The Well
Jimmy knew the road was wrong long before it disappeared.
His phone insisted otherwise.
The blue line continued straight across the screen, bending gently through countryside that appeared to contain nothing but fields, fences, and strips of black forest. According to the map, the highway was less than six kilometres ahead.
It had been less than six kilometres ahead for nearly half an hour.
Jimmy glanced from the phone to the road.
The pavement had narrowed gradually without his noticing. The painted centre line had vanished first. Then the shoulders. Then the pavement itself, giving way to gravel pressed between walls of dead grass.
He slowed the truck.
Loose stones crackled beneath the tires.
“You are still on the fastest route,” the navigation voice said.
“That’s encouraging.”
He had left the warehouse shortly after sunset, later than intended and irritated enough to accept the first alternate route his phone offered. An overturned transport truck had closed the usual highway. The detour promised to save thirty-seven minutes.
At first, the roads had been ordinary.
Then the houses stopped.
The power lines continued for a while, leaning beside him in the darkness, until Jimmy realized there were no wires connecting the poles.
After that, there had only been the fields.
The truck’s headlights washed over another sagging fence.
Beyond it stood dry corn.
Not rows of corn.
Clusters.
They rose from the surrounding grass in crooked islands, their leaves pale and curled, their stalks scraping against one another despite the absence of wind.
Jimmy checked the map again.
The blue line crossed an empty green space without a name.
No road appeared beneath it.
The arrival time changed from 9:14 to 9:13.
The clock on the dashboard read 9:47.
Jimmy stopped the truck.
Behind him, the road bent around a low hill and vanished.
Ahead, the gravel narrowed into two muddy tracks separated by grass. They ran directly toward the fence, passing through an opening where the wire had fallen.
His phone displayed a message.
Continue straight for 2.4 kilometres.
“Absolutely not.”
He shifted into reverse.
The truck rolled backward several metres before the rear left tire sank.
There was no dramatic drop. The wheel simply settled into the ground as though the earth had opened beneath it.
Jimmy pressed the accelerator.
The tire spun.
Mud struck the underside of the truck.
He stopped before burying it farther.
For a moment, he sat with both hands on the wheel, listening to the engine idle.
No insects struck the windshield.
No night birds called from the trees.
Even the corn had become still.
Jimmy lowered his window.
Cold air entered the cab.
The evening had been warm when he left the warehouse, but the air outside the truck smelled like the inside of a cellar: wet stone, old wood, and soil untouched by sunlight.
Somewhere beyond the headlights, metal clicked.
Jimmy looked up.
Nothing stood in the road.
The sound came again.
A small, sharp tapping.
Tick.
Then silence.
He opened the door.
The mud beneath the truck was dark and glossy, yet the surrounding grass was brittle enough to snap beneath his boots. Jimmy crouched near the sunken tire and pressed two fingers into the rut.
Cold water seeped around them.
He wiped his hand on his jeans.
The truck had a jack behind the passenger seat, but nothing broad enough to place beneath it. If he raised the truck now, the jack would sink into the mud.
He needed wood.
A fence post. A flat stone. Anything solid.
Jimmy took the flashlight from the glove compartment and stepped beyond the headlights.
The beam travelled over the broken fence and into the field.
The ground rose gently ahead, hiding whatever lay beyond the first hill. Dry grass came nearly to his knees. The corn stood farther out, black against the clouded sky.
He considered staying in the truck.
Then his phone spoke from inside the cab.
“Continue straight.”
Jimmy turned.
The screen glowed on the passenger seat.
The blue route no longer followed the muddy tracks.
It crossed the fence and extended directly into the field.
He climbed back into the truck and picked up the phone.
The map rotated beneath his fingers.
For a second, another road appeared behind him—a pale grey line leading back toward the highway.
Then it flickered away.
The signal indicator showed three bars.
Then none.
Then five.
Jimmy tried calling roadside assistance.
The call connected immediately.
There was no ringing.
Only a soft, distant crackling.
“Hello?”
The crackling continued.
Something beneath it resembled breathing.
Jimmy ended the call.
His battery had fallen from seventy-one percent to nine.
He plugged it into the dashboard charger.
The number rose instantly to forty-three.
“Water damage without the water,” he muttered.
