When the villagers first heard the stories, they dismissed them as superstition—just another tale to frighten children from wandering too far into the woods. But deep down, there was always an unease when it came to the old, crumbling well at the edge of town. No one ever went near it. Not since the disappearances began.
They said the well was cursed. Said it went far deeper than it seemed, down into the earth where the light never touched, into dark, forgotten places no human was meant to see. But it wasn't the depth that scared them.
It was what lived at the bottom.
Elias had grown up hearing the stories, but he never believed them. As a boy, he had dared his friends to come with him to the well, to peer down into its depths and call out, taunting whatever was supposed to be down there. They never did. No one wanted to risk it. But now, as a grown man, Elias had no such fears.
The well had long since been covered with thick wooden planks, nailed down after the last person went missing, but he knew how to pry them open. A few nights ago, curiosity had gotten the better of him, and he had snuck out with a crowbar and lantern, determined to prove there was nothing to the stories.
The cover came off easily enough. The planks were weathered and rotten, creaking under the pressure. Once they were gone, Elias had leaned over the edge, staring down into the darkness. At first, there was nothing. Just the cool, damp smell of earth and stone.
But then, as his eyes adjusted, he saw something. A glimmer. Far, far below, almost too faint to see. His breath caught in his throat. It was probably just water reflecting the lantern light, he thought. The well had to be filled with it, after all. But the longer he looked, the more he felt that the glimmer wasn't water at all.
It was something else. Something alive.
The village was quiet when Elias returned, the night sky clouded and still. He hadn't told anyone what he'd done. He hadn't told them about the way his chest tightened when he looked into the well, or how he thought—just for a moment—that he heard something moving down there, something heavy and wet, like flesh scraping against stone.
For days, he kept his secret, pushing away the nagging feeling that he'd made a mistake. But at night, his dreams were filled with darkness, with the sound of something crawling, pulling itself up from deep within the earth. He would wake in a cold sweat, his heart pounding, but the sound would still echo in his ears, faint but constant.
A scraping, dragging sound.
Then, one night, he heard it for real.
He had been lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. The village was dead silent, save for the occasional rustle of leaves outside. But then the sound came again, faint at first, then growing louder.
Scrape.
Pause.
Drag.
His blood ran cold as he realized it was coming from outside his window. Elias sat up, heart racing, listening. The sound was closer now, moving slowly, deliberately, like something heavy pulling itself forward. The wind outside was still, and the trees didn't move.
Scrape. Drag.
It was coming toward his house.
He threw on his coat, grabbed the lantern by his bedside, and crept downstairs. Maybe it was just his imagination. Maybe it was an animal. Maybe—
But deep down, he knew better.
Outside, the village was as silent as the grave. The air was thick with mist, and the moon hung low, casting long shadows that seemed to ripple unnaturally in the fog. Elias stepped off the porch, his lantern casting a small, weak circle of light in the darkness. The sound had stopped, but the air felt wrong. Heavy.
He walked toward the edge of the woods, where the well sat. As he approached, he noticed the wooden cover—it had been ripped open. The planks lay scattered around the well like discarded bones. Something had forced its way out.
His heart pounded in his chest as he stepped closer, holding the lantern over the well. For a moment, there was only silence. And then, from deep within the earth, came a sound—a wet, guttural noise, like the low rumble of something that had been asleep for a long time and was just now waking up.
A shadow shifted at the edge of the well.
Elias stumbled back, the lantern shaking in his hand. His mind screamed at him to run, to get as far away as possible, but his body wouldn't move. He was frozen, staring into the darkness as something began to pull itself up from the depths.
First, a hand—if you could call it that. Long, bony fingers, dripping with slime, each digit too long, too sharp, curling around the lip of the well. Then another. And then, with a sickening, squelching noise, it rose.
The creature was massive, far larger than anything that should've fit in the well. Its skin was pale, almost translucent, slick with moisture. Its body was twisted, its spine arched unnaturally, and its face… Elias couldn't look at its face. He only caught glimpses of it, but in those fleeting moments, he saw too much. Eyes that were too big, too many. A mouth filled with jagged teeth, wide and grinning, dripping with something dark and thick.
It dragged itself out of the well, its long limbs stretching toward Elias as it pulled its bloated, writhing body forward. The sound of its flesh sliding across the ground filled the air, mixing with the low, hungry growl that emanated from its throat.
Elias turned and ran.
He didn't know how far he ran, or in which direction. He just ran until his legs gave out, collapsing somewhere in the woods, the cold mud soaking through his clothes. He could still hear the sound behind him—the scraping, dragging sound of the creature pulling itself across the earth.
When they found him the next morning, he was lying by the riverbank, trembling and delirious. He mumbled incoherently about the well, about the thing that had crawled out, but no one believed him. They never did.
The well was sealed up again soon after, this time with iron bars and concrete. They told themselves it was just a precaution. But the village is quieter now. Fewer people wander the streets at night. Fewer lights remain on after dark.
And sometimes, when the wind dies down and the village is still, you can hear it—the faint, wet scraping sound, dragging through the woods, coming from somewhere deep beneath the earth.