Looking out my back door I see the well, my eyes are drawn in its direction. I hear a clinking of the chain. A bitter taste hits my tongue, sticky liquid begins burning the back of my throat. I stare harder until the frosty air pinches my nose and makes my eyes water. I push my feet into the wellies left by the door. Again the chain shakes, a frantic determined rattle. With sweaty palms pressed into my dressing gown pockets, I place one foot on the deck and slowly creep forward.
My ears hurt at the clatter! The heavy lid begins to rise, only an inch, but enough to for me to see gnarled fingers at its edge. There’s a scream, then I realise it came from me. pyjama clad legs get cold, my wellingtons fill, which force fogged air to escape. I wobble as the stench of urine made me gag! The lid slammed closed. Forward I go across the lawn, trembling, with each crunch that the morning frost makes underfoot. One more sudden rattle and fear for myself vanished. Faster I ran, and as the sound became louder my breath quickened. The rusted chain stilled as I put out my hand. I tugged the heavy lid upwards. Both hands grasped the rusted ring. It raised a crack. “Whose there? Can you push? I can’t lift, it’s too heavy.” I cried. I feel veins bulge in my neck and blood pump in my ears as I force the lid, blood filled my mouth with each tug. Teeth biting down on flesh. Gritty rust particles bore into my hands biting, burying deep into my soft flesh.
I run to the shed, face wet with sweat and tears, grabbed a hoe to wedge its handle through the ring. With all my strength I pushed, until finally, it lifted. I leap back at the sound of a splsh, and scan the crystal clear water beneath. Bubbles broke the surface, then a sigh. Two Newts were the only occupants of our well. When John wakes he won’t be best pleased, having to repair the hinges and mend the cracked oak lid. Frowning I looked once more into the abyss below, but there is nothing, just cold, clear, water, and a pair of Newts. As I turned to face the door I whipped back my head, just in time to see deep rents in the underside of the lid begin to fill, until they vanished …
That was my response to the #RagTagDailyPrompt which today was, ‘ looking out of my back door’ press here to join in or read other fantastic tales.
Did I scare, did I paint the picture clear? Answers in the comments, please.
P.S. what would scare you?
I’m a thriller reader and enjoyed this. I do think there’s more than newts down there though…
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Very possible …
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This is really very entertaining…i was a bit scared at firtst though..lol..
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It scared me writing it 😜
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Hahaha..that’s interesting to know..
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It was very sensory and quite scary, Ellen, until it ended up being poor little newts. Ha ha. Nice twist there, too.
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Thank you for coming x and good luck with your children’s book.x
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No, it didn’t frighten me, but nonetheless, it was an interesting tale, and your descriptions do you and your writing a lot of credit. I’m one of those people who does not get frightened by anything (apart from politicians). If you’d found a politician in that well, I’d have been terrified.
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Haaha! I only get scared by actualities. Things that have or really can happen scare me witless. The bloated corpse of a failed politician … that would do it for me too. Xx
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A great scary tale Ellen 🙂 I didn’t wet my pants though. That did make me laugh. Thanks for a glimpse out of your backdoor
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Bugger! You should have been scared. 😉
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A tad frightened perhaps 🙂
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😈😉
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Excellent scary fiction.
Very well written.
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Now you take some convincing where scare comes in. Thank you xx
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That’s a great story well done, (see what I did , well done) you had me going there 🥴💜💜
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I had me going when I peed in my boots! I didn’t see that coming 😂😁
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No neither did your wellies or else they’d of moved 😁💜
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Haaaha!
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💜💜💜😁😁😁😁
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Fabulous short fiction
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Thanks for coming and taking the time. X
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