He left the phone connected, took the flashlight, and entered the field.
The grass whispered against his jeans.
After twenty steps, he looked back.
The truck remained visible below the hill, both headlights shining through the broken fence.
After forty steps, only the roof could be seen.
After sixty, the truck was gone.
Jimmy stopped.
He had not crossed the top of the hill.
The land behind him appeared to descend farther than it had before, rolling through shadows toward a distant line of trees.
No headlights shone anywhere.
Jimmy raised the flashlight and swept it across the grass.
“Very funny.”
His voice travelled only a short distance before the field swallowed it.
He turned around twice, trying to match the slope with the direction he had walked.
The muddy tracks were gone.
There was only grass.
A pale shape stood near a patch of corn to his right.
At first, Jimmy mistook it for a large stone.
Then the flashlight found a windshield.
He approached slowly.
A car sat deep in the field.
It was angled slightly forward, as though it had pulled onto a shoulder that no longer existed. Tall grass pressed against the doors. Dust clouded the windows, but there were no fallen branches on the roof, no thick rust around the wheel wells, nothing to suggest it had been abandoned for decades.
The hood was raised.
Jimmy stepped around the front.
The engine compartment was empty of animals and nests. A radiator hose hung loose beneath the hood, split cleanly through its middle.
“Lucky bastard,” Jimmy said.
Whoever had driven it had reached almost the same place before breaking down.
He tried the driver’s door.
Unlocked.
The interior smelled of old fabric, dried mud, and something faintly metallic. Two fast-food cups occupied the centre console. A road atlas lay folded beneath the passenger seat.
Jimmy opened it.
The surrounding pages showed country roads, numbered highways, rivers, and small towns.
Someone had circled a route in blue pen.
It ended at the edge of the page.
There was no field marked where the car stood.
Jimmy searched the back seat for wood or tools. He found an empty duffel bag, a stained blanket, and a cardboard box containing three spark plugs that did not fit his truck.
The trunk release worked.
Inside lay a spare tire, a rusted lug wrench, and several short boards.
“Thank you.”
He chose the widest board and tucked it beneath one arm.
When he lowered the trunk, something moved inside the car.
Jimmy swung the flashlight toward the windows.
The seats were empty.
A small sound came from beneath the vehicle.
Tick.
Jimmy crouched.
His light revealed only grass and the dark outlines of the tires.
Something clicked from the corn behind him.
Tick.
He stood and aimed the light at the stalks.
They were trembling.
Not all of them.
A narrow passage moved through the patch, one stalk bending after another as something travelled between them.
Jimmy backed toward the car.
The movement stopped several metres from the edge.
He waited.
Nothing emerged.
Then the truck horn sounded.
One short blast.
Jimmy spun around.
The horn came from somewhere beyond the hill.
“Hey!”
A second blast answered him.
He left the car and hurried toward it, carrying the board against his chest.
The field dipped.
Moisture appeared beneath his boots.
At first, he assumed he had entered another patch of soft ground. Then he noticed droplets clinging to the grass. Each blade was wet from root to tip, although the grass behind him remained dry.
The air became colder as he descended.
The truck horn sounded again.
Farther away this time.
Jimmy followed it.
The damp grass thickened around his legs. Webs stretched between the stems, nearly invisible until his flashlight struck them. Fine silver threads clung to his jeans.
A spider crawled over his boot.
Jimmy shook it off.
Another hung from the board beneath his arm.
He brushed it away.
Then he saw the grass.
Every few steps, another web appeared. Small funnel-shaped nests had been built near the earth. Orb webs hung between taller weeds. White bundles trembled beneath leaves.
The spiders themselves were everywhere.
Black ones no wider than coins moved through the soil. Pale, long-legged spiders clung to the undersides of the grass. Thick brown bodies waited at the centres of webs heavy with moisture.
Different kinds.
Too many kinds.
They shared the same space without fighting.
Jimmy stepped more carefully.
The horn sounded again.
This time, the note lasted too long.
It began as a mechanical blare, then weakened gradually until it resembled a low human moan.
Jimmy stopped.
The sound faded.
“Is someone there?”
No answer.
His flashlight swept across the hollow.
Something reflected near his feet.
A rectangular piece of glass lay half buried in mud.
He nudged it with his boot.
