Vultures (The Well)
It’s captivating to believe in monsters and the horrors of the unknown, the things that go bump in the night. It’s an escape from reality, from the actual terrors that lurk in the woods. Rumors designed to widen your eyes and make you glance over your shoulder. Honestly, I wish that’s all this was. Another ghost story. But it isn’t. This is the story of how my childhood died, how I lost the ability to sleep without checking over my shoulder or peering through the crack in my bedroom door. It was almost summer break, our final week before we entered high school. We hung out in Briana’s treehouse after school, our usual spot. The walls were plastered with bizarre, borderline satanic drawings, calling them satanic out loud would earn you a swift gut punch. Old Ouija boards lay scattered around, candles glowing softly beside smoking incense sticks. I swung lazily in the hammock, focused on my Gameboy, trying to beat the next gym leader in Pokémon Gold. Static-filled alt-rock crackled from a worn-out radio while a gentle breeze blew through the open window. Bri sat across from me, practicing tarot card readings on Casey, who tried to look bored whenever I glanced over, but I could tell he kept stealing nervous peeks at the next card. “Damn. Not a good pull, Case,” Bri frowned, holding up a card displaying a cluster of swords.Pretending bravery, Casey scoffed. “Okay, what the hell does that mean?” His voice wavered slightly. Bri hesitated, thinking. “The Ten of Swords. It means…” she paused, recalling, “an inevitable, painful ending, ruin.” A subtle grin formed at the corners of her mouth. “Whatever, tarot dork,” Casey snorted, trying to mask his discomfort. “Why don’t you go contact your brother again or some ghost shit?” Instantly, he regretted mentioning Bri’s brother. Two years earlier, an eighteen-wheeler accident had claimed her brother’s life. He had built this treehouse, now the only piece left of him. Bri desperately sought closure by attempting contact with his spirit. Rumors spread about her efforts to speak to the dead, but we were the only ones who saw her setup firsthand. “Shut up, Cyclops, or I’ll curse your only good eye,” Bri snapped. Casey had a lazy eye, earning him the nickname Crazy Casey and prompting cruel rumors about him dissecting small animals. None of it was true, of course. I was about to interject when frantic knocks rattled the trapdoor latch, instantly silencing us. Panic and worry filled everyone’s eyes. “Let me in, you fuckers!” came Stephen’s voice, hollow and breathless. “You gotta do the knock, Stephen! Or we won’t let you in,” I grinned. Casey joined me at the hatch, smirking, “Yeah, dude. What if you’re a mimic or something, trying to trick us into letting you in so you can kill us all?” He threw an arm around me, shaking me playfully.I laughed. “Or maybe he’s being held hostage and trying to warn us?” “Come on, guys, let me in! I saw something. Something out by Old Baldy, I gotta tell you!” Stephen’s voice broke into pleading. That caught our attention. Our little group of misfits had bonded through shared trauma, bullied for being outsiders in school and town. Horror stories, urban legends, and local mysteries brought us closer, united by our fascination with the unknown. “Let him in, guys,” Bri said softly. Sunlight filtered through the window, illuminating her skin, casting it a deep bronze-gold. In that moment, I noticed how pretty she was. Casey and I exchanged a quick glance and silently agreed, grabbing either side of the hatch. We swung it open, revealing Stephen’s scar-covered face staring up at us. “About time,” he muttered as we helped him climb the last step. Casey locked the trapdoor, the snap startling Stephen. Stephen panted, nearly hyperventilating. His face, crisscrossed with scars he’d had forever but never explained, looked weathered and ancient. Sweat raced down his damaged skin; he appeared on the verge of collapse. “Jesus, man, take a breath,” I said, blurting out multiple questions at once. “What did you see? What made you run back here?” “One at a time, Mikey,” Bri interrupted gently. She reached into a faded blue cooler, pulled out a soda, and handed it to Stephen. He cracked it open with a loud pop and gulped deeply. Bri sat down beside me, completing our small circle, all eyes locked on Stephen.