The Well (11 page)

One reason she’d struggled to climb out, she decided, was because of the moss covering the well walls. She felt around under the water and quickly found a flattish stone that was just a bit bigger than a pocket calculator. It fitted snugly in her hand. Slowly and with great determination, she methodically set about scraping the moss from the stones. It was hard work – the moss was difficult to remove and it was hard to see when a stone was clear; Becca had to work mostly by feeling her progress. It was going to take a long time, Becca knew, but she didn’t have anything better to do.

The sure knowledge that she wouldn’t be finished today didn’t sit well with Becca. More than anything, she was dreading the coming night.

11

By the time Jan called Sarah, she regretted not having told her right away about the milk bottles. Although she was
fairly
sure the children were
probably
fine, it was worrying that she’d not seen any sign of them all day. Now it was night and they’d still not come home. The house was in darkness. Jan was torn – she didn’t want Sarah to worry when it was likely that everything was alright, but she was getting a little anxious herself.

If I panic her,
thought Jan,
she’ll be down here like a shot. And chances are that by the time she gets home the kids will be back from whatever party or sleepover they couldn’t be bothered to tell their parents about.

“No, they’re not home,” said Jan, as casually as she could – holding back about the milk bottles – partly to keep Sarah’s fear in check, but mainly because it would make her look bad.

“No signs at all?” asked Sarah.

“No,” said Jan. “But honestly, I wouldn’t worry. You know what’s happened. You and Jim are away and they’ll be up to something with their mates. The worst thing that’s going to happen is their red faces when they’re busted.”

Sarah finished the call with Jan and rang the house again, once more getting the answer phone. She called Becca’s mobile, and then Matt’s, without leaving any message when their recorded voices answered.

“Jim, I’m worried,” she said, firmly.

“Me too. Me too.” He put his arm around her, but she didn’t pull herself into him.

“I want to go home.” Sarah’s voice was small, that of a little girl pleading.

“I know,” said Jim, reflecting. “And I know this is worrying, but I’m sure they’re OK.”

Sarah didn’t look in any way reassured.

“I know you think I’m not being sympathetic enough,” said Jim, “but you know as well as I do that we’re likely to be fretting over nothing. We’ll go high-tailing it back home and they’ll be sat there watching a film.”

Sarah folded her arms. “Well, if they’re home, watching a film, I’ll be happy. Right now I’m not.”

Jim glanced at his watch. “Look, it’s late. I’ll go down to reception and check out now, and we’ll leave as early as we can in the morning. How does that sound?”

To Sarah, it sounded like a cop-out, but at the same time not entirely unreasonable. But that was her logical mind speaking; her heart said that she wanted to go home,
now
, and no amount of Jim or Jan telling her that everything was alright would change that. But Jim was right about one thing: it was late. They were both tired and it was a long drive home.

Jim went downstairs. Sarah called Becca again. Once Becca’s voicemail message had finished, she said, “Becks, I’m really worried. Please call me. I just need to hear from you. Love you.”

She hung up and set the alarm on the phone for 7:00am. She thought again and changed it to 6:00am – and then to 5:45am. She prepared herself for bed and, when Jim came back, she was already on her side, facing away from him, pretending to be asleep. He cuddled up to her, but she didn’t move. It was a long time before she slept.

12

Becca awoke from her shallow sleep with a scream, scrabbling to sit upright, her hands splashing around in the cold water.

Exhausted and aching from clearing the moss from the stones, it had been light when she had sat down to rest.
Just for a few minutes
, she had thought at the time. Despite being extremely uncomfortable in the cold water, she must have nodded off.

Becca had no idea what time it was, but it was now pitch black. She guessed that it was very late – or very early. Tired and hungry, she had to think for a few moments to work out which day it was.
Saturday
, she thought.
Only Saturday?
It felt as though she had been in the well for a week.