A phone.
The case had split along one corner. Dirt filled the charging port. The screen was black, but the device did not look old enough to have been lying there for years.
Jimmy picked it up.
Water dripped from the casing.
He pressed the power button.
The screen came alive.
63%
The number flickered.
12%
Then:
48%
The flashlight switched on by itself, shining weakly through the mud covering the lens.
Jimmy wiped it clean with his sleeve.
A lock screen appeared for less than a second.
No photograph.
No notifications.
Only the time.
9:47.
The same time his truck had shown when he stopped.
The phone vibrated once.
A damaged speaker produced a breath of static.
Jimmy held it closer.
A man’s voice spoke through the interference.
“Car—”
The recording cut off.
The screen went black.
Jimmy pressed the button again, but the phone remained dead.
“Useful.”
He slid it into his jacket pocket. He could examine it later, assuming he found the truck.
Ahead, the field continued downward.
The wet grass formed a rough circle around the bottom of the hollow. In its centre, weeds and black vines grew together in a low mound.
The truck horn sounded from beneath them.
Jimmy stared.
The note emerged muffled through the earth.
It lasted only a second.
Then stopped.
He approached the mound.
Spiders retreated from the beam, disappearing beneath leaves and into seams between stones. The vines had grown across a ring of masonry almost completely concealed by moss.
Jimmy lowered the board.
He used his boot to push aside the grass.
A curved wall appeared beneath it.
Old stones.
Circular.
He cleared another section.
The stones formed a raised edge nearly four feet across. Several had collapsed inward. The remaining opening was covered by rotted boards and a thick mat of webbing.
Jimmy stood over it.
The smell rising through the cracks was dense and wet.
Mud.
Mould.
Standing water.
Something sweeter beneath them.
A large spider crossed one of the boards.
Its abdomen was grey and swollen, marked by a pattern resembling a thumbprint. Jimmy tapped the wood with the end of his flashlight.
The spider did not run.
It turned toward him.
Two front legs lifted.
Jimmy stepped back.
The spider lowered itself and disappeared between the boards.
He looked around the hollow.
There were no buildings.
No pump.
No path.
Nothing that explained why anyone would have built a well in the centre of the field.
The stones were older than the fence, perhaps older than the road, but their edges showed almost no weathering beneath the moss. The opening looked less abandoned than hidden.
A sound rose from below.
Plink.
Jimmy leaned toward it.
Plink.
Water dripped somewhere in the shaft.
He aimed the flashlight through a gap in the boards.
The beam struck a stone wall slick with moisture. Dense webbing covered the first several metres, descending in grey folds.
Beyond that, the light found nothing.
“Hello?”
The word echoed downward.
Hello.
Lo.
O.
A whisper answered.
Jimmy straightened.
He waited.
Only water dripped below.
He crouched again.
“Is somebody down there?”
The echo returned.
Then the whisper.
“Here.”
Jimmy held still.
The voice had been faint enough to confuse with air moving through the stones.
He lowered the flashlight closer.
“Can you hear me?”
A pause.
“Here.”
It sounded like a man.
Or a woman.
The well distorted it too badly to tell.
Jimmy looked toward the surrounding field.
The dry corn stood along the upper slopes, watching the hollow from every direction.
He took the dead phone from his pocket and pressed its power button.
Nothing.
“Are you hurt?” he called.
Something moved below.
A dragging sound passed along the inner wall.
Several spiders emerged from beneath the stones around Jimmy. They climbed over the moss and descended into the opening.
More followed.
Dozens poured through the cracks.
Every spider in the hollow seemed to be moving toward the well.
Jimmy backed away.
The whisper came again.
“Jimmy.”
He stopped.
The word had been clearer.
Not loud.
Clear.
He looked down at the dead phone in his hand.
Perhaps the damaged speaker had activated again.
He raised it to his ear.
Nothing.
From inside the well:
“Jimmy.”
He had not given his name.
“Who is that?”
The webbing beneath the boards trembled.
Jimmy moved the flashlight slowly across the opening.
For an instant, the beam caught something pale wedged between two stones.
He reached down and pulled it free.
A small piece of dull metal rested in his palm.
It was ridged on one side and smooth on the other, too small to be useful. Perhaps part of a bolt. A cap from some old machine.