“Okay. Just tell us what happened, step by step,” Bri coaxed gently. Stephen nodded, took one last gulp, then placed the soda down carefully, collecting his scattered thoughts. “I was reading in my usual spot out near Old Baldy, when suddenly this huge shadow blocked out the sun and soared overhead. When I looked up, I saw it was a vulture, no big deal, right? But then the next day, same spot, another vulture passed by, heading the same direction. At first, I thought it was déjà vu or something. But I was curious, so I decided to see where they were going. With all the trees around, I couldn’t get a good look, but I knew I wasn’t far from Old Baldy.” Stephen paused to take a breath. Even if this was just another ghost story meant to scare us, we were all captivated, leaning in and hanging onto every word. “I climbed up Old Baldy, and when I looked around, that’s when I saw them.” Stephen paused again, taking a long gulp of soda. I was convinced he was drawing this out just to get us hooked. “What did you see?” I asked eagerly, disbelief still edging my voice even as my curiosity took over. “Vultures. Just black dots circling in the distance to the northwest.” We sat back, disappointment settling over us. Casey shook his head, saying, “Just vultures? Things die out there all the time. Big deal.” Stephen shook his head firmly. “Nah, that’s the thing. That was two weeks ago, and they’re still there. Twenty, maybe thirty vultures, same exact spot.” Bri raised an eyebrow cautiously. “Are you sure it’s the same spot? You said it was far away. You might be mistaken.” Stephen was ready for this. “I’m positive. Same spot, two weeks straight. Hell, I think they’ve been there even longer.” I shrugged. “Maybe it’s just a bunch of cows or something. It takes time to pick clean a carcass, right?” Again, Stephen shook his head. “Not with that many vultures. They should’ve cleared it out by now. Two weeks’ worth? Something major is out there.” He took a deep breath, finally calming himself. “No bullshit?” Bri asked, her curiosity clearly piqued. “No bullshit.” “So, you know what this means, right?” Stephen said, his voice low as the sunlight finally disappeared completely. Casey nodded slowly, a hesitant belief dawning in his expression.“Yeah, I didn’t believe it before, but this might be our best shot.” Bri started shuffling her tarot cards, fidgeting anxiously. “It can’t be. I’ve only ever heard stories, just that, stories.” She refused to meet our eyes. Confusion flooded me. My family had moved down from the north almost four years ago, and I was still adjusting to the Southern Hill Country. The heat, the accents, the strange culture, and especially the local legends, all of it was still alien to me. I scratched my head like an idiot chimpanzee, utterly baffled. “What the hell are you guys talking about?” I asked, voice trailing off as they all turned their gazes on me simultaneously. These were my friends, practically family, but at that moment they looked terrifying. Stephen, with his scars illuminated by the low candlelight, resembled a zombie. Casey’s lazy eye split his stare in two different directions, paired with an unsettlingly wide grin. Bri shuffled her tarot cards nervously, looking every bit a witch about to cast a spell. All at once, they spoke, voices in eerie unison: “The Well Wisher.” “Who the hell is that?” I muttered, intrigued despite myself. Stephen turned to Casey. “Bring the cooler over here. We’re gonna need more sodas.” Casey dragged it over, handing out sodas. Each of us cracked open a can, sipping as Stephen leaned in close, crossing his legs and resting his hands on his knees. “The Well Wisher isn’t a ghost or a demon, not even a man, though some people believe he once was. What everyone agrees on is this: you don’t find the Well. The Well finds you.” Stephen paused for another drink, then continued. “Some say the Well moves beneath the limestone and roots, appearing only when death is near, or when someone’s soul weighs heavy enough to draw it out. It could be an old stone ring in a lonely field, a crumbling pit behind a burned-out barn, or an old wooden well hidden at the creek’s edge. One of the telltale signs is vultures circling for days until the air itself spoils. The vultures, that’s your key.” He paused again, letting his words sink in. “They say the Well Wisher waits at the bottom, listening for footsteps. If you lean over and peer down, you’ll see just a silhouette of a man, even if the sun shines directly overhead. Two bright, white eyes are all you’ll clearly see. He’ll ask you just one question, everyone says it’s different. He might ask for your darkest secret, a wrong you’ve committed, a broken promise, or even a cherished object. Nobody knows why. All they know is if you do exactly what he asks, he’ll grant you a wish. But you have to be careful, because you’ll get precisely what you wish for, exactly as you asked for it. If you refuse him, try to trick him, or break your promise, the Well and the Wisher vanish. Then the vultures start following you. Bad luck seeps in, animals grow restless around you, and eventually, you disappear. The Well Wisher must be fed somehow, and no one ever finds the Well twice.” He sat back, and for a moment, only silence filled the night. Then I spoke up, breaking the tension. “I mean, there’s no way, right?” I glanced around, gauging their reactions. Stephen shook his head slowly, seriousness etched across his scarred face. “Look, all I’m saying is that story is super old, and those vultures have been out there past Old Baldy forever. We should check it out, who knows, we might even get a wish granted.”Casey nodded, excitement sparking in his eyes. “I could lose my lazy eye!” Casey blurted eagerly, and Stephen nodded approvingly, touching the scars on his face. Bri looked down at her tarot cards, uncertainty shadowing her face.