Page 151 of Executing Malice
I break the silence. “No one comes here anymore. There’s an issue every summer warning kids to stay off the island due to it rotting into itself.”
Not to mention all the stories everyone tells in hushed whispers. As a believer of spirits and evil, I never had an inclination to visit ... but desperate times.
“There’s a well somewhere near the middle,” I go on. “It was sealed off years ago after a kid drowned. We’ll put him in and seal it back up.”
It’s a thirty-foot drop, lined in stone with water at the bottom. It’s deep enough that looking in, even on the brightest day, is like peering into the abyss.
So I’m told.
The boat scrapes against the shallow shore. Dante climbs out first. His boots crunch on gravel as he grabs the front and drags us in the rest of the way. Once secure, he extends his hand and helps pull me out.
I move aside as he shuffles over and bend to haul the prone body out of the boat. He’s a dead weight — no pun intended. Dante’s been doing the majority of the lifting and adjusting, but I grab our bags and fish out a flashlight.
It’s not the one Everett had or the one I used to beat his skull in. Those two are in the pack, wiped down and drenched in bleach.
With some struggle, Dante hefts the body over his shoulder. I check to make sure the trash bags we roped and taped around him are still in place before starting forward.
I don’t know how far in the well is, or how long we’re going to be walking, but I start up the incline. The light is gripped tight in my fist, waiting to be used once we’re away from anyone who might catch sight of us on the mainland. Maybe that’s overly paranoid, but I’m not taking any chances.
“Are you okay?” I ask over my shoulder, wishing I could help.
“Yeah, he’s just very ... stiff.”
I continue onward, moving gingerly over cracked rocks and slick foliage. The pale glow of the moon highlights just enough to keep me from breaking an ankle.
It’s upsetting that it’s such a beautiful evening. I feel there should be some overcast, maybe some thunder and lightning while committing a crime, but I suppose this is better.
It doesn’t take us long to find it. It sits at the very top like it’s been expecting us. It rises from the ground, a structure of cracked concrete and damp moss. A wooden square is perched on top, bolted down to keep people from falling in.
Hurriedly, I yank off the pack and dig inside. My fingers close around the steely coldness of the crowbar. It settles with a little too much weight in my palms as I tug it free.
A few feet away, Everett’s body thumps to the ground. The crinkle of plastic fills the silence as Dante steps over his brother’s body and takes it from me.
It was hard to tell what we might need. I’ve never thrown a person into a sealed well before and I doubtGooglewould be helpful. So, I brought a lot of things.
Better overprepared then under,I muse, stepping back to watch him slam the pronged end under the plank.
Damp wood cracks and splinters under the pressure. The board groans as Dante’s muscles strain. I think it’s going to snap when the first nail pops free. Methodically, he works his wayaround the hole, dislodging each one until he can heave the board back just wide enough to fit a body.
“I’ve seen way too many horror movies with wells,” I mumble to myself as I edge to the ledge and peer down into the abyss.
Rancid, damp heat unspools into the night. It curls around the scent of pine and wet earth. It reminds me of a sewer choked with stagnant water.
But it’s the void, the hollow puddle of black staring back that has me inching away. The very depths seem to pulse like a heartbeat, a coaxing rhythm urging the onlooker to step just a little closer.
Okay, no more well horror for a while,I think as I make room for Dante to scoop up Everett’s remains. The trash bags rustle in his hold. It makes a sick, muted sound as it’s balanced on the slick lip. There’s a still moment where even I hold my breath right before it slips and gravity pulls him over.
Then silence. not even a splash. Just the void swallowing him up and I’m left wondering just how deep it must be that we didn’t even hear a rustle.
I shiver. Despite the fur-lined zip-up. The chill creeps beneath my clothes. Under my skin. I feel it prickling across my bones.
Definitely not doing this again — I hope.
Moving past Dante, I scoop up the crowbar he’d set aside and stuff it back into my bag. I return with the two flashlights, ours and Everett’s, and drop both in after him.
I made Dante drive us back to Ashwood earlier this afternoon to find the knife and mask. Probably silly, but why take that chance if we don’t need to? It seemed like such a risk to leave them behind.
We also found Everett’s car. The damn Yukon with the keys still in the ignition. Dante drove it out of Jefferson with me tailing him. We abandoned it in the bushes but visible from the road.
