Last updated on November 22, 2022
In a Midwestern state, there is a rural trail. Said trail meanders through a densely wooded bright green forest. After about half a mile of meandering, the trail ends by a small meadow. The meadow is home to many dandelions, bushes and flowers of all colors. The meadow is home to the occasional deer and countless bees, going about their business. The scenery and the vivid coloring make this trail a diamond in the rough for those looking to have a relaxing stroll. The meadow also is home to a well, a well-masoned cobblestone open well with a cute wooden bucket. Occasionally, some folks drink out of this well as the water is still fresh. The trail is not too far from the nearest town and is visited often in the spring, summer and fall months of the year, giving those who walk it good times and great memories. The area is prone to rainbows in the late rainy season, adding more flamboyance to the scene. Then after that late rainy season, the leaves of the trees begin to fall, one by one. The trail is visited less often. Then, there is nothing but a cold winter. The trees, boundless and bare, appear as skeletons of their former selves. No leaves, no flowers, simply just dark brown lifeless trunks sticking out of the ground like large stakes. The trail and the entire wood seem empty, as if something’s missing, as if something needs to fill the gaps between the trees that are now present. No one walks the trail this time of year. No one. I assumed it was because the trail’s drab scenery was unable to bring in walkers from all over the state, hungry for the joy of color. Additionally, the cold temperatures and occasional Midwestern snows and ice storms deter those from even finding the trail. These assumptions are probably right, too.
I decided to travel this trail one early December day, as I was a local to the small town nearby. I headed out in the afternoon, a few hours before the sun would set. This gave me plenty of time to walk, as the trail was only one mile in total. I was greeted by chilling winds and the even more chilling site of the ghostly forest. The limbs of the barren trees swung loosely in the wind. I began to take the walk, noting the alienity of the place that I knew quite well. The trail wound around as usual, and I could see small creeks and natural areas that I hadn’t seen before as there was no vegetation blocking my way. The walk began to feel the same as always, and after a few quick minutes I was nearing the quarter mile mark. The sun still was shining bright despite the cold temperature, and I found the first half of the walk quite enjoyable. Once I neared the small meadow though, something seemed to change. The bushes and shrubs were grim looking ribcages of feeble twigs. There were no insects or deer. There seemed to be this absurd stillness that I hadn’t quite noticed before. Even the wind was soundless, and the trees silently swayed. Every step I took that lightly touched the cold dirt seemed deafening as I strolled into the meadow. I began to feel slightly tense. The meadow was empty of course; no one else was there. Nevertheless, my wrists clenched a little and senses seemed to grow sharper, as if something was wrong. This happened almost instinctively. The quiet seemed to manifest itself and grow more abundant to me. I decided I would stroll over to the well on the far side of the meadow and walk back, just to attempt to calm myself down. The well itself hadn’t changed. It was still its own captivating stony self. I took some relief in the fact that at least something wasn’t alien to me here on this unique walk. Water in wells do not freeze as the water is far below the frost line, so I figured I might take a little cold drink, too, to freshen myself up and rejuvenate. Reasonable enough.
I leaned over the side of the well; it was one of those things that wasn’t too big and wasn’t too small, but there was certainly plenty of room in the well. I stood there a good while looking down into the miniature abyss. I couldn’t see the bottom, naturally. The water splashed. It wasn’t a loud splash, but it was more than audible. I stood peering down still, startled by the splash. Then I heard something else. “He-help,” a voice croaked out. I say croaked because it sounded muffled and distorted, partly because of the well’s damp walls. I reacted as anyone else would who heard a voice coming from a well that probably hadn’t been used in four months. I took a step back away from the well, I tried to take a deep breath, like everyone says to do in unfamiliar and stressful situations, but I couldn’t. I returned to the well’s edge, determined to help whoever was down there. “Um, hello! Who’s down there?” I said, trying to regain composure. The voice returned, “Please send help, please.” It cried out begging. I honestly felt terrible, the water must have been freezing cold, and I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be stuck down there. I replied to the voice frantically, “I’ll run back to my car, grab my flashlight and phone, come back and call nine-one-one.” It was the best idea for the time being, and I didn’t want to call for help at my car, since it could be too late by the time they were back, and if whoever was down there was alone for days, I thought it was the least I could do to keep them company until help arrived. I sprinted back to my car, adrenaline overpowering any urges to rest. It probably took five minutes or so for me to get back, as I was in pretty decent shape, and I was sprinting as fast as I could, of course. I hurriedly unlocked the car and grabbed an old flashlight and my phone and sprinted back to the well. The ghostly trees were a mere blur, and I was focused entirely on trying to help the person in the well. The sun was losing its strength, and I noticed it was showing its first signs of setting, although it would be completely gone in quite some time. I finally arrived to the well; with my hands on my knees and breathing heavily, I looked over the edge of the well again and called out, trying to stay calm, “I’m back with my flashlight and phone. Is everything okay down there?”
“Yes, please call. Please call. Please.” The voice returned, sounding even more harsh and unnatural. The voice also had this dreadfully desperate, pleading quality to it, as if whoever was down there had been there for a very long time. With the flashlight in my hand, I held it over the well and flicked it on. Bright light illuminated the well. There was nobody there. No voice returned up, no face looked back at me, I nearly dropped the flashlight in out of shock. Then the thought struck me. Maybe, whoever or whatever was down there had been there for longer than a very long time, longer than any human lifetime. The worst aspect was, when I was looking down into the abyss of the well the first time, I could’ve sworn I saw the dim glow of eyes, empty and grim, staring back at me.
“And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.” – Friedrich Nietzsche
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