“Wishes are dangerous, unreliable,” she murmured, but the desire in her eyes betrayed her words. I considered what I might wish for if it were true. “You guys really believe this?” My question pierced their thoughts, momentarily breaking their silent contemplation. Stephen was the first to respond. “Worst-case scenario, we find whatever the vultures are circling, probably just some dead animals. Nothing dangerous. It’d be a great way to kick off the summer break together.” His words lingered, sinking in, and I knew then we had all silently agreed. We devised our plan beneath the pale moonlight, spending longer in Bri’s treehouse than we’d planned. We’d tell our parents we were staying at Bri’s, her folks rarely checked on us, uncomfortable with her rituals and attempts to contact her brother’s spirit. On the last day of school, we’d ride our bikes out to the abandoned train tracks, follow them to the Woodland Trail, and climb Old Baldy. From there, we’d pinpoint the vultures’ location. Stephen suggested bringing something valuable, an item we cherished, just in case the Well Wisher appeared and asked for an offering. I had no idea what to bring, much less what wish I wanted fulfilled. Digging through old shoeboxes beneath my bed, I unearthed mementos from before the move: ticket stubs, old movie passes, a photo of my grandpa holding me up to a snowbank. Then I found my lucky coin. It was battered, something I’d had since childhood. It felt fitting. I slipped it into my backpack, imagining that even if the Well Wisher wasn’t real, this summer would still be unforgettable. The last day of school arrived quickly, classes easy and excitement bubbling. I had class with Casey, while Stephen and Bri were elsewhere, but we regrouped at lunch, sharing jittery anticipation. The final bell unleashed a wave of laughter and screams as teenagers bolted for freedom. Stephen waited for us at our usual spot by the bike rack. Casey and I joined him shortly, and then we waited. And waited. “Where is she?” Casey muttered impatiently, tapping his foot. Thirty minutes passed in restless silence. Stephen adjusted his hat over his dark hair, glancing anxiously toward the school. “Should we go back inside and check on her?” he asked. Just then, a group of girls stormed out, their faces twisted in anger, three of them nursing bloody, broken noses. They paused upon seeing us, their hateful glares searing into ours, before marching away. “That’s not go—” I started, cut off by Bri finally emerging from the building. She was sniffling, clutching her arm protectively beneath a light jacket despite the scorching heat. Without acknowledging us, she mounted her bike. “Bri?” I asked cautiously. Silence. “Bri, are you—” “I’m fine. Let’s go,” she said curtly, eyes fixed straight ahead. “What did those girls—” “I said I’m fine! Let’s just go. I want to do this, I need this summer with you guys. Fuck those girls.” She pedalled away swiftly. We shared looks of quiet anger and helpless sadness before quickly following her toward the tracks. As we rode, I secretly hoped we’d encounter that group again so I could run them down, one by one. Bullying had tormented each of us, but Bri faced it worst. Being one of the only black girls in the Southern Hill Country during that time made life unbearable. Anger surged within me, and my wish began to crystallize clearly. None of us knew how to comfort Bri; we just rode on quietly. Those girls, daughters of the town’s wealthiest residents, seemed untouchable. The injustice lingered in the back of my mind, but I pushed it aside, focusing instead on the adventure unfolding before us. The landscape shifted from familiar streets to rugged terrain. At the base of a hill sat the old Sanderson house, sagging into itself like a dying animal. The wood groaned with each gust of wind. A loose window panel swung on rusted hinges, shrieking with every sway. The first time I saw it, I asked my friends about it. Stephen told me later, after we stopped, that a woman once lived there with her son. Nearly thirty years ago the boy vanished. Some said wild animals got him. Others said he drowned or ran off. Whatever the truth, Ms. Sanderson left soon after, and no one ever moved in again. The house was left to rot. We found the old train tracks nearby, the path rocky and uneven beneath our tires. Still, excitement carried us forward. We pedaled steadily, the air sharp in our lungs, the sky wide and bright overhead. At last, we reached the Woodland Trail and laid our bikes to rest.I