The Secret in the Well

Finding people was Big Tom’s specialty. I gave him a nudge, hoping for a lead. He just waved me off, got in the car, and took me to the local station. Always had his own way of doing things.

I stared at the arm, trying to piece it together. Couldn’t shake the feeling we were missing something.

From a forensic angle, there weren’t many clues left. But a break like this, with both cut and torn marks, was unusual. Didn’t sit right with me.

The limb was mostly chopped off. More precisely, it was cut with a sharp tool. There were clear cut marks at the start, but looking closer, I found a small torn area at the joint. The torn part was small, the cut part big—easy to miss at first glance. Just weird.

How exactly did it come off? That question stuck in my head.

My first thought: after being cut, some tissue still held the limb on. Only after someone pulled hard did it finally tear away. That’s a nasty way to go.

Staring at that arm, I realized I’d missed something. Something obvious, maybe.

The two kids said they’d used a piece of iron to pry open the gate. But was that really possible?

But when I first checked, I noticed something off. At the time, it didn’t seem important, but now it bugged me. I couldn’t let it go.

The local officers had called the owner’s son. When he left home, for safety, he’d changed the yard gate lock. That means the lock should’ve been solid. A brand-new lock isn’t easy to pry open with just a piece of iron—could two kids really do it? Doubtful.

Exactly! That’s what we’d missed. The lock shouldn’t have been that easy.

Maybe the lock had already been opened before the kids showed up, but wasn’t totally busted and still looked usable, so they managed to pop it open. The kids said they couldn’t open the house door because those locks were still good. When we broke in, we saw that for ourselves. Someone else had been there first.

Someone else had been in that haunted yard before. No doubt about it.

“Do you believe in ghosts?” I asked Big Tom, who was puffing away nearby, cigarette glowing in the dusk.

“There are no ghosts in this world, don’t get spooked,” Big Tom said, but I could tell he was holding something back. It reminded me of something else I’d been meaning to ask.

“The neighbors say the hauntings happen at night. Why don’t we stake it out tonight?” I suggested, half-joking, half-serious.

Big Tom gave me a long, measuring look. “Alright, I’ll go with you.” No hesitation.

Looking back, we were pretty gutsy. Maybe a little stupid, too.

That night, Big Tom and I hid in the corner of the inner room. The place was pitch black, silent except for our breathing.

After dinner, we slipped over quietly. To keep it hush-hush, we didn’t even tell the local cops. Figured it was better that way.

At night, the old house was even damper, gloomier. The air was thick with the sour, musty stench of rot—like a basement that’s never seen sunlight. Made my nose wrinkle.

I checked my watch—it was past eleven. The house was dead quiet, only the frogs outside croaking in waves, the sound rising and falling like a lullaby gone wrong. I tried not to let my imagination run wild.

In the pitch-black room, Big Tom was like a ghost himself—I couldn’t even hear him breathe. It was eerie.

Suddenly, someone slapped me awake. I realized I’d almost nodded off. A shadow flashed in front of me and ran outside. My heart skipped a beat.

The shadow looked like Big Tom—he must’ve spotted something and was chasing after it. Or so I thought.

No wonder he slapped me. I hurried after him, my heart pounding. Couldn’t let him go alone.

Just as I ran out of the main room, I froze in place. Legs numb, brain racing.

I’d been squatting so long, my legs were numb. As I stumbled out, I stepped onto a raised platform nearby. Suddenly, I realized that from up there, I could see the whole yard. Handy spot.

In the dead of night, everything was black as pitch. By the faint starlight, I saw a woman in red leaning against the gate. My breath caught.