The girl 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,» Robert suggested. But Charlotte 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 suddenly stopped and turned. In her eyes, Robert saw something that made him step back.
«Do you live here alone?» she asked. «With my daughter.» «But she’s asleep.»
«Daughter.» Charlotte smiled that same wrong smile. «What’s her name?» «Lily.»
«And why do you?» He didn’t finish. Charlotte turned and quickly headed to the house. Her movements suddenly became sharp and purposeful, not at all like an exhausted person’s.
«Stop!» Robert shouted, rushing after her. But Charlotte had already vanished into the darkness, as if dissolved in air. Robert searched the yard with the lantern, looked behind the shed, in the bushes, but Charlotte was nowhere.
She disappeared as suddenly as she appeared. The only proof it wasn’t a dream was the rope still tied to the tree by the well. But there were other traces.
On the ground near the well were strange prints—not quite footprints, but something blurrier, as if someone didn’t walk but glided over the surface. And another alarming fact—the grass where Charlotte passed was covered in a thin layer of frost, though the night was warm. Robert returned to the house and checked Lily.
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. And on the windowsill lay a small puddle of water.
He touched the water with his finger; it was icy and had a strange salty taste. Seawater? But where did seawater come from here? Lily’s skin was cool but not cold, breathing even. Everything seemed normal, but Robert felt something had changed.
In the room’s air hung a barely perceptible smell, that same sweetish, nauseating aroma he felt in the well. Sleep wouldn’t come. He lay in bed replaying the strange encounter in his head.
Every detail seemed more sinister. Charlotte’s too-pale skin, her strange movements, ability to disappear. And mainly—her interest in Lily.
Daughter. She repeated then, and in her voice was such greed. By morning, Robert decided.
He must learn the truth about what happened. And start with the locals. First, he went to Aunt Mabel, but the old woman wasn’t home.
A neighbor said she went to relatives and would return only in the evening. Then Robert decided to talk to other town residents. In the local store, behind the counter stood a middle-aged woman with a tired face.
When Robert asked about the well and possible accidents, she noticeably paled. «Why do you need to know?» she asked suspiciously. «I live in the house next to the well.
Hear strange sounds at night.» The woman crossed herself and looked around, as if afraid someone was listening. Sounds.
Yes, everyone knows about the sounds. But no one talks. Because talking is dangerous.
Why dangerous? Because she hears. Charlotte Bennett. The drowned one.
They say whoever mentions her, she comes to them. Robert felt a chill in his stomach. So he was right in his suspicions.
«Tell me about her. It’s important.» The woman was silent long, then sighed: It was 15 years ago.
Charlotte was a beauty, smart. All the guys chased her, but she chose Ethan Reynolds. Rich guy from the city.
Promised to marry, build a house. Charlotte believed him, even… Well, believed in everything.
She fell silent, clearly struggling for words. And then? And then this Ethan ran off with another. A week before the wedding.
Charlotte found out by chance—saw them in the nearby town. Came home white as a sheet, said nothing to anyone. And at night, she left.
To the well? Yeah. Started searching in the morning, but it was too late. Found only a scarf on the well’s edge and a note.
Wrote she couldn’t live with such shame. The woman wiped her eyes with her apron edge. Searched for her then.
Even called divers. But that well is strange. They say the bottom is rocky, with caves underneath.
Strong underground current. Probably carried her away. And when did the sounds start? Right away.
That same night. At first thought it was wind. Then realized—not wind.
And Charlotte didn’t rest. Calls someone. Waits.
Robert asked for Charlotte’s parents’ address, but it turned out they died long ago, couldn’t bear the grief. Their house was sold; new owners didn’t live long either. Charlotte scared them, the saleswoman explained.
Came to them at night. Said she wanted home. They moved out in a month.
Next, Robert visited the local paramedic, an elderly man who remembered those events. Yeah, I remember Charlotte, he said, pouring tea. Good girl.
Pity her very much. But strangely, the body was never found. Usually in our parts, water doesn’t hold the dead.
Floats them up in a couple days. And what’s special about that well? The paramedic darkened: The well is ancient. My grandfather said they didn’t dig it for water.
Dug for something else. In famine years, people resorted to anything. Even what they shouldn’t.
Meaning? Brought sacrifices. To old gods. Thought if they appeased, rain would come, harvest given.
They say they threw young girls there. Alive. Robert felt his hair stand on end.
And did it help? Help? Only made it worse. Because the place became cursed. Death settled there.
And not ordinary death, but hungry. The paramedic sipped tea and continued: After the revolution, wanted to fill the well. But earth caved, stones sank.
Like a bottomless pit. Then decided to just forget it. Only it didn’t forget itself…
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