glanced over at Bri and saw her smiling faintly. It lifted our spirits immediately. For that moment, everything seemed possible, our fears and troubles fading into the background. We stood on the cusp of summer, unaware of what awaited us beneath those circling vultures.We reached the beginning of the woodland trail, too rocky for bikes from this point forward. Trees twisted overhead like a gnarled canopy, obscuring our path and making it feel like the forest had opened its mouth to swallow us whole. “Everyone got everything?” Bri asked, scanning each of us. We all nodded in response. “Did you guys bring something valuable, something you cherish, just in case we meet him?” Stephen added seriously. Again, we nodded. Each of us carried canisters of water, sleeping bags, food for at least one night, and Stephen had two tents hidden near his reading spot we’d retrieve along the way. “Ready?” Casey asked with excitement. Just as we prepared to step forward, Bri halted us. “Wait,” she said, rummaging through her backpack. She produced three necklaces, each with a thin chain and a charm shaped like a strange eye. “Protective charms to ward off evil spirits out here,” she explained, answering our silent questions. I accepted mine gratefully, even though I wasn’t sure I believed in such things. Stephen’s expression remained unreadable as he slipped his on. Casey opened his mouth to protest, but I shot him a sharp look, reminding him of what Bri had endured earlier. He closed his mouth and looked down, ashamed, fastening the necklace around his neck without another word. Stephen, without further comment, nodded and began down the trail. One by one, we followed. I brought up the rear, glancing back once to see the train tracks slowly disappearing under encroaching foliage. The sight felt ominous, as if the forest watched our every move. Even though we’d walked this trail many times before, this moment felt different, as though we were leaving behind our familiar world forever. Years later, I’d realize how true that feeling was. The heat bore down relentlessly, sweat dripping down my back. The forest’s usual symphony of bugs and distant animal noises kept us alert. Stephen sometimes tried to scare us, occasionally succeeding, as we stayed wary of snakes and scorpions. Stephen eventually stopped us near his reading spot, dragging out two concealed tents from the undergrowth.“Could one of you fuckers give me a hand?” he asked. Casey grabbed one, slinging it over his shoulder, and we continued on our way. We walked beneath the open sky, vivid blue contrasting sharply with the lush green trees swaying gently. Eventually, the woodland trail spat us out into rolling hills without clear paths, marked only by limestone protrusions and scattered shrubs. The sun began to set, casting everything in orange and gold hues. “Come on, we can watch the sunset from Old Baldy!” Stephen urged. Many hills shared that nickname, but this one earned it genuinely, bare and rocky, without a single tree or bush. We dropped the tents at the base and scrambled upward, hands digging into the sand and dirt. Dust billowed around us as we laughed, racing to the top. Finally, we stood atop Old Baldy, gazing across endless hills stretching like a frozen green ocean. The sun sank slowly, capturing our attention completely. Suddenly, tiny black dots circling in the distance caught my eye. I nudged Bri, pointing them out. Soon, Casey and Stephen joined in, and all four of us stood entranced, watching the vultures circle endlessly.We dragged the tents to the summit, quickly assembling them. Nearby, we gathered wood and lit a fire with Bri’s lighter. The flames flickered brightly as the sun dipped closer to the horizon. “Oh!” Casey suddenly exclaimed, feigning surprise, “Almost forgot.” He walked casually to his backpack, drawing our curious eyes. He pulled out beer bottles one by one, grinning as our faces lit up. When he revealed the last one, I nearly burst out laughing. “You ladies ever drank before?” he asked, trying to sound cool as he distributed the beers. Bri simply stared, uncertain how to respond. “How the hell did you get those?” I asked, examining my bottle like an alien artifact.