumors. The forest was dense, the trees towering above us and casting long shadows. The deeper we went, the quieter it became, until the only sounds were our footsteps and the occasional rustling of leaves.

After hours of hiking, we found it. The well was ancient, its stonework crumbling and covered in moss. It looked like it hadn't been touched in centuries. I peered into its depths, but all I saw was darkness.

"Let's record it," Mark suggested, pulling out his phone. He leaned over the well, holding the phone out to capture any sounds. We stood there in silence, waiting.

At first, there was nothing. Then, a faint whisper, so soft I thought I imagined it. Mark's eyes widened. He played back the recording. The whisper was there, clearer now: "Help...me..."

We exchanged uneasy glances. Mark, always the braver one, called out, "Who are you?"

The whisper came again, louder this time. "Help me... please..."

It was a woman's voice, filled with desperation. We both felt a chill run down our spines. Mark insisted on lowering his flashlight into the well, tying it to a long rope we found nearby. As the light descended, the whispering grew louder, more insistent.

"Help me, please... it's so dark..."

The flashlight revealed nothing but cold, damp stone walls. We pulled it back up, but the whispering continued. I wanted to leave, but Mark was determined to find the source. He leaned in further, listening intently.

Then, something changed. The whispers became frantic, overlapping, a cacophony of desperate voices. "Help us... don't leave us..."

Mark suddenly screamed and pulled back, clutching his ears. Blood trickled from his nose, and his eyes were wide with terror. "We need to go," he gasped. "Now."

We fled, the whispers chasing us through the forest. When we finally reached the edge, we collapsed, panting. Mark was pale, trembling. He wouldn't talk about what he'd heard, but he was never the same after that day. He became withdrawn, haunted.

I tried to forget about the well, but the whispers haunted my dreams. One night, I woke to find myself standing at the edge of the forest, drawn by an unseen force. I resisted, but the pull was strong.

Desperate for answers, I returned to the well alone. I recorded the whispers, hoping to understand them. This time, they were clearer, more distinct. They told a story of a young woman, Eliza, who had been thrown into the well by her jealous lover over a century ago. She had died there, her spirit trapped in the darkness.

But there were more voices, each with their own tale of betrayal and death. The well was a graveyard of souls, each whispering their torment, begging for release.

I couldn't help them, but I knew I had to try. I gathered my courage and spoke to the whispers, promising to tell their stories, to bring their plight to light. The whispers faded, as if appeased by my promise.

I've spent the past few months researching, piecing together the lives of those lost souls. The more I uncover, the more I realize how deep the well's darkness runs. Each story is a tragedy, each life cut short by cruelty.

I don't know if I can ever truly free them, but I have to try. Every night, the whispers return, urging me on. And every night, I listen, hoping to bring peace to the restless spirits of the Whispering Well.

But sometimes, in the dead of night, I hear a new whisper, different from the rest. It's Mark's voice, pleading for help. And I fear that the well has claimed another victim, and that it won't stop until it claims me too.