Fear The Fire

Chapter 1: Fearing The Dark

Crack. Crack.

The dry, crispy snow moaned beneath a pair of old, throw-away boots. Erika Blackwell walked alone. But this was not the first time her mother had asked her to fetch water after the sun had practically set over the distant landmarks of the countryside. Erika did not enjoy spending her winter break here, any more than she enjoyed spending her summer away from friends, in a stout, brown, boring house on the outskirts of a no larger village. The only thing she found pleasure and comfort in was the surrounding landscape. Even now, walking along the edge of a narrow path, leading away from the demure village, she could not help but marvel at the ominously beautiful panorama. The path down which she followed stretched out far into the distance, meeting the horizon with not so much as a rock breaking the stillness of the flat surface. Her mother grew up here, amidst a valley, and she found comfort in being able to stretch her gaze far and wide, with nothing to meet but the horizon. Erika found this notion oddly unsettling; she grew up on a very uneven terrain.

Snow lay coating the succumbing grass in patches, dusting over strands of weed which poked out where the icy layer allowed, like some sort of cold, sticky dandruff. The mood shone brightly in that starless sky, casting just enough light to, in combination with the radiation from the distant streetlamps, illuminate a gloomy field of view. Erika felt her heart heaving heavily beneath her thick, black coat. It belonged to her older, taller brother and was much too long and heavy for her, but she was just making a short trip. The rows of densely planted trees ahead resembled a menacing forest in the twilight, she was succumbing to fear of the unknown. Fear of what to be lurking behind those malignant silhouettes. It was as irrational to be afraid now as it would be to be afraid at the peak of dawn. No one, except for the locals, ever visited The Well.

She had finally spotted it, just feet away from the small apple tree plantation. As she approached the structure, pained with age, she wondered why it was nicknamed The Well when it wasn't even a well. It was a short-stacked construction, sculpted of old, moldy bricks and the distorted shape was reminiscent of a large cube. Out of one of its sides protruded a hollow metal bar, from which a clear liquid dripped at a steady pace into the grid covered drain bellow. Erika produced the empty, plastic jug she'd been carrying and removed the lid. Her straight, long black locks flew from behind her shoulders as she bent down to place the jug beneath the stream of fresh water, impairing her field of view. She straightened up and combed them back, revealing her pale skin and pink cheeks, flushed from the cold. Her face was not unpleasant to look at, but her features were unusually bold, from her striking dark eyes to her long nose and her wide mouth. Erika buried her hands, red from the exposure to the frosty air, into the depths of her brother's coat. She squared her shoulders and began examining her surroundings in the twilight. She could feel her blood begin to circulate faster through her body as her heart rate accelerated. The apple tree plantation, so innocent and benevolent in the daylight, was a murky, indistinct blur of frightening silhouettes and menacing shadows.

Why does it have to take so long to fill up a gallon and a half of water? she wondered as her gaze flickered to the stream dripping into her plastic jug, much too slow for her liking. Suddenly, her attention flashed back to the forest. She swore she had seen something, something white. . . or perhaps it wasn't white, but it was bright enough that it would be impossible to miss in the darkness. She heard a faint noise, like the distant shattering of a twig. Crack.

Terrified by her hyperactive subconscious, she grabbed her half-empty jug and aggressively screwed its lid back on. Glancing back every few seconds and having her gaze be met with nothing but an unwelcoming stillness, she very briskly stepped back down the same path. It had fleetingly occurred to her, upon almost slipping over one, that there was an alarming number of very large muddy areas. Were all these puddles here 10 minutes ago? How did I not notice them. . . How did I not slip on one? She did not care to know.

A marvelously ebullient sun began fluttering its rays from the far east and bathing the valey in light. Upon waking that morning, Erika had forgotten her expedition to The Well. She was safe in her warm, cozy bed in her small room with pink walls that had been painted years ago, before she became a teenager, and had never been repainted. She had established a routine. There was not much to keep her entertained in the middle of a snowy winter in a small village in the countryside where she never cared to acquaint herself with its occupants, so she exited her bedroom and walked down a long, hallway like living room, passed her brother's empty blue bedroom (he was of age, so he got to decide whether he wanted to come with them or stay in the city, and she hadn't even turned 16 yet) and her parents' room and entered the bathroom. She took a warm bath, after which she applied a skin and face lotion and then wrapped herself in a fuzzy, purple bathrobe. She went back into her bedroom and picked up her phone to check her social media profiles, respond to texts and requests. She then planted herself on the carpet beside the old, stained furnace with a book she'd been working on all winter. Adventure and fantasy novels were Erika's favorite kinds of literature. Romance was too fake, comedy was too simple and horror was too unbearable for someone so easily scared.

It was around noon when Erika's mother, a tall, broadly built woman, unlike her petite daughter, but with strikingly similar facial features, walked in and announced she needed to get dressed. They were going to a baby cousin's birthday party in a small town over. Erika groaned, but obediently followed orders, having to set down her book on one of the best parts. She wasn't willing to put effort into her appearance for what would be a wide circle family lunch and was ready within 10 minutes. The car ride was boring. The meal was boring. The time she had to spend with the family she barely ever saw was boring. Even hours later, the car ride back was boring. She couldn't help sighing as she stared out the window, her cheek pressing against the cold glass and thinking "It's depressing that this was probably the highlight of my winter break."

The car took a sharp turn down a wide road lading into the village. The landscape was beautiful to look at. The brilliant stillness and simplicity of it. Erika couldn't help glancing at The Well, catching as the setting sun glimmered over that streak of pure water and already playing with the silhouettes of the bare apple trees. She couldn't help but note: there were no mud puddles.

*sorry for having to re-publish, i had this picture i really liked that i added after publishing the first time but it kept glitching*