“Older sister smuggled them for me,” Casey said proudly. “Gotta do her chores for a month, but it’s totally worth it. Times like these don’t happen often.” We’d never tried alcohol before. Bri asked if Casey had a bottle opener. He hesitated, muttered “Shit,” and we used pocket knives to pry the caps off. The bottles clinked together in a nervous toast. The beer was awful, warm and bitter, nothing like we imagined adults enjoyed. The sun slipped lower, staining the horizon in pink and purple. It was always our favorite spot to watch the sunset, but tonight felt different. We sat in silence, the fire crackling between us, as the last light drained away like blood from an open wound. A sudden gust carried the stench of rot. No one spoke. Later, under the stars, we told ghost stories until our voices thinned into silence. My thoughts wandered. Would we really find a well where it didn’t belong, with white eyes staring up from the dark? Or was it just another story meant to scare us? Eventually, Stephen and Casey retreated to one tent, leaving Bri and me in the other. Inside, shadows quivered against the fabric as the wind pressed on the walls. Bri lay on her back, clutching her arm. “How bad does it hurt?” I asked, guilt burning for not stepping in sooner. She shrugged lightly, “It’s fine.” I offered a faint smile. “Well, you sure gave Abigail and Alexandria a good beating,” I said, recalling the vivid image of the two girls clutching their bloodied noses. She smiled back and turned to face me, her dark eyes capturing mine. We held each other’s gaze for what felt like forever. At that moment, a realization stirred within me, a recognition of feelings I’d never fully understood before. Bri was the first girl I’d ever liked more than just as a friend. “Do you really believe in this story? Do you think any of it could be true?” I asked softly.She rolled onto her back thoughtfully. “Whether it’s true or not, this experience is real. Being here with you guys, this moment, this memory, it’s true. Even if there isn’t a well or some Well Wisher, isn’t this what matters? Besides, every story has to start somewhere, right?” Her words resonated deeply with me. “That makes sense,” I replied. “I guess I’m anxious because part of me wants it to be true. But really, being here with all of you is what matters. This moment is something I’ll always remember.” And I would, along with the nightmares that would haunt me for the rest of my life. “Bri, can I ask what you plan to wish for?” I asked hesitantly. “There’s nothing in the story about not sharing your wish beforehand, right?” She remained silent for a moment, and I immediately regretted asking, already knowing what her wish might be. Just as I began to retract my question, she spoke softly. “I want my parents to see me again,” she began, her voice shaking slightly. “Ever since my brother died, it’s like I became invisible to them. Like I’m a ghost. They’ve lost their lives, too.” I saw her fighting back tears, wiping quickly at her face. “What about you?” she asked suddenly, turning her eyes toward mine. “What are you going to wish for?” Before this night, I hadn’t truly known. I hoped I’d find my answer out here. But looking at Bri’s bruised arm, I knew clearly. “I want the bullying to stop,” I confessed. “I want the hatred, the racism, the anger directed at us all to end. I want us to enter high school fresh, free from the past.” Bri smiled softly, leaned over, and kissed my cheek. “Goodnight, Mikey,” she whispered, rolling onto her back. My heart raced, leaving me stunned and breathless. On the edge of sleep, the smell returned, stronger now, the putrid scent of death lingering in the air. Then, finally, sleep claimed me. We saw the well in a daze. I lost track of my friends, their voices reduced to murmurs drifting through fog. My feet moved toward the well without my consent, like a puppet pulled by invisible strings. As I approached, the voices intensified until they abruptly ceased, plunging me into silence. The well loomed in the clearing, drawing me forward until my palms pressed against its rough stone edge. I peered into its darkness. Then I woke up. The dream lingered vividly, gripping me as I stirred awake. I glanced toward Bri, who was already awake and watching me with a strange look of concern. Before I could question her, she forced a smile and softly said, “Good morning.” In the next hour, as the sun rose, we prepared ourselves quietly, nibbling on snacks for breakfast. Our destination seemed far and uncertain, with no clear trails leading toward the circling vultures. We packed the tents away, concealing them near the bottom of Old Baldy. Standing on the hilltop one final time, we stared solemnly toward our distant objective. Slowly, we descended and set off toward the vultures. By afternoon, the heat pressed down like a weight. We joked and laughed, clinging to the adventure, as if we’d left the outside world behind. The vultures never strayed from view, circling in the distance like a black compass needle guiding us forward. We entered a dried riverbed, its walls closing in high around us. Snail shells and fish fossils littered the ground, reminders of a time when water ruled here. Trees leaned over the edges, their branches twisting like watchers peering down. Then I saw something strange: fresh tracks in the mud, hands and feet pressed too close together. My stomach knotted.“Hey, come look,” I called. Stephen leaned over my shoulder, Bri at my side, Casey behind.