Every part of her body seemed to be protesting. Her fingers and arms ached from her exertions. Her stomach felt so empty it was almost as if someone had punched her. Her buttocks hurt from sitting on the stony well floor. She ran her tongue over her lips: they were rough and dry. The inescapable cold cut deep into her. Worse than any of these things, she desperately needed to move her bowels.

She looked up. Part of the moon was clearly visible, high in the clear sky. It cast a dim but eerie light inside the well. She glanced over at Matt, a dark shape in the black.

If it’s now Sunday
, she thought,
I could have something to eat and drink.
Becca had been holding off eating the second half of the apple until the next day, but as she had worked, she couldn’t get the image of it out of her mind.
Apple, with fizzy orange
, she mused,
although the orange would probably be flat by now.
She pushed the yearning away.
I’ll wait until it’s light at least.

From above came vague noises. It was difficult to tell what they were. Trees in the breeze, birds or bats – she had no idea. Then, something truly awful: something seemed to stroke against her leg, right at the hemline of her skirt. Terrified, she jumped up, shrieking and kicking the water in panic and fear.

After thirty frenzied seconds, she realised that her feet were connecting with nothing more than empty water. Weeping, she worked to calm herself, her mind trying – without much success – to put her runaway emotions into check.
You imagined it
, she thought, without really believing it.
It could have been anything
, she reasoned, but couldn’t actually think of anything that might live at the bottom of a well. She moved her feet around tentatively, testing the water. Apart from the water itself, the only things she felt were the mud and stones that lay on the floor of the well.

Just as she’d started to relax, Becca felt certain that she heard a sound from above; something more distinct – a branch snapping. She looked up again, holding her breath. Long moments passed. Becca remained tense, listening. Her chest almost hurt as her heart pounded within it. The remnants of her tears felt icy on her cheeks. The noise came again, closer, and with it, something surprising – a moving light.
A torch?

“Hey!” Becca screamed as loud as she could. “Help! Down here, in the well!”

Her voice echoed around the well, piercingly loud.

The instant she shouted, the light vanished. She held her breath again, listening hard. A minute dragged by; it felt like an age. She strained her eyes, staring into the night sky, which seemed almost light against the dark of the well. Briefly, a dark shape appeared. Her first thought was that it was the bird, but it was too big. It was a person, Becca felt sure.

“Help me! Please, help me. I’m stuck!”

There was a brief pause; Becca didn’t move and nor did the shadow above. Then came a sound that was both appalling and familiar: a rasping, loud caw. The figure above vanished and Becca felt sure she briefly heard the sound of running feet.

“Hey!” she shouted. “Don’t leave me. Please!”

The bird landed on the edge of the well and cawed again, wings flapping. Worse, Becca could hear that the bird was now not alone; somewhere she could hear other birds shrieking loudly. It was deafening, but hard to tell whether there were a handful of birds, dozens – or more.

“No, no, no, no!” Becca screamed, directing her anguish upwards to the opening of the well.

The bird at the top of the well was joined by several more, landing one after the other on the circular wall.

Becca backed herself down into a sitting position, crying openly. “No,” she sobbed to herself. “No. Please.”

Above her, the birds cawed in an unholy chorus.

Tears streaming down her face, Becca pulled her knees tightly to her chest, cold dirty water lapping around her shaking body.

13

Scrambling up the steep bank of the quarry pool was perilous in the dark. Helen needed to see, but not be seen; so she’d covered her torch with a dark stocking to dull its glare.

She reached the top, panting hard, and was relieved to move away from the edge: it was one hell of a drop into the pool. She worked her way around the wall to where she knew there was a gap.

She climbed the wall, displacing loose stones as she went. In the quiet, her movements sounded abnormally loud. Her heart pounded, as much from fear as exertion.

As she got closer to the well, she turned off the torch and waited for her eyes to acclimatise to the dark. The moonlight was bright, casting enough of a glow to allow her to negotiate the stony ground – if she was cautious. She crept forwards carefully, but tripped and landed on her knees, arms outstretched.

