When my cousin asked me to spend some days at their village house, I thought it was going to be boring more than anything else. The kind of holiday where you just count the hours. No internet, light that disappears half the time, and nights filled with nothing but crickets and frogs. His parents had gone off to the city for a wedding, so it was just the two of us rattling around that old place.
The place was worn down, mud walls patched over in different spots, a zinc roof that rattled like tin whenever the wind came. Out back there was a well, round and heavy with moss crawling down its sides. Before leaving, my aunt looked at us both and said, “Don’t go near that well after dark.” She said it casually as if reminding us not to forget to lock the front door.
On the first evening, we sat on the veranda, eating bread and groundnut. The air smelled of earth. I asked him, “What’s wrong with the well?”
He shrugged while chewing. “They say a woman drowned in it. Long ago. You know how people talk. Old stories.”
I laughed and said, “So what, she comes out at night?”
He wiped his mouth. “Something like that. I’ve never seen anything. But Ma doesn’t joke about it.”
We didn’t talk about it again. But once somebody plants that kind of seed in your head, it stays.
There was no power on the second night, and our lanterns were out of kerosene. We simply sat in the dark. Then it came. A splash.
It came from the back of the house.
My cousin froze, hand in mid-air. We heard another splash.
“I told you,” he whispered.
I stood. “It’s probably a frog.”
He grabbed my wrist tight. “Don’t.”
But I pulled free. The air felt heavy as I walked to the back. The moonlight showed the shape of the well. The water rippled, like someone had thrown a stone.
“Hello?” I said.
The ripples stopped.
My cousin hissed, “Leave it, come back inside.”
But I leaned over. At first, only blackness. Then it appeared.
A face.
Just beneath the surface, pale skin, eyes wide open, hair spread like roots in the water. It wasn’t blinking. It wasn’t moving. My stomach twisted.
I stumbled back, almost fell. “There’s someone...”
But when I looked again, the water was smooth. Just the moon’s reflection.
My cousin dragged me inside and slammed the door. He was breathing hard, like he’d just run a mile.. “You saw her.”
“I’m not sure what I saw.”
But I knew. Her eyes stayed with me, cold and still.
We barely slept. Every sound made me jump. The splashing started again a few minutes past midnight. Louder this time, as if something was climbing out.
My cousin pressed his hands over his ears. “She calls people. If you hear her voice, don’t answer. That’s what they say.”
We sat frozen. Then a woman’s voice drifted through the night.
“Daniel…”
It wasn’t my name. She called his.
His eyes widened. His lips moved. He was about to answer.
“Daniel,” the voice came again, softer, dripping like water. “Come to me.”
I grabbed his arm. “Don’t answer.”
He was trembling, mouth opening.
“Daniel!” the voice shouted, sharper this time.
I slapped him across the face. He blinked hard and snapped out of it. We sat in silence until morning.
The next day, he said we should leave the house. I didn’t argue. But before we packed, an old man from the village stopped by. He saw how pale we looked and asked. We told him.
He nodded, calm, like he had heard it before. “She drowned herself. Many years ago. She was supposed to marry, but the man chose another. Every few years she calls a young man. She wants to take him down with her.”
“Why didn’t anyone seal the well?” I asked.
The old man looked at me like I was a child. “Some things don’t stay sealed.” Then he walked away.
That evening, I begged Daniel not to stay. But he said his parents would be home soon, and someone had to watch the place.
So we stayed.
The third night was the worst. The voice came again, sweet this time. “Daniel, please. Just one step. I’m waiting.”
I held his arm tightly, but he was stronger than me. He stood, eyes blank, walking to the back door.
I begged, shouted, but he didn’t stop. The moon lit the well like it was alive. The water shimmered silver.
Daniel climbed onto the edge but his foot slipped, making him lose balance. I instantly grabbed him from behind shirt and pulled with all my strength. He fell backward, gasping on the ground.
The voice turned sharp. “He is mine!”
The water surged, spilling over the stone, reaching for us. I yanked Daniel back inside. The door trembled violently like something from outside was trying to force it open.
Then everything went silent.
By morning the well was just a well again. Still and dark.
We left that afternoon. His parents came back later and laughed nervously when we told them. But the way his mother’s eyes shifted when she looked at the well told me she already knew.
Daniel won’t talk about it till now. He doesn’t even say the word well.
And me... I only drink water from a bottle.
