Nightmare Gallery: A Treasury of Twisted Terror Tales

The Sound from the Well

It had been years since Vanessa had come back to her childhood home. The house on the hill, isolated and perched at the edge of the forest, had once been the place of her happiest memories. But over time, as she grew older and life led her in different directions, it had faded into a distant part of her past. Now, with her mother's passing, she had returned to settle things—to go through the belongings, to confront what she had avoided all these years.

The house was as she remembered it, worn but still sturdy, the same deep creaks in the floorboards, the same smell of aged wood and dust. The air was thick, as though the house held secrets of its own, waiting to be uncovered. But it wasn't the house that bothered her; it was the well.

Vanessa had always been afraid of the well, a large stone structure located just outside the back door, surrounded by a small garden that had been overrun with wild grass. As a child, she had been warned never to get too close to it. Her mother, when she was alive, had told her stories about the well—that it was cursed, that it was dangerous, that no one should ever look inside it. But her warnings had always been vague, as though there was something even darker, something unspeakable, tied to the well.

And now, standing there in the twilight of the evening, Vanessa could feel that familiar, eerie pull toward it. The wind rustled through the trees, and the only sound was the faint drip-drip of water in the distance.

She hadn't intended to come out here, but something inside her urged her to approach. Her feet seemed to move of their own accord, pulling her toward the overgrown stone ring that surrounded the well. As she stepped closer, she saw that the wooden cover that had once sealed the top was now gone, leaving only the dark abyss visible.

Vanessa stared into the well, the darkness deepening as the light of day began to fade. There was something about it, something that made her stomach churn. She felt a strange compulsion to look closer, to lean over the edge and peer into the blackness. The air around the well felt colder, and a soft hum vibrated in her chest, as if the earth itself was alive, breathing beneath her feet.

Suddenly, a sound broke through the silence. It was faint at first, just a whisper, but it grew louder as she stood there, rooted to the spot.

"Help me... please..."

Vanessa's heart skipped a beat. The voice sounded desperate, pleading, like someone trapped far below the surface, crying for assistance. But the well was empty—she had checked it as a child. It was dry, just a deep, gaping hole.

"Is someone down there?" she called, her voice shaking.

For a moment, the whisper stopped, and then it came again, louder, clearer this time.

"Please... help me... I'm here..."

The voice was unmistakable now. It was her mother's voice.

Vanessa staggered back, her hand pressed to her chest. Her breath came in short gasps as a cold sweat broke out on her skin. Her mother... her mother had died. There was no way this was her. But the voice—it sounded so real. It sounded so much like her.

She stepped back toward the edge of the well, her eyes scanning the darkness below. The whispering continued, growing louder, more frantic with each passing second.

"Vanessa... help me... please... I'm here..."

The voice was unmistakably her mother's now, tinged with fear and desperation. Vanessa's mind raced. Was it possible? Could her mother have somehow been trapped in the well? But that didn't make sense. She had been buried months ago.

"Mom?" Vanessa whispered, her voice trembling.

Suddenly, a gust of wind whipped through the trees, rustling the leaves and making the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. The whisper stopped, replaced by a sudden, bone-chilling silence.

Then, in the stillness, something shifted at the bottom of the well.

A figure emerged from the blackness—pale, soaked in water, and crawling upward toward the surface. Vanessa gasped in horror as she watched the shape slowly rise from the depths of the well. The figure was unmistakable: it was her mother, but not her mother. The face that stared up at Vanessa was distorted, eyes wide and empty, skin pale and stretched tight over the bones.

The figure reached the lip of the well and clung to the edge, its fingers twisting and contorting unnaturally, like they were trying to grasp at something unseen. The voice that had once been filled with pleading desperation was now nothing but a rasping, guttural growl.

"Vanessa..." it croaked. "Let me in..."

Vanessa stumbled back in horror, her heart racing as the figure continued to crawl upward. The thing that had once been her mother was no longer human—its limbs twisted in grotesque ways, its skin rotting and falling away in places. The eyes, wide and bloodshot, locked onto hers, and she felt an icy cold seep through her veins.

With a scream, Vanessa turned and ran back toward the house, not daring to look behind her. Her legs were weak, her heart pounding in her chest as she rushed up the porch steps and into the house. She slammed the door shut behind her, gasping for breath.

But the sound didn't stop. The whispers continued, louder now, echoing through the walls of the house. Vanessa pressed her hands over her ears, trying to block them out, but the voice kept coming, growing more and more insistent.

"Let me in... let me in... Vanessa..."

She stumbled back, her eyes wide with terror. The voice was no longer just in the well. It was in the walls, the floors, the very air around her. It was everywhere.

In the kitchen, a faint shadow flickered in the corner of her vision, and when she turned, she saw it: a dark, wet hand pressing against the window. Then another. And another.

Her mother's hand.

Vanessa backed away from the door, her mind racing as the shadows continued to move closer. Her heart thundered in her chest, and she knew, deep down, that she couldn't escape. She wasn't supposed to have come back. The house, the well—it was all a trap, a cursed legacy she couldn't outrun.

And as the whispers grew louder, the door shuddered, the wet fingers sliding up the glass. She knew she was never going to be free.

The last thing she heard before everything went silent was her mother's voice, calling from the well.

"Vanessa... let me in..."