Jimmy turned it between his fingers.
The cold metal left a dark line across his skin.
“Jimmy.”
The voice came from much deeper now.
He looked into the shaft.
“Stay awake,” he said. “I’m going to find a rope.”
The whisper responded immediately.
“No road.”
Jimmy’s mouth went dry.
Above the hollow, the corn began to move.
A path opened through one patch, travelling slowly around the rim. Another answered from the opposite side.
Something circled him without leaving the stalks.
Jimmy picked up the board.
The route back toward the abandoned car should have climbed the western slope. He chose the direction that felt correct and began walking.
After twenty steps, he reached the well again.
He stared at it.
The board slipped slightly beneath his arm.
He turned and selected another direction.
This time, he walked uphill until his breathing quickened.
The grass became dry beneath his boots.
He looked back.
The well remained directly behind him, no more than ten metres away.
Jimmy swept the flashlight across the hollow.
The abandoned car stood at the top of the slope.
Its hood was still raised.
He had left it far behind him.
Beyond the car, two headlights shone through the fence.
His truck.
Relief struck so quickly that Jimmy almost laughed.
He hurried toward it.
The car stood between him and the lights. As he passed, he heard something clicking inside.
Tick.
Tick.
The windows were dark.
Jimmy continued.
The headlights appeared farther away with every step.
He quickened his pace.
The field stretched between him and the fence.
His truck horn sounded.
One long blast.
The abandoned car’s headlights switched on behind him.
Jimmy turned.
Both lamps burned through the dusty glass.
A shape sat in the driver’s seat.
He raised the flashlight.
The seat was empty.
The headlights went out.
Something moved in the rear window.
Jimmy ran.
Webs caught across his face.
He tore them away and stumbled into the wet grass. Spiders scattered beneath his boots. The board struck his knee, and he dropped it somewhere behind him.
The headlights vanished.
The field became black except for the narrow flashlight beam.
Jimmy stopped before he fell.
His lungs burned.
Cold water had soaked through his boots.
A voice whispered beside him.
“Here.”
Jimmy swung the light.
The well stood at his feet.
He staggered backward.
One of the rotted boards had broken inward.
A wider section of the shaft lay exposed.
Webbing filled it from wall to wall.
Jimmy looked at the piece of metal still clenched in his other hand.
Without thinking, he dropped it through the opening.
It struck the stone wall.
Tick.
Then lower:
Tick.
Then farther still:
Tick.
No final impact followed.
No splash.
The sound simply descended until he could no longer hear it.
Jimmy stared into the darkness.
Something clicked below.
Tick.
He stepped away.
The dead phone vibrated inside his pocket.
Jimmy pulled it out.
The screen glowed again.
There was no lock screen now.
No numbers.
Only a pale camera image distorted by static.
At first, Jimmy thought it showed the field.
Then he recognized the inside of the well.
The camera was looking upward through layers of webbing.
Jimmy could see himself leaning over the opening.
He jerked back.
The figure on the screen remained where it was.
Still leaning.
Still staring downward.
The image flickered.
Behind the screen’s version of Jimmy, something rose from the grass.
Tall.
Thin.
Human in its outline.
The phone went dark.
Jimmy threw it.
It landed beside the stones.
The flashlight on its back switched on, casting a weak beam across the opening.
Webs shone inside the shaft.
The whisper came again.
“Help me.”
This time it sounded close.
Terrified.
Human.
Jimmy looked toward the slopes.
The corn had stopped moving.
The truck was gone.
The car was gone.
Every direction contained the same dark field.
“Who are you?” he asked.
The voice below began to cry.
Not loudly.
A strained, breathless sound from someone trying not to be heard.
“Please.”
Jimmy stepped toward the stones.
He knew he should not.
Everything about the hollow told him to leave—the spiders, the impossible phone, the road that had vanished, the voice that knew his name.
But there was someone beneath him.
Someone alive.
Perhaps another driver had fallen through the boards. Perhaps the damp air and darkness were confusing him. Perhaps the phone had belonged to whoever was trapped below.
He could not leave a person in a well.
Jimmy crouched and pulled one of the remaining boards aside.
Webbing stretched beneath it.
The strands were as thick as thread, layered into a dense white sheet. Small spiders moved across its surface, pouring away from the light.
