Don't Open The Well

by Anderson, Kirk

  “It’s fairly simple, Michael,” Antonio said softly. “You either spend the rest of your short-ass life in agony, as my boys inflict revenge for our man you murdered, or you help us hide the occasional body in your well. It’s your call.”

  Antonio’s fingers drummed impatiently on the kitchen table top as he regarded Michael. The man had piercing brown eyes, predator-like. Michael killed when he had to – this man killed for fun. Or at least he ordered the killings.

  This was not a negotiation and there were no options. Michael acquiesced.

  ----------

  They only showed up once every few months, much to Michael’s relief, and he began to forget about the unwelcome intruders. He would eventually start treating them like any other customer dropping off a body. They’d deposit the payload in a body bag and Michael would simply place it on the gurney and dispose of it in the body-filled well.

  Things were going quite well for Michael. That is, until Antonio paid him another visit. This time, Antonio was accompanied by a shifty looking man in his fifties. He was introduced as Dr. Chalmers, an associate of Antonio’s.

  The good doctor was doing illegal human experiments, and needed a place to dispose of the bodies. Michael didn’t care why he was dumping bodies; he just wanted him to stay out of his way. By now, Michael had accepted that he was no longer alone in his crimes, and in fact, it actually made him feel more secure knowing that what he was doing was less macabre than the actions of these men who had suddenly shown up unannounced on his property.

  He wondered what his father would make of all this. No doubt he would disapprove.

  That’s why it was you that went into the furnace and not me…

  Michael accepted Antonio’s offer, and this one ‘was’ generous. Antonio was giving him a cut of the money this doctor was paying for the body disposal service, and the money was ‘very’ good.

  In time Michael forgot about the added danger and began to enjoy his extra cash, making additions to his tree house.

  Every few weeks, like clockwork, the scientist would arrive early in the morning, flanked by a couple of Antonio’s men. They would always drop the body off in the proper body bag, and Michael disposed of it just like any other, no questions asked. The well was becoming increasingly full with the bodies, but he still had enough room for at least another few months of bodies, and per Antonio’s suggestion, when the well did fill, Antonio offered to send a couple of his guys and a cement truck to make sure that no one ever discovered their secret.

  ----------

  Late one night, Michael was awoken by the incessant honking of a car horn outside his house. He climbed down the ladder from his tree home, and saw the doctor waving his arms at him frantically, his white lab coat splattered with deep ruby red liquid, and Michael realized it must have been blood.

  “Hurry,” the doctor shouted. “Help me get him into the well!”

  “Wait a second,” Michael interrupted. “Where are Antonio’s guys?”

  “I’ll give you five-thousand dollars right now if you just help me. No more questions. Do you understand?”

  The doctor’s eyes were wide and darting madly to the left and right as if he feared something or someone were tracking him.

  Michael nodded, thoughts of the money driving him on. They lifted the body bag from the trunk of the doctor’s car, and as they did, Michael could have sworn he felt the body move, shifting slightly in his hands like a grounded fish. He stopped for a moment, a sudden realization washing over him – this was no body, whoever it was in there was still alive. Maybe they hadn’t finished him off.

  Michael instinctively reached for the zipper but before he could, the doctor’s hand immediately clamped over his.

  “No, don’t!”

  “But whoever it is, they are still alive. You want to dump a live one in there?” Michael said, barely believing what the doctor was about to do.

  “Just don’t ‘open’ that bag … please … just do as I ask,” the doctor said, his voice breaking as if he were terrified of something.

  For a split second Michael looked at him, seeing the fear in his watery eyes and the way his attention flitted around as if searching for danger – what danger?

  Seeing this, the doctor reached into the trunk filled with equipment and a large suitcase, and pulled out a black gym bag. He opened it, and it was stuffed with cash. He pulled one stack out, a band around it had “$5,000” printed on the label. He tossed it at Michael, and Michael slipped the stack into his pocket and began to wheel the gurney towards the well.

  No questions asked. Whoever it was in there, they would be dead by morning anyway, suffocation likely to kill them, so Michael couldn’t care less.

  At the well, Michael was removing the lock and chain when the body in the bag began to thrash around manically, bumping into his legs again and again as whoever was inside sought to escape. Michael said nothing as he lifted the body from the gurney and positioned it on the edge of the well, ready to be dumped into the darkness below with the other rotting remains.

  Just as he was about to release the body, sending it tumbling into the mass of flesh below, he felt the man inside the bag grab onto his wrist viciously, twisting his flesh through the rubber – the grip was like a vice. Michael screamed and pushed the bag over the side, yanking his hand away in the process.

  “What the fuck, doc?” he screamed, rounding on the doctor.

  “Don’t ask, Michael … just don’t ask,” the doctor said, his voice low, almost a whisper as though he were afraid the person in the bag would hear him.

  The doctor hurriedly got back into his car and drove off into the night, leaving Michael to wonder just who or ‘what’ they had deposited into his well.

