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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1960859-Wishing-Well
Rated: 18+ · Short Story · Dark · #1960859
Some wishes are worth hoping for.
         Jack had the gas pedal to the floorboard, his Ford truck spinning down the gravel road in a frantic dance of sand and steel. Grime and sweat painted his distorting face, as his eyes twitched and strained to make sense of the spiraling path that lead towards his lonely cabin.
         Jesus give me time ...
         His thoughts were already beginning to convulse. His head shook as visions of his wife and daughter began to melt into a landscape of unspeakable carnage and crimson wrath. He fought back against the growing darkness inside of him the only way he knew how.
         "AAAUUGGHH!" As his scream echoed inside of the truck's cabin, blood poured into his mouth. His now swelling tongue inched back into its cave, away from the painful betrayal of his new incisors.
         There you go you sick Fuck! Drown in me!
         A terrible calm began to sink in, as he quietly swallowed one iron rich stream after another. Disgusted, his tears soon followed as he began to realize that time was most definitely not on his side, nor was Jesus. But something else was. Its appetite only awakening, it was an appetite that he feared more than God himself.
         Just a hundred yards more ... I can make it!
         Dusk was beginning to settle into a frigid evening as Jack hastily swung his truck between two rows of pine trees, skidding on to the uneven drive that led up to his cabin. Once being a refuge for his writing, it was now a secluded prison for his deepest fear.
         Only he wasn't the only one here. A large black Range Rover was parked near the west side, the same one that he and his wife had bought together two years ago.
         No! How?
         He slammed on to his brakes, causing the front end of the truck to skid violently into the base of the nearest pine tree, finally stopping about seventy feet from the cabin's front door.
         Pain seared in his side as blood now poured from his forehead as well as his mouth. He slowly gazed up towards the cabin, praying that Vicky was still oblivious to his arrival, praying that she had not brought their daughter Sarah along. The latter was doubtful.
         Nothing. The cabin was dark, only the cicadas marked his arrival with their dissonant chanting.
         Run ... I have to get away now! Oh Vicky Why?
         The truck was useless now, as steam rose eerily from the front end. Jack clamored awkwardly to get out, his sanity beginning to fade with every movement.
         Run!
         But... where? Where the hell can I ...
         The wishing well.
         Of Course! It's deep ...
         The old well was built, or so the realtor had said, around the turn of the century. Dry for about as long, it had held a quiet fascination for his young wife, a place to relax during her pregnancy. When Sarah was born, Jack had even fixed up a small gazebo at its edge, just for her and Sarah to be a bit more comfortable.
         His stomach burning with an unearthly hunger, Jack began to painfully make his way towards the southern end of the property. He wondered if he'd even survive the fall. Better to not think about it. Better for Vicky and Sarah.
         Besides, he knew It would.
         The well now stood in front of Jack harboring a new hope. He peered into its depths wondering if it was truly deep enough to save them all.
         It would...
         It Will
         Kill... Them... All
         Then as a terrible warmth burst inside of his brain, and a snarl formed on his lips, Jack leapt into the darkness, his only fading wish to awaken to sunlight in the pit below.
         Alone.


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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1960859-Wishing-Well