The iron cover had shifted further, as if something inside tried to move it. Upon closer inspection, James found the metal covered not just with rust but with deep scratches, as if someone inside had desperately tried to get out. Strange spots on the stones, which looked like mold in daylight, now resembled something else in the lantern light. They formed patterns, almost like writing, too symmetrical to be random. James leaned closer and made out silhouettes—human figures frozen in poses of agony or supplication.
The air around the well was not just cold; it was heavy, as if saturated with invisible moisture. Breathing became harder, and James felt sweat on his face, though the night was cool. The lantern dimmed, though the batteries were new. He leaned over the opening and directed the beam downward.
The light got lost in the darkness, not reaching the bottom, but now James noticed the darkness was unusual—dense, almost material, like black fog absorbing the light. And in this darkness, something moved. At first, he thought it was shadows, but the movement was too purposeful. Something was rising from the depths, approaching the surface.
James backed away from the edge but couldn’t leave. He dropped a stone and counted—one, two, three. The seconds dragged on. Ten, eleven, twelve. After fifteen seconds, a sound came—not an impact, but a splash. So there was water below. But why did the stone fall so long?
“Is anyone there?” he called, feeling foolish. His voice echoed off the well’s walls and returned distorted, as if passed through a filter. The crying stopped instantly.
Such silence fell that James heard his own breathing and heartbeat—and something else, a quiet hissing, like air escaping from a huge balloon. Then from the depths came a voice, and James realized he was wrong thinking of a person who accidentally fell. This voice sounded as if spoken underwater, with such longing and hopelessness that chills ran down his spine.
“Help me! Please! I’ve been waiting so long!” The voice was barely audible but real—female, young, but with weariness, as if it had sounded for years. James felt his hair stand on end—not just from fear, but from pity. Whoever it was, they were suffering.
“Who are you? What happened to you?” he shouted into the well. The answer didn’t come immediately. First came a sob, then quiet laughter more like crying, and only then words: “Can’t get out! So long! Here! So cold and dark! Help me, please! I don’t want to be alone anymore!”
In the last words was such pleading that James felt physical pain in his chest. The words came distorted, as if from underwater, but the emotion was so strong it left no doubt of the suffering’s authenticity. James inspected the rope—20 meters of strong climbing cord. He tied it to an old oak near the well, made several knots for security, and checked the fastening. The tree was massive, roots deep—it would hold.
But before descending, he tried connecting again with whoever was below. “What’s your name? How long have you been there?” “Sarah!” came from below after a long pause. “My name is Sarah Thompson!”
“And the time?” “Time flows differently here. Sometimes it seems like eternity, and sometimes like I just fell.”
“Fell? How did it happen?” “I don’t remember exactly. It hurt a lot—in the heart… And I thought it would be better here. That there would be no pain. But I was wrong. Here the pain is different—the pain of loneliness!”
James closed his eyes. Apparently, below was a girl who ended up there from a suicide attempt. How long had she been there? Days? Weeks? How did she survive without food and water?
“Sarah, I’m coming down to you! I have a rope; we’ll get out!” “Really?” Hope sounded in the voice, squeezing James’s heart. “You’re not deceiving? People often promise help and then leave!”
“I won’t leave! I promise!” He checked the knots, turned on the spare flashlight, and began the descent. Descending into the well was a real test.