Morning Terror. #Horror

\nLooking

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 …

A close up of our Newt.

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?

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To read or visit other responses press This “empty”

Nothing, an empty desk, a crowded head,

Rumpled sheets on an empty bed.

A void, a hole, another missed goal.

A black cloud in a sunny space,

 A blank look, on an expressionless face.

An empty cupboard, an empty purse,

Hollow meannings in a hollow verse.

No energy to pick up my pen,

To use it for judging men.

An empty shell,

Nothing left

Just me,

Bereft.

 

A burst of verse, in response to the prompt. First I had to feel the word, have empathy, then … if I was nothing … what would I be? I am fortunately, not nothing. But did you like what I penned, was it fit for purpose? Let me know in the comments. I am full of chat. 😆😉

Nothing. Rag Tag Daily Prompt.