Chapter Three – The Well
I never knew the restaurant would be so crowded, let alone that my arrival would silence the place. If I had, I would've stayed home. Nothing worse than being the odd one out.
But whatever.
I ignored the stares, marched to the counter, ordered, and sat down with my book clenched tightly in my hand. The eyes didn't leave me, not even when the waiter brought my plate. I tried to focus on the food, convincing myself that maybe I was imagining the attention.
By the time I finished eating, the stares still lingered. Their lips moved in silent conversations I couldn't hear.
I dropped money on the counter, paid quickly, and tried to shake the unease as I stepped outside.
That's when I noticed him—a young boy, maybe eight or nine, wandering by himself. His movements were peculiar, not playful like a child's, but deliberate, like he knew exactly where he was going.
Something about him tugged at me. Against my better judgment, I followed.
He led me away from the silence of the street, down a narrow path I didn't remember seeing before. And there, behind rusted iron gates half-buried in vines, I found it—
A garden.
It was beautiful in a strange way. Flowers I'd never seen before grew wild, their petals a shade too bright, their fragrance thick in the air, dizzying. The grass shimmered faintly like it had been dusted with glass. At the center stood an old stone well, its walls cracked but unyielding, its mouth dark and bottomless.
The boy approached it with steady steps. He pulled a few coins from his pocket and tossed them into the black water. The sound was strange—it wasn't the light plink of metal hitting water. It was heavy, like the coins were swallowed.
Annoyed, I stepped forward.
"You know it isn't right to just toss money away like that," I scolded. "There are people who actually need it. Beggars on the street who could use every coin."
The boy turned to me slowly, his smile small, knowing.
"This is a very old well," he said. His voice was calm, too calm for a child. "It's said that in exchange for something valuable, it will grant you a wish."
He tilted his head, studying me with eyes far too sharp for his age. "And what's more valuable than money?"
His words hung in the air. I opened my mouth, then closed it, staring at the well. Something about its darkness pulled at me. It wasn't just a hole in the ground—it was alive, breathing, waiting.
My fingers loosened around my book. Absentmindedly, I set it on the stone rail of the well.
"Even so, kid, you can't just—"
I stopped.
The boy was gone.
I spun, scanning the garden. Empty. The path behind me was deserted. The flowers swayed, but no footsteps echoed, no laughter, no retreating figure.
It was as if he had never been there at all.
My stomach dropped.
I turned back to the well, my book still resting on the rail, its pages fluttering in a breeze I couldn't feel on my skin. I stared into the abyss below, my reflection rippling faintly on the surface—or was it? The water seemed too dark, too thick. The reflection staring back at me didn't blink when I did.
The silence pressed in.
I should've left. I knew I should've. But instead, I leaned closer, heart hammering, eyes locked on the dark water that seemed to whisper without sound.
I sighed, trying to shake the feeling, but my feet stayed planted. My curiosity dug its claws in.
And for the first time, I wondered—
what would I give up for a wish?