The Well

Deep in the woods, at the end of a trail rarely found and more rarely taken, there is a clearing. Any day of the year but one, it might as well be any other clearing. It is only a meadow, filled with soft grass and wildflowers. Most days, you could lie down in that clearing, stare up through the leaves at a beautiful blue sky, and let a wonderful day pass you by. But not today. If, by some slim chance, you take that path today, you’ll find, in the center of that clearing, a well. Of course, you know that already. After all, here you are.

Now, if you wanted, you could step across the cold bare earth which stands between you and the well. Very few who find themselves at the edge of this clearing at the end of the trail choose to do this. What could possibly be gained from walking up to this old, vine-covered well and attempting to push aside the massive concrete slab that covers its mouth? Well, to be perfectly honest, for most of the day there is nothing much that will happen. Any hour but one, the concrete will slide away easily, revealing nothing but a dry well. The sunlight will shine benignly on its cool, stone surfaces. But not this hour. During this hour, anyone who decides to approach this well and press their palms against the concrete will find it heavy and hard to move. It will drag against the stone lip beneath it, practically begging to be left alone. However, if for some unfathomable reason you persevere, you will find yourself staring into deep darkness. The rays of the sun will wither and die before they pierce even half the depth. And yet at the bottom of the well, there will be faint glints and glimmers, as though there could still be water down there after all. Cold, dark water, trapped since the well was closed and abandoned so long ago. Of course, no one has seen this cold, dark water since that day. Until now, at least. After all, here you are.

You are staring into the well. It does not occur to you to wonder if there might be a reason that this well was so very hard to open. It does not occur to you to wonder if perhaps there is a reason why this clearing is so very barren and grim. It does not occur to you to wonder if there may be a reason why this trail was so very difficult to find. You are not the sort for wondering, I suppose. In fact, it seems you are the sort for staring vacantly into dark wells. You have been looking for a very long time. In fairness, it is hard to look away, I dimly recall. Just when you are about to tear your eyes away, it will seem as though a silky shadow is moving in the darkness. You will resolve to look just a little longer. Surely whatever it is that is moving in the bottom of a sealed well, it must be interesting.

I will tell you right now, you are correct. I have had a very long time to become acquainted with the shadows in the bottom of the well and they are nothing if not interesting. They move through these dark waters, and they whisper, whisper, whisper. They have shared with me so many secret stories. You will grow to love their whispering, even if at first the resonance of their voices sends shivers through you and makes you feel as though your soul is filled with bees. You will come to love their whispering. Their whispering is all you have now. You will never come to love the way it feels when they move through you. They are cold, cold, cold. It is not like the cold of the water, which will seep into you and chill you only until you acclimate, and it fades into the background. No. Theirs is the cold of the infinite void from which they come; theirs is the cold of an empty, unfeeling universe; theirs is the cold of the sunless worlds about which they whisper.

Of course, I wouldn’t wish to sound ungrateful. They may have seeded my soul with the echoes of the all-consuming void, but they are ever so helpful.

Just look at them now, so kindly buying me some time. Yes, just like that. Keep looking at them. Do not bother looking for me as I slowly slip up the wall of this well. Even if you tried, I have not possessed a form capable of reflecting light into a living eye for a very long time.

As you look down into the darkness, the movement will intensify, the shadows seeming to twist and roil. I am a yard from the opening of the well and you do not see me. The movement in the darkness stops suddenly and you lean forward to get a better look. Your fingers curl over the cool stone lip, dangling into the darkness. I am two feet away and you do not see me. In the bottom of the well, you now see a small point of light on the surface of the water, slowly growing in size and brightness. I can see the light reflected in your eyes, perfectly centered on your pupil. I am one foot away and you do not see me.

The light is growing, you think. But you can’t be sure. Could it be your eyes tricking you, creating the illusion of growth in a static object? You continue to watch; if it is growing the change will eventually be so great that there can be no doubt. I am motionless, just below the tips of your trembling fingers and you do not see me. The reflection of the light on your eyes perfectly covers your pupil; it adjusts in size minutely as your pupil expands and contracts. The reflection is a target, a beacon.

You are certain now that the light has grown, but you cannot look away. It is far too late for looking away. We are beyond that, you and I. I move slowly from the well; the tips of your fingers serve as a bridge. I travel quickly up your arms and your hair stands on end as I pass. Instinctively, viscerally, you begin to feel afraid. But it is far too late for fear. As I reach the edge of your pupil, the light goes out and we both stare into deep, dark depths. As we each regard the darkness, we begin to feel dizzy. We are trembling, you and I, and the worlds that have held us so very tightly, for so very long, are loosening their grasps. We are falling, each, away from darkness and towards darkness.

You feel as though you may fall forever, until you hit the cold dark water and are submerged. As you bob to the surface, you struggle to understand; here you are in the bottom of this well and yet, high above you, you see yourself standing, peering downwards. You will always be struggling to understand, even as the shadows whisper intricate reasons, even as you take your own chance to crawl forth into the sunlight. You will never understand; confusion and darkness well be sewn into the very fibers of your being from this day on.

I feel as though I may fall forever, until I hit the rich and intricate tapestry that is the mind that was yours. Racing through your neurons, I settle in to your memories, full of rich colors and deep emotions, sensations I haven’t felt in so long they almost hurt. That feeling I once knew as love hurts the most, cutting like a knife. It burns and yet it is so cold, colder even than the cold of the moving shadows. This won’t do at all. I’ll have to make some changes here.

The shadows begin to move around you, whispering softly, welcoming you. You look up and see the body that was once yours, lifting the slab of concrete as though it were nothing and sliding it back into place. You have one last thought that is fully your own, before the shadows begin to share their tales and move through you, leaving traces of the void.

You wish you had thought to say goodbye to your family.

Don’t worry. I will say goodbye.