Weird Halloween
GHOST
IN THE
WELL

Autumn Rose
HELLO FRIENDS OF
THE ORANGE MOON

[First Published: October 16, 2020]


Pleasant evenin’, now ain’t it? Yes, it’s only me, Autumn Rose, right on back here again, to bring a tale to pinch the nerves. So, now, I’ve heard tell that a great “many a you” have been inclined to wander about. Well, incidentally, whether in life or in a dream, or hearin’ a story, or anywise findin’ yourselves in our neck of the woods, it don’t really matter much at all. ’Cause such as it is, sometimes it’s too hard to stay put that is unless, of course— you’re buried.
* * *

Most people do not know, when I was younger, I used to pass the day in some woods not too far off from where I lived. There, my time was spent walking the dry creek beds, reading books and studying the various birds and insects I chance to come across. One afternoon, I was deeper than I had ever been. That is when I found the remains of an old well.

It had been boarded up, many years ago, back when this area had likely been cleared farmland. But it could still be seen plainly within the thicket of dogwood and pine trees. Not too long after, it became my special spot, and, especially, a favorite place to lay back with a good book at hand. I enjoyed older books and the such, particularly obscured ones like Fearsome Creatures of the Lumberwoods, by William T. Cox, or Adventures in Toyland, by Edith King Hall, which was particularly dark despite its seemingly kid-friendly premise.

It was strange, however, the more I began to read there the more, why it felt like I had to read there, I suppose. It’s hard to explain, but it was as if a voice in the back of my head was egging me on whenever I was coming to a good stopping point.

And the more time passed, the more my thoughts began to develop their own dialog. It got to a point, I could even hold conversations with my thoughts, and even a name, “Molly,” is what I called my second me. It’s a funny thing y’know, but it wasn’t before long I became my own best friend.

Until one day, I came again to this lonely spot, only to find a strange circle of people gathered around it. I was a little taken back by this, as I had never met up with anybody in these woods before. But they welcomed me to join them, and, respectfully, I asked why they had come. And this is what they said: “Every October thirteenth, we gather round the old well to sing a prayer for a lost relative who had drowned tragically, so long ago.”

They never were able to get her body out, they said, it having sunken deep down to the water table. The only thing that could be done was to board it up and make no more use of the well, they said.

She had fallen over while sitting on its edge reading a book, they said.

Her name was “Molly,” they said.

After that day, I stopped coming to the old well. Except, on special occasions, like—October thirteenth.

After the gatherers have left, that is when I like to sit and read Molly a little story. Like one I wrote especially for her: “Most people do not know, when I was younger, I used to pass the day in some woods not too far off from where I lived. There, my time was spent...”
* * *
Jeepers! That there tale makes me feel some kind of a way. Hope it wasn’t too much for ya. Y’know what they say, “All’s well that ends well.”

’Til we meet again—stay together... keep nigh unto the fire.
Copyright © 2020 Thrill Land

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