  He never saw the doctor again after that night.

  Chapter 10

  A few days passed from the strange events of that night and Michael was opening the well to deposit Mrs. Carmody, a local school teacher, to her final resting place amongst the stinking heap. That’s when he heard it the first time, a deep monotone moan that was filled with anger and rage. Shutting it out of his mind, Michael dropped the body into the well and quickly sealed it, his hands shaking with fear.

  Something was wrong in there. What was it they had disposed of? How was it still alive?

  Michael had stopped soliciting new business weeks ago, but the bodies continued to flow due to prearranged contracts with several funeral homes and government agencies. He couldn’t stop, even though he desperately wanted to.

  Every few days, he’d be back at the well to make his next deposit, and every few days the moans increased in volume and tempo. He swore he could see movement down there in the dimness of the interior, the uppermost bodies quivering and shifting slightly as though something below them was fighting to reach the surface – and then what?

  Sleep didn’t come easy for Michael after that. He would stay awake at night, watching at the window looking over the property, watching the well cover for any signs that something might be trying to escape but nothing moved – for a while.

  Late one evening, as Michael bathed high up in his tree home, he opened a window to let some of the cool night air in and as he did so, he suddenly heard a loud, rhythmic pounding coming from somewhere nearby. Hurriedly, he threw on some clothes, all the while fighting against the cold fear that surged through him.

  He knew what it was… and from where it emanated – THE WELL.

  He arrived at the covered and chained well to discover that the wooden seal was shuddering hard, the metallic clang of the heavy chains grating on his nerves as he placed his hands atop the shuddering wood, barely believing what he was seeing.

  “Hello?” he called out, his voice turning high-pitched like a young boy.

  At the sound of his voice, a horrible series of shrieks and howls erupted from within the well, echoing against the stone walls like a terrible orchestra of horror, and the cover began shuddering even harder against the chains as something below soug
ht to escape. Michael’s stomach dropped when he saw the crack begin to form across the wooden cover. They were breaking through.

  He knew what it was now. The bodies he had disposed of were finally coming back for him, to punish him.

  “Ain’t no good thing you can’t turn rotten.”

  Michael knew they were coming. They were trying to escape. They’d all been denied their final requests for an honest cremation and for their ashes to be scattered and given to the wind. Now the well had granted them all one final wish, and it was a wish that involved Michael – he knew it.

  They wanted him.

  He threw himself on top of the jarring cover, trying to prevent it being battered apart, but even with his weight added, the cover was being viciously smashed to pieces from underneath him. He felt the wood giving way as it split in two. Rolling off, he landed in the dirt. As he scrambled to his feet, he could already see the rotted arms bursting through the wood into the shafts of moonlight beaming through the canopy of trees.

  Turning around, he sprinted through the trees towards his home, knowing that if he could get to it, he could retract the ladder and the angry spirits wouldn’t be able to get near him. Just as he broke through the clearing, however, Antonio’s BMW tore onto the dirt road, illuminating Michael in its high beams and blinding him, causing him to throw up his arm to shield his eyes from its glare.

  Antonio and three large bodyguards jumped out of the car, their guns drawn.

  “Where is he?” Antonio asked; his voice filled with menace. “His assistant said he came here and didn’t return. What did you do with him you sick piece of shit! You killed him, didn’t you?” Antonio said, his gun pointed at Michael’s chest.

  “No… the doc? He came here days ago and dumped a body, it wasn’t even a body, it was still moving…” Michael stammered, struggling to form the words.

  Antonio nodded, lowering his weapon in frustration. “So that’s what he did with patient zero? I see, but now we have to kill you and add you to that pile of stinking flesh in there – you know too much.”

  Michael knew they were going to kill him, but he didn’t care. Those things were about to descend upon them anyway and if the moans from within were anything to go by, they were angry… and hungry.

  Still, one last ray of hope sliced through his mind. In the next few minutes, if he could get away, he might yet forget all this and start a new life. With the savings he had, he could retire and hide away for the rest of his life – Mexico sounded nice.

  Turning, he headed into the woods quickly, before Antonio and his men could react.

  “Don’t let him get away!”

  Michael heard the bullets whizzing by, and then felt one slam into his right shoulder, sending him screaming and tumbling to the ground hard, slamming his temple into a tree root. He immediately rolled back onto his feet, and began running again at full speed. The bullets were still flying, but no longer in his direction.

  The bodies had caught up with them.

  “The fuck?” Antonio said aloud as he and his bodyguards unloaded into the howling mob running their way. “Is that Sammy Tucci? I killed that scum myself!”

  The bodyguards continued to fire on the crowd, but as they drew near, it quickly became apparent that it wasn’t people they were dealing with – the bodies of all those they had slain were coming for them, rotted hands outstretched and grasping air.

  “Jesus Christ…” Antonio breathed, stumbling backwards towards the car.