“Maybe someone fell,” Stephen offered. None of us believed it. The prints were fresh, human, and wrong. We followed them a short distance until they ended abruptly at the sheer wall of the riverbed. We pressed on, but the light mood had shattered. Every sound made us flinch. Conversation died. Only insects hummed, and something unseen rustled now and then in the brush. The stench of decay grew stronger, curling in our throats. We climbed out of the riverbed into dense forest, where broken branches formed a crude path leading toward the circling birds. We hesitated. Bri whispered, “Maybe someone else already went looking for the Well Wisher.” “Maybe,” Casey said, though the jagged entrance looked less like a trail and more like a mouth waiting to swallow us. After a brief argument, rock-paper-scissors decided it. Bri lost. Casey pushed ahead, Stephen and Bri behind him. I lingered, glancing back at the trees. Something shifted, branches cracking in the distance. Nothing moved. I hurried forward, afraid to be left alone. The forest closed around us, thick with heat and humidity. Every rustle sharpened our nerves. Branches scraped our skin. Low limbs swayed like warnings. Bald patches of torn-up earth scarred the path. Soon we reached a fallen tree, too massive to climb. We dropped to our knees and crawled beneath. Dirt clawed at our hands. On the other side, the stink of rot hit harder, thick enough to choke. “Is the Well Wisher supposed to smell like death?” I asked, coughing, my voice barely masking growing unease. “I don’t remember that in the story.” Stephen shrugged without turning around. “I’ve never heard anyone mention that, but maybe that’s what draws the vultures. It sure isn’t pleasant.” “Yeah,” I muttered, “I’ve noticed it since Old Baldy, faintly carried by the wind. But here, it’s overwhelming.” Casey pushed ahead. “Finally!” he shouted, breaking through the dense thicket into an open clearing. We followed close behind, stepping shoulder-to-shoulder into the daylight. Dust and dirt stretched out before us, littered with sparse foliage and jagged rocks. To our left stood an old stone well, weathered and ancient. A single vulture perched on its rim, staring at us with dark, unblinking eyes. The stench of death emanated from the well, unmistakably potent. We froze, trying to process what stood before us. “Holy shit!” Stephen gasped. “There’s no way… no fucking way.” The vulture leaped into flight, a small piece of flesh dangling from its beak. I felt entranced, disbelief clouding reality. Every tale we’d shared around campfires, all the whispered stories, they’d always remained fiction, safely separated from our world. But now, the story had found us. Casey stepped forward first, moving like a sleepwalker toward the well. Stephen and Bri followed suit. I trailed after, compelled by something I couldn’t explain. Casey reached the well first and peered down. Stephen joined him, then recoiled sharply, falling to his knees, gagging violently. “Stephen, what’s wrong?” Bri rushed to his side, placing a trembling hand on his back. Stephen shook his head desperately, continuing to retch. Casey stumbled backward, staring upwards, muttering to himself, panic rising in his voice, “No… no, fuck no…” I approached the well, driven by grim curiosity, ignoring Bri’s urgent call behind me. My hands touched the rough, heated stone as I leaned over the edge. A buzzing filled my ears, growing louder as I gazed downward. The sight hit me like a punch to the gut. Bodies. Human bodies piled and twisted together like broken branches, skin burnt and peeling under the harsh sun, shades of red and purple. Flies swarmed over their empty eyes and open wounds, feasting mercilessly. Pieces of flesh had been ripped away; bones jutted at unnatural angles. A shadow flickered as another vulture descended upon its grisly feast. Nausea surged through me. Then came a faint scratching sound, like nails scraping desperately against stone. I froze, unwilling to look again, yet the noise continued, weak and urgent. A fragile voice drifted upward, barely audible, cracked and strained, “Help… me.” I stumbled backward, collapsing onto the ground, breath ragged. Bri rushed over, eyes wide with terror. “Mikey, what happened?” “Don’t look, Bri. It’s bad. We need to—” Casey interrupted, voice shaking, “There’s a woman down here! She’s alive—oh shit, she’s alive!” Stephen struggled to his feet, approaching the well cautiously. Bri followed, gently pulling free from my grasp. “It’ll be okay, Mikey,” she whispered, her eyes haunted. I forced myself up again, peering into the well alongside them. A woman stared back, clawing frantically at the stone walls like a trapped animal. Her legs twisted grotesquely beneath her; dried tears streaked her filthy face. “Please…” she rasped weakly, scratching incessantly. The sound burrowed deep into my mind, impossible to shake. “We’ll get help, just hold—” Casey began, then trailed off, realizing the futility of his words.Bri gasped suddenly, her gaze fixed on the clearing