by R E Swirsky
Bumstead's Well
BOOK ONE
R E Swirsky
Bumstead's Well is a book of Fiction. All characters involved in the story are the imagination of the author, and any resemblance to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 R E Swirsky
Smashword Edition: First Edition June 2014
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
ISBN 978-0-9878574-6-0
Table of Contents
Chapter 1: Late August Nine Years Ago
Chapter 2: Day one - The Well
Chapter 3: Day one - Amy Gardwinder
Chapter 4: Day one - Alone
Chapter 5: Day one - Joy Ride
Chapter 6: Day one - The Accident
Chapter 7: Day one - Sirens
Chapter 8: Day one - Dean Daly
Chapter 9: Day one - About Aaron
Chapter 10: Day two - Chris Pattison
Chapter 11: Day two - Morning
Chapter 12: Day two - The Morgue
Chapter 13: Day two - Phone Calls
Chapter 14: Day two - Overdue
Chapter 15: Day three - Dreams
Chapter 16: Day three - The Gathering
Chapter 17: Day three - The Rope
Chapter 18: Day three - Arlene
Chapter 19: Day three - Rope Burn
Chapter 20: Day three - Dementia
Chapter 21: Day three - Staircase
Chapter 22: Day four - Return of the Crow
Chapter 23: Day four - Crushed
Chapter 24: Day four - Vincent's Phone
Chapter 25: Day four - The Sixth Bottle
Chapter 26: Day four - Dementia Returns
Chapter 27: Day four - Hope Returns
Chapter 28: Day four - Falling
Chapter 29: Day five - Another Night
Chapter 30: Day five - Closed Casket
Chapter 31: Day five - Exposure
Chapter 32: Day five - Billy Huckleberry
Chapter 33: Day five - The Funeral
Chapter 34: Day five - Buried Alive?
Chapter 35: Day five - Resurrection
Chapter 36: Day five - Hospital
Chapter 37: Day six - Anna
Chapter 38: Day six - That Thing!
Chapter 39: Day six - Investigation Begins
Chapter 40: Day six - Conversation With Mom
Chapter 41: Day six - Photos at the Well
Chapter 42: Day six - Bumstead's Well
Chapter 43: Day six - Aaron's Mother
Chapter 44: Day six - Dementia again
Chapter 45: Day six - Gramps
Chapter 46: Day six - Calling Dr. Hamil
Chapter 47: Day six - Ghosts
Chapter 48: Day seven - Drowning
Chapter 49: Day seven - Confrontation at the Well
Chapter 50: Day seven - Jet's Dark Side
Chapter 51: Day seven - She Walks Along the River
Chapter 52: Day seven - Jet's Ghost
Chapter 53: Day seven - Richie Cunningham
Chapter 54: Day ten - There's Something in the Well
Chapter 55: Day twelve - Wreck Beach
Chapter 56: Day thirteen - About Jet
Chapter 57: Day thirteen - Steelwood
Chapter 58: Day thirteen - The Skull
Chapter 59: Day thirteen - Jet's Condo
Chapter 60: Day thirteen - You Already took Your Pills!
Chapter 61: Day thirteen - Bones
Chapter 62: Day thirteen - About Mother
Chapter 63: Day thirteen - False Alarm
Chapter 64: Day thirteen - Dean Visits the Well Again
Chapter 65: Day thirteen - The Extraction
Chapter 66: Day fourteen - The Body
Chapter 67: Day fourteen - "Get Rid of it, Chris"
Chapter 68: Day fourteen - Dean's Phone
Chapter 69: Day fifteen - Blood on the Rope
Chapter 70: Day fifteen - Down the Well
Chapter 71: Day fifteen - Summing up the Situation
Chapter 72: Day fifteen - Just Another Phone Call
Chapter 73: Day fifteen - Who is Joey Klondike?
Chapter 74: Day fifteen - Waiting for Joey
Chapter 75: Day fifteen - Reflections
Chapter 76: Day fifteen - "How is Arlene"
Chapter 77: Day fifteen - Jet
Chapter 78: Day fifteen - "OK. Let's talk about Arlene."
Chapter 79: Day fifteen - Dean Connects the Pieces
Chapter 80: Day fifteen - Vincent Calls Home
Chapter 81: Day fifteen - Photograph
Chapter 82: Day fifteen - Crematorium
Chapter 83: Day sixteen - What Crime?
Chapter 84: Day sixteen - Anita
Chapter 85: Day sixteen - "It's me..."
Other Books by R E Swirsky
BUMSTEAD'S WELL
BOOK ONE
CHAPTER 1 Late August : Nine Years Ago
"Hurry it up!"
"But Mom," Vincent whined. He was only ten years old and had no idea what the fuss was all about. There were multiple strange people moving about everywhere inside his home. Some grabbed furniture and packed up trinkets. Others removed pictures and tapestries from the wall of the small cluttered two-bedroom house. Each item was carefully documented and logged before it was placed into a box. Multiple boxes filled the two moving trucks parked on the rain-drizzled front driveway.
"Vincent!" his mother screamed. "I told you to grab your best clothes and get them into those suitcases. Now move it!" She grabbed him by the arm and thrust him back into his bedroom. "Now, come on. Let's go! He'll be here soon!"
"Who will? And why are those guys taking all our stuff?"
"You know who, Vincent. Roo, that's who."
"I don't even like Roo!" Vincent snapped back at his mother. "He teases me all the time. And he punches me. Especially when you're not around."
"He doesn't punch you. And it doesn't matter anyway. In a little while, you'll never have to see Roo again."
"Huh?" Vincent questioned.
"Now stay in your room until you finish packing up your stuff."
One of the men from Randolf's Auction House suddenly hailed his mother, and she moved briskly down the hall to the front of the small rental house to see what he wanted.
“Are we really supposed to take everything?" the man queried. It was an unusual request.
"Do you have the check?" she asked, ignoring his question . "Randolph said you would bring the check with you."
"I have it here." He patted his chest pocket, reached inside with two fingers, and handed her the folded check.
She looked at the check and was satisfied. "You need to take everything. Everything has to go." She turned and motioned to her two packed suitcases by the front door and over to Vincent's bedroom. "Except for the suitcases. We are taking those with us."
The man frowned and looked over to the room at the end of the short hallway where Vincent stood hanging onto the doorframe with one hand and his mouth hanging open. "What about the boy's toys and books in there?"
"He has his suitcases. Whatever he wants to take he'll pack himself." She looked over to where the man was staring and could see Vincent still had not placed anything into either of the two suitcases sitting on the bed behind him.
"Vincent! You better start moving your ass! We
're leaving as soon as Roo arrives, and if you're not packed, you're leaving with nothing."
The man spoke up hesitantly. "You realize that except for the furniture and antiques on this list, the rest of this stuff is just going straight into the dump. People will always snap up the antiques. But people just don't buy these kinds of household items at an auction."
"Randolph said he would take it all away. I really don't care what he does with it once it's out of here."
"Okay, ma'am," he replied defensively. "I just thought you should know. You really should take as much as you can because it'll all just end up going in the trash if you leave it." He looked down at Vincent and glanced at the toys scattered about the room behind him. He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say more, but shut it quickly. He shrugged and walked quietly over to where the others were busy packing up items.
Raindrops continued to sputter down outside, and the accompanying grey sky cast its depressing mood deep inside the home. Vincent tried not to cry. He spun around and looked at all of the toys sprinkled about on his shelves, the pile of books in the bookcase, and his many games, Lego blocks, and other toys strewn across the floor. There was no way he could get all off his clothes and belongings into the two suitcases. Was she mad? Was most of his stuff really going to end up in the dump?
He ran to the door and hollered, "Why are these guys taking everything, Mom? Why are they taking all of our stuff?"
She ignored him.
"Mom!"
"Roo's on his way! You better make a move soon."
"I hate you!" Vincent shouted. He slammed his bedroom door. "I'm not going anywhere!" he yelled at the closed door. "Especially with that fucking asshole, Roo!"
Vincent could hear his mother's thundering stomps as she made a beeline back to his room. He cowered and shuffled himself a few steps back from the door. She burst open the door and grabbed him by the neck.
"You listen to me, you little bastard! Don't you ever fucking swear at me! Do you hear me?"
She dragged him by the neck over to his bed where his suitcases still sat empty.
"Where did you even learn to talk like that?" she said without waiting for him to answer. She released her grasp and shoved him onto the bed in one motion.
Vincent grabbed his neck. He forced a cough. "You don't have to choke me!"
"I didn't choke you," she said quietly. She looked over her shoulder down the hall. The workers continued to work fastidiously removing all of the contents. No one seemed to take any notice.
"Yes you did," he whimpered. "You choked me."
"Stop saying that. I didn’t choke you." She opened up one of the suitcases and began filling it with clothes from one of his dresser drawers. "Look. You better put in what you really want to take because you are only taking these two suitcases. I'll help you pack."
"Taking them where? Where are we going, Mom?"
She ignored his question and pulled out a pair of long johns from the dresser. "You want these?" she asked with a strange and unexpected sweetness in her voice.
"Mom? Why won't you answer me?"
She stared back and smiled blankly as she continued to hold the long johns up in front of him.
Vincent scowled at her, grabbed the long johns, and tossed them off into the corner. He pushed her away hard and quickly rummaged through the drawers himself. He picked out his favourite clothes and hastily stuffed them into the two suitcases. He scrounged through his video games, books, Lego, sci-fi action figures, Star Wars toys, and various other objects too numerous to mention. Vincent picked out a few items and placed them in with the clothes.
