Nightmare Gallery: A Treasury of Twisted Terror Tales

The Forgotten Well

Prompt: A family moves into a secluded house with a long-abandoned well in the backyard. When their daughter begins to play near it, strange occurrences start happening around the house.

The Martin family had been searching for a home for months, seeking a place where they could finally settle down after years of renting. When they stumbled upon the old Victorian house on the edge of town, with its sprawling lawn and charming character, they knew they had found their new home. The house had been empty for years, but its antique charm and spacious rooms promised a fresh start.

The backyard, however, was a different story. Among the overgrown grass and tangled vines lay a large, stone well, its mouth covered with a rusted metal grate. The well seemed to be as old as the house itself, and despite its eerie appearance, the Martins dismissed it as an old relic from a bygone era.

Their young daughter, Emily, was particularly fascinated by the well. She would often peer into it, her small face pressed against the grate as she tried to see what lay beneath. The sound of water dripping from the depths of the well created a haunting melody that seemed to call to her.

Soon after moving in, strange things began to happen. At night, Emily would complain of hearing whispers coming from the well, but when her parents checked, they found nothing unusual. Objects around the house would go missing, only to reappear in strange places. The family's cat, Whiskers, would hiss and growl at unseen shadows.

One evening, after a particularly violent thunderstorm, the Martins were huddled together in the living room, trying to calm Emily who was trembling with fear. The storm had caused a power outage, plunging the house into darkness. The only sound was the relentless patter of rain and the occasional crash of thunder.

Suddenly, a loud bang echoed from the backyard. Mr. Martin, always the brave one, ventured outside with a flashlight to investigate. When he reached the well, he noticed that the rusty grate had been shifted slightly, as if something had tried to push it open.

The next day, Emily's behavior grew more erratic. She would talk to herself and claim that someone was playing with her in the backyard. Despite their best efforts to calm her, her parents couldn't shake the growing sense of unease that had settled over the house.

One afternoon, as Mrs. Martin was gardening, she saw Emily sitting by the well, her face flushed with excitement. Mrs. Martin called out to her daughter, but Emily didn't respond. She seemed entranced, her eyes fixed on the well. Mrs. Martin hurried over and pulled Emily away, her heart pounding with anxiety.

That night, the Martins were jolted awake by a loud scream. Rushing into Emily's room, they found her thrashing in her bed, eyes wide with terror. She was mumbling incoherently, mentioning something about "the voice" and "the deep." Mrs. Martin sat by her side, trying to soothe her, while Mr. Martin went outside to check the well again.

As he approached, he noticed something unsettling. The air around the well felt colder, and a strange mist seemed to rise from its depths. The wind picked up, howling through the trees, and Mr. Martin could have sworn he heard faint, disembodied whispers carried on the breeze.

Determined to get to the bottom of the mystery, Mr. Martin decided to investigate further. He found an old, leather-bound journal in the attic, its pages filled with faded writing. It belonged to the house's previous owner, an old woman who had lived there alone. Her entries grew increasingly frantic, describing strange occurrences and the feeling of being watched. The final entry was a chilling note about the well: "The well is not empty. It holds something that wants to be free."

The next day, Emily disappeared. The Martins searched the house and yard frantically, but there was no sign of her. As night fell, they feared the worst. Mr. Martin went to the well, desperate to find any clue about where his daughter might have gone. He peered into the darkness, his flashlight revealing nothing but the cold, black void below.

Suddenly, Emily's voice echoed up from the well, calling for help. Mr. Martin tried to call down to her, but the voice grew fainter and fainter. Without hesitation, he removed the grate and lowered himself into the well, feeling his way through the slimy, damp walls. The air grew colder with each step, and the whispers grew louder.

At the bottom of the well, he found a small chamber. Emily was huddled in the corner, her eyes wide with fear. As he reached out to her, a cold hand grabbed his arm. Mr. Martin turned to see a shadowy figure emerging from the darkness, its eyes glowing with an eerie light.

The figure seemed to draw strength from the fear it instilled, and as it moved closer, Mr. Martin felt an overwhelming sense of dread. He pulled Emily to her feet and began to climb back up the well, but the figure's grip tightened, dragging him back into the shadows.

In a desperate attempt to save her father, Emily grabbed the flashlight and shone it down the well. The light illuminated the figure, and with a piercing scream, it recoiled and disappeared into the darkness. Mr. Martin and Emily scrambled up the well, their hands gripping the rough edges as they climbed.

Once they emerged into the daylight, they were greeted by the worried faces of Mrs. Martin and the police, who had been searching for them. The Martins were taken to safety, but the well remained untouched, a grim reminder of the horrors that lurked beneath.

The Martin family moved away from the house, leaving behind the well and its dark secrets. The new owners of the property were warned of the well's eerie history, but the warnings went unheeded. As the years passed, the well remained, its depths hiding the darkness that had once nearly claimed the Martins.

And though the Martins found peace elsewhere, they could never forget the whispers and the chilling feeling of being watched. The well stood as a testament to the malevolent force that lay hidden, waiting for its next visitor to come too close.