beyond. I followed her stare, heart dropping as a tall silhouette emerged, standing silently, head tilted slightly as if observing prey. We all stood frozen, barely breathing, as the figure stepped into clearer view, massive, nearly seven feet tall, dirty brown hair obscuring his face. Muscular and hardened from survival, he wore nothing but torn shorts. He remained motionless, tension radiating from his crouched posture. Stephen broke first. “Fuck this!” he shouted, turning to run. Instantly, the man lunged forward, charging toward us with terrifying speed. Adrenaline surged through my veins. My chest heaved as terror seized me, the image of that feral thing dragging me back to the well filling my mind. We ran, scrambling toward the edge of the forest, back toward the clearing. Casey stumbled beside me, wheezing and sobbing. He was never fast, and now he fell behind. “Come on, Case! Move!” I shouted desperately, matching my pace to his. Behind us, branches cracked, the sounds of something massive charging through the brush. Its breathing, wet, ragged, animalistic, grew louder with every second. I glanced over my shoulder repeatedly but saw nothing except shifting shadows. Ahead, the fallen tree loomed. Bri and Stephen had reached it first and slipped underneath.“Come on!” Bri shrieked, her voice shrill with terror. I dove down, crawling frantically beneath the jagged branches. Twisting around, I saw Casey scrambling toward me, his face pale and slick with sweat. Just as his upper body cleared the gap, he screamed, a guttural, animal cry, and jerked backward. I lunged, grabbing Casey’s hand. “Help me! He’s got Casey!” I screamed. My grip slid as the monstrous force dragged him away. Tears streaked Casey’s face, eyes wide and pleading.“Don’t let go,” he whispered, strangely calm beneath his terror. Bri and Stephen rushed back, each gripping Casey’s other arm, pulling with everything they had. Yet the man, impossibly strong, held tight. He twisted Casey violently, rolling him like an alligator in a death spin. We lost our grip momentarily. Casey’s head and shoulders remained visible, his eyes bulging with fear. I caught a glimpse of the man’s face, bloodshot eyes gleaming with excitement, mouth dripping saliva, a monstrous smile spreading across filthy lips. His laughter echoed through the trees, deep and wheezing, enjoying the twisted game. Then, with a sound sharper and louder than any branch breaking, Casey’s bone snapped. His agonized scream split the air. The man thrust once more, and Stephen and I smashed our heads against the fallen trunk. My vision blurred, consciousness flickering. Through the gap beneath the tree, I saw the man dragging Casey away, his screams fading into the distance until only silence remained. We sat frozen in horror, the sky darkening as the sun began to set. An argument flared. We wanted to go back, guilt gnawing at us, but fear crushed reason. We weren’t heroes, and this wasn’t a rescue story. Instinct screamed at us to flee before nightfall. We ran, grief tangled with terror, telling ourselves the police would find Casey and catch the man. That was the last time we saw either of them. Twilight draped the tracks when we returned. Casey’s bicycle waited alone, its frame glowing faintly in the dying light. My parents stared when we stumbled home, filthy and broken, but even their horror couldn’t match what we carried inside. Search parties formed. Days later they found the well, burned out, smoking, filled with bodies too ruined to name. Neither Casey nor the man ever surfaced again. His loss hollowed me. I tell myself we were only kids, that there was nothing else we could have done. But the thought never leaves. It lingers in the back of my skull, always watching, always waiting. I wish I could end this with vengeance, tell you that after thirty years of drowning in drugs and regret, Bri, Stephen, and I hunted him down. Sometimes I whisper that story to myself in the dark. But truth is cruel, and reality offers no justice. I moved to a noisy city. I tried staying in contact with Bri and Stephen, but it always felt like reopening a wound. When I spot vultures now, panic grips me. Sometimes I imagine that wild man watching from alleyways, and I walk faster, cold sweat dripping. I get stoned every night. Most times the dreams stay buried, but sometimes they slip through like maggots wriggling out of a corpse. In them, the sun scorches my back until the skin peels raw. My legs twist like broken branches, useless and heavy. Vultures tear at me, their beaks snapping off strips of flesh. I claw at stone, mouth open, but no sound comes out. Then his face appears above me, filthy, grinning, drool dripping onto my skin. A vulture lands beside him, patient, waiting for me to stop struggling. That’s when I wake, shaking in a pool of cold sweat. Credit: Spades Reddit Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance.