Sarah laughed, her laughter echoing in a hundred voices. “Survived! Oh, I didn’t survive. I died here. Long ago. But death in this place works differently. It’s not release. It’s… continuation.”
James froze, holding the rope. Every word confirmed his worst fears. But he’d gone too far to turn back. “Don’t worry,” Sarah said, noticing his state. “I won’t harm you. I just want to get out. Want to see the sun again, feel the wind. And… I’m tired of loneliness.”
Her voice carried such longing that James felt pity despite the horror. Whatever happened, she was suffering. “Okay,” he said, tying the rope around her waist. “Just hold on tight.” Sarah nodded and gripped the rope.
Her fingers were too long, her nails like claws. “Ready,” she whispered, a strange fire in her eyes. “How long have you been here?” James asked, helping her stand.
“I don’t know. Days blend into one. Maybe a week? Or a month?” Her voice trembled. James wanted to ask how she survived, but decided questions could wait. The main thing was to get out.
He tied the rope around her waist and showed her how to hold on. Sarah nodded, her movements slow, as if underwater. “I’ll climb up first and pull you up,” he explained. “Just hold tight.”
The ascent was harder than the descent. Sarah was light, but some invisible force pulled her down. The rope tightened, as if he was lifting something immensely heavy. Finally, they got out. Sarah fell on the grass, breathing heavily. In the moonlight, James examined her better, and a strange feeling overcame him. She was beautiful, but her beauty was unearthly, almost ghostly.
“Thank you,” she whispered, rising. “You saved me. Let’s go to the house.” “You need to warm up and eat,” James suggested. But Sarah shook her head. “No. I can’t go there. I must go.”
“Where? Where do you live? Maybe call an ambulance?” “No need to call anything. I just… will go.” She took a few steps to the yard’s edge but stopped and turned. In her eyes, James saw something that made him step back.
“Do you live here alone?” she asked. “With my daughter.” “But she’s asleep.” “Daughter…” Sarah smiled that wrong smile. “What’s her name?” “Emma.”
“And why do you—” He didn’t finish. Sarah turned and quickly headed to the house. Her movements became sharp, purposeful, not like an exhausted person’s. “Stop!” James shouted, rushing after her. But Sarah vanished into the darkness, as if dissolved in air.
James searched the yard with the lantern—behind the shed, in the bushes—but Sarah was nowhere. She disappeared as suddenly as she appeared. The only proof it wasn’t a dream was the rope tied to the tree. But there were other traces—strange prints on the ground, not quite footprints, but blurrier, as if someone glided over the surface. And the grass where Sarah passed was covered in frost, though the night was warm.
James returned to the house and checked Emma. The girl slept peacefully, but as he approached her bed, he noticed something strange. On the window by the bed was a film of moisture, as if someone breathed on the glass from inside. On the windowsill lay a small puddle of water. He touched it; it was icy and had a strange salty taste. Seawater? But where did seawater come from in Nebraska?
Emma’s skin was cool but not cold, her breathing even. Everything seemed normal, but James felt something had changed. The room’s air held a barely perceptible smell—that sweetish, nauseating aroma from the well.
Sleep wouldn’t come. He lay in bed, replaying the strange encounter. Every detail seemed more sinister—Sarah’s too-pale skin, her strange movements, her ability to disappear. And her interest in Emma. “Daughter,” she had repeated, with such greed in her voice.
By morning, James decided he must learn the truth. He started with the locals. First, he went to Mrs. Clara, but she wasn’t home. A neighbor said she went to relatives and would return in the evening. Then James talked to other town residents. In the local store, a middle-aged woman with a tired face stood behind the counter. When he asked about the well and possible accidents, she paled.