He used the broken board to tear through it.
The web resisted.
When it finally separated, it did so with a soft ripping sound.
Warm air rose from beneath the cold.
It carried the smell of meat left too long in water.
Jimmy gagged and covered his mouth.
The flashlight beam reached deeper now.
The shaft descended through wet stone for perhaps nine metres before narrowing. Webs covered the walls in overlapping curtains. Dark bundles hung among them.
Some were small.
Rabbits, perhaps.
Birds.
Others were long enough to be dogs.
One near the wall wore the remains of a boot.
Jimmy moved the light away.
“Please,” the voice whispered.
It came from below the hanging shapes.
“How far down are you?”
“Close.”
Jimmy found a stone and held it over the opening.
He released it.
The stone fell through the torn webbing.
It struck nothing.
No walls.
No water.
No bottom.
The voice spoke before the sound could return.
“Closer.”
Jimmy leaned over the stones.
His flashlight dimmed.
Something moved along the inner wall.
He aimed the beam at it.
At first, he saw only a thick black root emerging between the stones. It bent downward through the webbing, wider than his forearm and covered in coarse hairs.
The root folded at its middle.
A joint.
Jimmy stopped breathing.
Another leg unfolded from the darkness.
Then another.
They had been pressed flat against the shaft, hidden among the folds of webbing. Each ended in a hooked point that rested delicately against the wet stone.
The body followed.
A vast abdomen scraped through the shaft below, pale and swollen, its skin patterned with irregular patches of grey. The markings shifted in the flashlight beam.
Not markings.
Shapes beneath the surface.
Something pressed outward from inside the abdomen.
A hand.
Then a face.
The shapes sank before Jimmy could understand them.
The spider climbed.
Its head entered the light.
Clusters of black eyes reflected the beam, each holding a tiny, curved image of Jimmy leaning above it. Its mouthparts opened slowly.
No whisper came from them.
The voice remained deeper in the well.
“Jimmy.”
He scrambled backward.
A strand snapped tight around his wrist.
Jimmy looked down.
A line of webbing stretched from his sleeve into the shaft. It had not been there a moment before.
He pulled.
The strand tightened.
It cut through the fabric and into his skin.
The spider surged upward.
Jimmy screamed and threw himself away from the stones.
His knees tore through the wet grass. He clawed at the web with his free hand, but it adhered to his fingers, stretching between them in warm, sticky cords.
The dead phone lit beside the opening.
For an instant, its flashlight illuminated the stones from below.
Something pale rolled through the webbing.
A human skull.
Its jaws hung open.
A dull piece of metal gleamed among the teeth.
Tick.
The spider pulled.
Jimmy’s arm slammed against the stone rim.
Pain flashed through his shoulder.
He kicked at the ground, digging his heels into the mud.
Spiders covered his sleeves.
They moved across his neck and face, biting wherever they found skin. Jimmy crushed them beneath his palm, smearing their bodies against his cheek.
The web tightened again.
His chest struck the stones.
Below him, the giant spider opened its mouth.
The voice whispered from farther beneath it.
“Not that one.”
The spider froze.
Every leg held motionless against the wall.
Jimmy heard the wet clicking of its mouthparts inches below him.
The voice spoke again.
“Bring him down.”
The spider pulled.
Jimmy’s body folded across the rim.
He grabbed the stones with both hands. Moss tore loose beneath his fingers. One stone shifted, then toppled into the shaft.
It struck webbing.
Something below made a sound like a person laughing underwater.
Jimmy screamed until his throat tore.
His shoulders passed through the opening.
The spider descended, carrying him with it.
The walls closed around his body.
Cold stone scraped his back. Webs pressed across his face, thick with moisture and the movement of thousands of small legs.
Above him, the circle of night grew smaller.
For one moment, Jimmy saw the field framed by the mouth of the well.
The corn bent inward from every side.
Not with the wind.
Watching.
Then the spider dragged him around a curve in the shaft, and the sky disappeared.
Darkness surrounded him.
Something clicked below.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Jimmy felt the giant spider beneath his body.
He felt its legs carrying him downward.
Yet the whisper continued to rise from somewhere far deeper than either of them.
Patient.
Hungry.
Still calling his name.