The moment Nathaniel turned away from the well, a flood of memories crashed over him, an unstoppable torrent that overwhelmed his senses. He staggered backward, clutching his head as his vision blurred and fractured. Images, sounds, and sensations surfaced all at once, fragments of the past he had fought so hard to bury.
He saw himself as a boy, running through these very woods with his brother, their laughter ringing through the trees. He could almost feel the damp earth beneath his feet, hear the rustling leaves as they sprinted, carefree and alive. The warmth of those memories faded as the scene shifted, darkening. Rain began to pour, cold and relentless, soaking them to the bone. He saw headlights piercing through the downpour, the blinding flash that shattered everything.
But then, there was something more. Something new. Something he'd never remembered before.
The argument. He and his brother had been arguing that night, their voices raised above the storm. It had started as something small, insignificant—a disagreement over who had won some long-forgotten game. But the tension had been building between them for weeks, unspoken frustrations and resentment boiling beneath the surface. That night, the dam had finally broken.
Nathaniel's voice had been sharp, cutting. He could hear it now, clear as the rain that fell around them. "You never listen to me! You think you're so perfect, but you're not. You're just—just—"
He stopped himself then, but it had been too late. His brother's face had twisted, a mixture of hurt and fury that Nathaniel had never seen before. "Just what, Nathaniel? Say it!"
The storm had drowned out the rest of their words, but the emotions were still vivid—anger, betrayal, pain. They had run, the argument following them like a shadow, until they had reached the road.
The memory sharpened. Headlights. A car skidding on the wet asphalt. The screech of tires and a sickening, final thud.
Nathaniel gasped as the vision faded, stumbling back from the well. His breath came in ragged gulps, his heart pounding so hard it felt as though it might burst from his chest. He pressed his hands to his temples, trying to steady himself, but the memory lingered, seared into his mind.
And then, another realization struck him like a blow.
His brother hadn't just died that night—he had died angry. Hurt. The fight had been unresolved, their bond severed in its rawest, most vulnerable moment. Nathaniel's words—those cruel, careless words—had been the last his brother ever heard.
The weight of it was suffocating. His knees buckled, and he fell to the ground, his palms pressing into the cold, damp earth. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I didn't mean it. I didn't mean any of it."
But the forest remained silent, unyielding. The clearing seemed darker now, the shadows heavier, pressing in from all sides. The well loomed behind him, an unspoken reminder of the presence that lingered there, waiting for answers Nathaniel wasn't sure he could give.
The air grew colder still, biting at his skin, and a faint rustling broke the oppressive silence. Nathaniel's head shot up, his breath catching as his eyes scanned the clearing. Something was moving in the shadows, just beyond the reach of the faint moonlight that filtered through the trees.
He rose unsteadily to his feet, turning toward the sound. His pulse quickened as a figure emerged from the darkness, stepping into the clearing with slow, deliberate movements.
Nathaniel froze, his stomach twisting into knots.
It was his brother.
Or at least, it looked like him.
The figure was shrouded in shadow, its features indistinct, but the outline was unmistakable. Nathaniel's heart lurched at the sight—the same lean frame, the same familiar way of standing, shoulders slightly hunched as though bracing against the weight of the world. But there was something wrong, something off about the way the figure moved. It didn't seem entirely solid, its edges flickering like a candle's flame.
"Ben?" Nathaniel's voice trembled as he took a hesitant step forward. "Is that you?"
The figure didn't respond at first, simply standing there, watching. The shadows clung to it like a second skin, obscuring its face. But as Nathaniel drew closer, he saw them—eyes. Pale, hollow, and filled with an unrelenting sadness that cut through him like a knife.
"You left me." The voice was quiet, almost a whisper, but it carried through the clearing like a scream. It wasn't just a sound—it was a feeling, raw and jagged, tearing at the edges of Nathaniel's heart.
"I didn't," Nathaniel choked out, shaking his head. "I didn't leave you. I tried to—" His words faltered as the figure took another step forward, its movements jerky, unnatural.
"You didn't come back." The voice was louder now, filled with a grief that made Nathaniel's chest ache. "You left me in the dark. Alone."
Nathaniel's legs threatened to give way beneath him, but he forced himself to stand his ground. "I didn't know how to—" He broke off, his throat tightening. "I didn't know how to fix it. I was a kid. I was scared."
The figure tilted its head, the motion unnervingly slow. "And now?" it asked, its voice quieter, softer, but no less haunting. "What are you scared of now?"
Nathaniel opened his mouth to respond, but the words wouldn't come. What was he scared of? The truth? The guilt? Or was it the reality of standing here, face to face with his brother's spirit, knowing that no apology could ever undo what had happened?
"I'm sorry," he whispered again, his voice breaking. "I'm so sorry, Ben. For that night. For everything."
The figure stared at him for a long moment, unblinking, its hollow eyes seeming to pierce through him. Then, slowly, it raised a hand—thin and pale, the skin stretched tight over bone—and pointed toward the well.
Nathaniel's stomach twisted as he followed its gaze. The darkness inside the well seemed to deepen, pulsing faintly, like the slow, deliberate beat of a heart. A low hum rose from its depths, vibrating through the ground beneath his feet.
"What do you want me to do?" Nathaniel asked, his voice trembling. "How do I help you?"
The figure didn't answer, but the hum grew louder, more insistent, resonating in Nathaniel's chest. He turned back to his brother, desperation in his eyes. "Tell me what to do! Please, Ben!"
The figure's lips parted, but the words it spoke weren't what Nathaniel expected.
"You have to go back."
Nathaniel's heart skipped a beat. "Back? Back where? To that night?"
The figure didn't respond. Instead, it began to fade, its edges dissolving into the shadows. Nathaniel reached out instinctively, his hand passing through empty air as the figure disappeared completely.
"Ben!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the clearing. But there was no response. Only the hum of the well, growing louder, more insistent, pulling him forward like a siren's call.
Nathaniel turned toward the well, his hands trembling as he approached the edge once more. The darkness within seemed to writhe, twisting and coiling like a living thing. He peered over the edge, his breath catching in his throat as he realized what he had to do.
If he was going to save his brother—if he was going to set things right—he would have to face the past.
He would have to descend into the darkness.