  Antonio took a defensive position behind his men, but as the monsters rushed their position, he made a run for it, leaving his three bodyguards to be overrun by the relentless charge of the rotting carcasses that should have been rotting inside the well.

  Antonio saw Michael slipping into the crematorium just as the screams of his dying men hit his ears. He leapt into the driver’s seat and turned the key, and when his headlights illuminated the scene before him, he proceeded to vomit all over the steering wheel. Piece by piece, his men were being eaten alive by dozens of snarling corpses, each one more rotted and disfigured than the next.

  Antonio punched the gas, and just as he swung the BMW back onto the dirt road, Sammy Tucci was standing there waiting. Antonio tried to swerve, but lost control and careened into a tree at full speed, the front of the vehicle crumpled in on itself and Antonio’s head slammed against the steering wheel hard.

  He tried in vain to wipe all of the blood out of his eyes, but he was having a hard time figuring out where all it was coming from. Suddenly, through the sticky red liquid he saw a mottled pair of hands reaching through the shattered hole in the windshield and he screamed. The hands grabbed him by his hair and the lapel of his tailored suit, savagely yanking him through the jagged hole as though he were nothing more than a doll.

  On his back, pinned by the monstrous strength of the rotted corpse atop him, Antonio managed to look up into the face of his attacker – it was Sammy.

  “No Sammy,” Antonio pleaded, as Sammy’s rotted lips curled back in a snarl. This thing that had once been human – a human Antonio had shot and killed – readied its rotted jaws.

  “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

  And with one vicious motion, the left side of Antonio’s face now hung from the blood-streaked mouth of his old partner Sammy Tucci. Sammy, it appeared, reveled in the taste for just a moment as his head cocked to the side. The beast chewed the ragged flesh, before going back for more.

  Chapter 11

  Even through the door, Michael could hear their insistent screams.

  He knew he was next. There was little here he could defend himself with, so instead, he hid in the one place he thought they might not find him.

  Michael climbed inside the long vacant chamber of the body incinerator.

  The monsters were already at the door of the crematorium, and as they slammed their bodies against the door hard enough to rattle it in its frame, Michael slipped feet-first into the incinerator’s main compartment. He pulled the door closed behind him just as the main door to the building broke inward, sending an army of ravenous ghouls shrieking down the corridor.

  Michael held the door shut tightly as the vengeful spirits piled into the main furnace room of the crematorium. Now the sounds of a dozen fists beating away wildly at the door to the furnace was deafening and he wondered just how long he could stay that way inside this chamber that had consumed so much flesh.

  How ironic, he thought, that he should be locked away inside the crematorium, assaulted by the hordes of corpses that should have been there instead.

  He screamed for them to leave him alone, but there was no such luck. The noise continued. As he gripped onto the handle, pulling it downwards with all of his strength in an effort to stop them from opening the door, he suddenly realized there was nothing pulling back on it. The creatures were not seeking to reach him inside the furnace.

  Removing his hands from the rusted, burnt handle, he stared at it, confused.

  Why?

  Suddenly, Michael heard a sound he’d not heard in years. It was that rushing whoosh of gas followed by the steady click of the starter.

  “No…”

  In less than a second, every last bit of breath was ripped from Michael’s lungs as the fire erupted all around him, hot upon his skin. He pushed at the door with all his strength, but it was pinned closed – they hadn’t sought to get to him, they had meant to keep him in there while he burned. In one horrific instant he felt the skin on his arms and legs beginning to bubble up and peel away as he screamed in silent agony. His hair curled in on itself before it fell away as ash.

  Michael stopped trying to scream, he could no longer take in any oxygen before the fire ignited it. His body began to quake violently, the pain incredible and absolute – a single second that seemed to stretch on forever.

  In his final flash, he remembered his safe place – his sycamore tree and tried to go there again, but when he did, it too was in flames. Burned away, just like everything else he’d ever
loved.

  As his body shut down; the darkness quickly swamping his consciousness, Michael prayed that hell was no worse than the furnace of his crematorium.

  The End

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  THE SAVAGE SERIES

  Episode 1: Savage Dawn

  Christopher West is an engineering student, moonlighting as an exotic dancer and struggling to make ends meet in order to care for his drug addicted mother. A young man of both Native American and Caucasian ancestry, when tragedy strikes he is torn between powerful forces representing two worlds.

  A SHORT EXCERPT:

  Expecting the same treatment as he had received all those years before during his Uncle’s funeral, Chris stepped out of the car and headed across the half-empty parking lot, eyes watching for the tell-tale signs that meant he was entering territory he was not welcome on. Around the entrance to the casino, a few shady looking characters loitered in the shadows, eyeing him as he made his way towards the doors and he wondered what they were doing until one called out to him, “Hey, kid. What you looking for?”

  The voice had an unfriendly quality to it and Chris turned towards the sound, expecting to be berated for being different or encroaching upon land that he didn’t belong on, but instead the figure, wearing jeans and a baggy shirt waved him over.