The Well

As seen in Mammoth Massachusetts: a colllection of speculative folk fiction. First published in the horror anthology, Nothing Ever Happens In Fox Hollow, Vol. II

I’d always wanted to be a witch. Not some broomstick bimbo, but a proper man-witch. One with brooding horrors, infinite knowledge, and crafts of the darkest ilk. Connie could be the sorceress she’d always dreamed. Full of healing light with a cunning tongue. Enough with the Dollar Store cashier, enough with the inflatable bounce houses. No more carnivals; let us make our own circus.

It was Connie’s idea. She’d been reading her grandmother’s grimoire and said all we had to do was follow the Rules of Above & Below, that’s how you get command over the water. What’s the worst that could happen? We could do all the conjuring ourselves, but we would need the well’s water to do it. Trouble was, well water is only for drinking. It was written right there in the oldest known language. The Sacred Law; the Understanding. The Knowing. We all profit from it, but there are a few who profit a bit more. Connie said we could be that couple.

The well provides the kind of water you drink to ward off fitful dreams. That water wills the best parts of your blood toward your sincere desires. It builds upon the lusty bits of our hearts and whittles at the space between. It’s the kind of water doctors sip during surgery, ball players drink on the field, drivers in a race. It’s purity, clarity, alacrity. All the things you wish to be, the well gives it to you.

First, we had to cross the forest to do the fetching. Eye shine from the unknowable creatures was unsettling, but Connie said they would not touch us so long as our goals were true. They were, weren’t they? Eventually, we filled the tub. Five trips of 10 gallons each. It crushed us, nearly a mile round trip. We were drenched in sweat by the time the first half was full. Slowly, through midnight, we traipsed. We had to be ready by 3am, the witching hour.

We boiled a few gallons to bring up the temp of the whole. She burned sage, I dropped laurel in the water; the subtle oils calmed our expectant nerves and we de-robed. I took off my charm bracelet and let her kiss it before dropping it in. Its leather quickly broke apart, leaving the dozen secrets to churn in the water. Connie removed the pendant last and eased it into the bath. A vibration emanated from the crystal when it met the well’s bounty. A flicker sparked within and built to a glow of soft blue light. The water was luminous, it beckoned. We joined hands and entered the bath.

Thanks to the incantation the water was roiling, hotter than you could imagine, but I pushed through. Connie was soft, yet firm; we slid in and out of one another. We swam in each other’s eyes and let the water toss us about. The tub seemed to increase so that we were now in a modest pool but still in our bathroom. The space widened; liminal bliss invaded our every move. For what seemed hours we enjoyed the sensation of wet skin and tasted every part of the bath.

The ingredients were now well seasoned and once we finished pleasuring ourselves only one thing remained. The rules of the well water must be obeyed. After drinking the first cup we felt the effects. If the dope from earlier didn’t prep us for adventure, this surely would. Connie said we should use cups, to keep track. We stopped counting after the second time we vomited. Connie thought it would be best if we did the puking in the yard, for swifter transfer to the worms, but I had to use the sink a few times. Hours we drank and puked and drank and puked the now tepid bathwater.

I could feel the change happening. The churning of old memories within my blood, the instincts that brought us out of the forest were coming back online. I could see it in her eyes, she was drawn to animals and yearned to collect small things. We were finally happy; excited to sacrifice. The sun was well up by the time we finished; the world appeared crisp, but now I could see the disease under the façade of life. We stood in the empty bath just listening to our breathing; oxygen is a spell all its own. My mind told me I needed rest, but my body was energized by the night’s events, so we got dressed and went into town for a meal.

Newts were all I could think of to order but I settled for the house brew. When the waitress set down our cups, she brushed my hand and her entire life flashed behind my eyes. Connie knew we shared a moment, and her jealousy ignited. I told her to relax, but she was already locking doors within her chest to keep me from finding secrets. Furtive glances from Connie to the waitress were the beginning of the end for us. We spoke no words; we didn’t have to anymore, the grounds at the bottom of my cup told me our spell was broken.

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