Helen stayed on all fours for a minute, regaining her composure and gathering her breath. She didn’t want to remain still for long – in truth, she was terrified and wanted to do what she needed to and get away as quickly as possible.

She stood again and moved towards the well. After a couple of paces, she felt something break beneath her right foot. It was too late to pull back; the sound of her foot breaking the branch dominated the night air. She stood, motionless, waiting. All she could hear was the breeze through the trees.

Helen decided she was near enough and flipped the torch on. Even covered with the stocking, it seemed to illuminate everything from yards around.

Somewhere ahead of her, a muffled voice cried, “Hey! Help! Down here, in the well!”

Panicking, Helen turned off the torch.
Shit, this is hard
, she thought. Although part of her was relieved to confirm that Abby and Sammy’s dreams were indeed echoes of reality, the reality of the situation was deeply unsettling: a distressed young girl, trapped, alone in the night. Helen remained still, trying to calm herself. Behind her, the trees rustled.

Come on
, she thought.
Do what you have to and go.

Helen moved forwards to the well, knelt down and peered into the dark. It was a featureless void.

The girl’s voice came again, clearer this time. The terror in her voice was desperately cutting. “Help me! Please, help me. I’m stuck!”

Helen had heard enough. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered to herself.

This is so hard
, she thought.
That’s a real, live person down there. Not someone in a story – a young girl who’s going to die if we leave her there. A child. It’s killing a child. How the hell did Abby live with this? How can she have this on her conscience?

She considered turning on the torch to look more clearly down the well, but before she could, a terrifyingly loud sound came from close behind her: the caw of a bird.

Helen scrambled to her feet, almost losing her balance. She had to go, she knew: and go now. She ran hard in the direction of the wall. Behind her, she could hear the girl shouting something, but she didn’t hear what.

A multitude of birds flapped around her, squawking loudly. The tips of their wings fluttered in her hair and she instinctively covered her face with her arms. It was all she could do to not scream. They were driving her away, channelling her towards the estate wall.

She stumbled as she climbed over the breach in the wall and fell to the ground, losing her torch. She felt a sharp pain as one of the birds tried to peck her face – but instead bit deep into her arm, which was raised to protect her eyes.

“I’m going!” she cried, hunting around for her torch in the dark. Her fingers closed on it and she flipped it on. The sight of dozens of huge black shapes swooping around her was monstrous. The dull light from the torch wasn’t enough, so she pulled the stocking from it, bathing the ground around her in a bright yellow light.

She was gripped with panic but knew that to give into it now would mean almost certain death – a fall into the quarry pool.
If they wanted to really hurt me, they would have,
she realised. The thought helped to calm her a little. She tried her best to disregard the birds and carefully – but quickly – made her way back down the steep, treacherous path. Once at the bottom of the hill, she realised that she’d left the birds behind her.

At the field beyond the quarry pool she let herself fall to the ground, sweating, gasping for breath and shaking with fear.
I’ve been tested,
she thought,
and I’ve failed.
It was the truth – and deeply unsettling when she considered the challenge of the days ahead.

Once she’d steadied her breathing, she pulled out her mobile phone and called Abby, who answered instantly. “Helen?”

“Ab!” Helen shrieked.

“Helen?” There was fear in Abby’s voice.

Helen halted herself. Abby would panic and feel compelled to come out here – and that would solve nothing. She took a deep breath, quietly, and tried again. “Ab, it’s me.”

“Are you OK?”

“I’m fine. A bit shook up. I’ll tell you later.”

“And –”

The word hung in the air.

“You were right. There’s a girl there. She’s still alive. I heard her shout. I didn’t see the boy, it was too dark. But I guess he’s there too.”

A moment’s silence. “Shit.”

“Shit indeed,” said Helen.
And it’s our shit
, she thought. “Ab – how’s Sammy?”

“I gave her something to sleep. She’s been restless, but she’s sleeping.” Abby paused. “Helen, come on home.”

“I will. I just need to get myself together. Give me a minute. Don’t hang up.”