"The Brennen Well" by Catriona Mowat

The Brennen Well

by Catriona Mowat

The house had always been there. On the hill above the town, it had loomed over them, a dark presence that no one could shake. It had been twenty years since the previous owners mysteriously vanished without a word, their possessions left behind as if they had just stepped into another room. But they never came back. For two decades, the house had waited, holding its breath, but no one had come to claim it. 

The children of the town had talked of ghosts and creatures in the night, daring each other to knock on the peeling and faded door, peek in the dirt-crusted windows, and even spend a night. Over time many had gone. Few had come back. 

Kyle looked at the house on the hill, his fifteen years giving him a sense of bravery. He had spent his life looking for answers, for his brother Drew who had disappeared five years before after a night up there. He would find out what happened, whatever it took. 

***

“Come on, Danny, let’s go!” His voice was impatient, 

“Jeez, what’s the hurry, Kyle? You know I don’t wanna go anyway, stop rushing me.”

Kyle whipped his head round to look at Danny as he trailed behind on the hill, his face red and cheeks puffed with exertion. It was steeper than he had expected, and a scowl played on his lips. Kyle sighed. “Why’d you come, then? The sooner we get there, the sooner we’ll be done.”

Danny stopped, his eyes shining in the late afternoon sunlight. “I wouldn’t leave you on your own. Not there.” They both softened, silent apologies shared in a half smile. After a moments rest, they carried on. 

The house was a two-storey house with tall ceilings, arched windows, and dark stone walls. A rickety wooden porch extended in front of the door, faded and leaning. Once it must have been a grand manor, now as the paint had dimmed and flaked, it looked like a ruin. Moss and ivy covered the cracks that now showed in the mortar of the walls, a shock of green that covered the side of the house facing them, blocking out the windows save for a small circular section of glass in the window nearest the door. The door had long-since fallen from its hinges, flakes of blue paint scattered across the rotting porch. A piece of plywood had been propped up against the door, with no real regard to security. After all, why would anyone want to break into the old Brennen House?

Squeezing themselves through the gap between the door and the frame, the wood beneath their feet groaning ominously, they stepped into the house. 

Drip

Drip

Drip

The smell of mould and dust filled the hallway, the furniture thick with a layer of white dust. Black stains speckled the walls, once a pale cream and now yellowed with age. Pools of water covered the floorboards, as if wet feet had left a trail. And the dripping sound, constant and calming – what was that?

“Kyle, don’t touch the walls,” Danny said in a quiet voice. “That’s black mould, it’s dangerous.” 

“I promise I won’t lick the walls, how about that?” Kyle gently pushed a door at the far end of the hallway, following the sound of dripping water. The wooden floor merged to a vinyl, peeling and dull as he entered the kitchen. The taps were rusted, grimy plates with food rotted to nothing sitting by the sink, the water dried up years before. 

And yet the dripping sound carried on. 

Looking out of the cobweb-covered window which looked out to the garden behind the house, he saw it. A well, dark stone to match the house, with a pitched slate roof and wooden pulley system. Compared with the rot and the damage to the rest of the house, the well looked pristine, as if it was still used and cared for every day. 

Stepping over the pools of water that had settled by the back door, he walked towards it. The dripping sound grew louder. 

Placing his hands on the stone edge, he peered into the darkness below.

“Woah, cool!” Drew ran to join Kyle. “How deep d’ya think it is?”

“No idea,” Kyle replied, his voice dreamy and muted. 

Picking up a nearby stone, Drew dropped it, listening for a splash. 

Nothing. 

“Huh, must have dried up. Weird that we didn’t hear it hit the bottom, though.”

“Ssshh, I hear something,” Kyle hissed. 

Dim at first, a slithering sound echoed through the stone, like rustling leaves. Then a rumbling sound.

“Was that a growl?” Drew asked. “What’s down th—” His words were cut off as a creature burst from the well and gripped his neck with scaled arms, long talons carving into his neck. His blood dripped over the stones as he was dragged head-first into the darkness. Kyle stared down in shock, his mouth open in a silent scream. He couldn’t move. He didn’t want to.

Almost a full minute later, there was a very faint splash.

Human in shape, the creature with red eyes, and green scaled skin began to rise. Dark hair clung to its skin, slick and limp. As it drew level with the top of the well, it opened its mouth, revealing rows of jagged teeth, like a shark. As it slowed its ascent to draw level with Kyle, he realised that it was smiling.

He could hear a rasping voice in his head.

“One of us, one of many.”

He felt himself gripped around the waist by cold, hands that were soft and sharp all at once. He felt the scales scratching against his skin and clothing as he was held tightly. 

And then he was falling.

Into the black water below, deeper than any well. Deeper than hell. 

He drew an impossible breath. His eyes stung.

Figures surrounded him, more creatures. The Brennens. 

“Welcome home.”

He felt his skin tighten as it hardened to scales.