A familiar gruff rumbling sound outside the front of the small house pulled his mom's attention away from watching him fill his suitcases. She turned and dashed out of the room. It was the unmistakable sound from an older pickup truck with a badly rusted muffler: Roo’s truck. Vincent’s heart fell.
He stopped packing and stared at the row of stuffed animals that sat along the long single shelf above his bed. He grabbed the one he named "Bee" when he was only two years old. Bee was once large, white, and fluffy, but the old bear was now ragged and patched. His left ear, attached by only a few thin threads, hung loosely away from his body. Vincent and Bee were inseparable when he was a toddler. Wherever Vincent went, Bee also went. At ten years old, Vincent knew it was best not to admit he still had such an attachment to an old scruffy teddy bear, but today it felt like Bee was the only real friend he had left in the entire world. He hugged Bee tight and shoved him inside the suitcase with the rest of his things.
"Vincent!" his mother called with an impatient tone. "Roo's here! It's time to go!"
CHAPTER 2 Day One - Friday 6:13 PM
The three young men leaned over and peered down into the abandoned well on the decaying Bumstead farm on the outskirts of town. Vincent rubbed his eyes. Even with his hands pressed up to the sides of his face to block out the sunlight, he couldn't see the bottom.
The well resembled every other well in the valley, but a terrible horror left its mark on this one many decades ago. Vincent's grandfather would have warned him to stay clear and to go find a different well to play around. Unfortunately, Vincent's grandfather didn’t know where Vincent was or what he was about to do.
"Let's go, Vinnie. It's time," his new friend, Aaron, said boldly.
Vincent met Aaron only three weeks ago at the Garden Centre where he worked in the summer. If not for his cocky attitude, Aaron, with his short, ash-blonde hair and wiry frame, could pass for Vincent’s brother. It was enough to cause Roger, Vincent’s childhood friend, to comment on the uncanny resemblance, even though Aaron’s bold mannerism was in stark contrast to Vincent’s naturally shy and timid nature.
“Just a second,” Vincent replied. He stepped away from the well, grabbed a rock the size of his fist, and released it down into the well. All three young men leaned in to hear it strike the bottom. There was no splash. Just a barely audible, goopy sounding "thunk."
"See," Roger said and punched Vincent softly on the shoulder. "I told you there was no water down there.” Roger was short and stalky with a wooly black mop of hair that was always in need of a good clipping. “Now hop up, and drop down inside onto the stool."
Vincent hesitated. He looked down at his feet and then at Aaron's. “Can you give me your boots, Aaron?”
"My boots?"
Vincent nodded. "If I'm going down there, I don’t want to wreck my new Sketchers. Gramps just bought these for me three weeks ago. He'll kill me if I bring them back all muddied and ruined."
Aaron feigned annoyance and rolled his eyes. He knelt on the ground and began to untie the heavy work boots he wore while he laid sod. "You really should have thought of that before you picked us up today."
"It's just for tonight. You’ll have them back tomorrow.” He looked down at his shorts and scratched at his cheek. “Can you give me your jeans too, while you're at it?”
"You are kidding, right?" He looked up at Vincent and shook his head.
It was Vincent's turn to shrug. "No, I'm not kidding. I only have these shorts on. It's gonna be cold and dirty down there."
Aaron laughed. "You are the one who accepted the dare, Vinnie. Not me. Are you going to turn pansy and back out now?"
The dare was to spend twenty-four hours in the bottom of the well.
“Can you just give me your jeans, please? You're about the same size as me, and I'm sorry I didn’t come prepared, but I wear shorts to work every day. Just give me your jeans, and I'll go down like I said I would."
“Jesus, Vinnie. You are such a pain sometimes.” Aaron was the only one who ever called Vincent by that name. Vincent hated it when other people called him “Vinnie,” but when Aaron said it he didn't mind.
"Anything else of mine you want?" Aaron asked sarcastically.
Vincent shook his head, rested his buttocks upon the top edge of the well, and began to remove his Sketchers and shorts to swap with Aaron.
Vincent hopped up and stoo
d on the smooth, perfectly placed capstones that lined the top and looked down into the well where the rope descended a few feet inside the circle of stones. The small stool at the end of the rope twirled about in the shadows like something paranormal.
"You sure it's safe?" he asked nervously.
"Sure. I knotted the rope around each leg," Aaron replied. "You just stand on the stool and hold tight to the rope. I'll have you at the bottom in no time."
Vincent Pattison cautiously lowered his thin frame through the limestone-capped opening. He stretched down with his feet to the stool that kept swinging off to the side each time he touched it. He fussed with his feet until he was confident both were securely wedged onto the stool that was somehow bound by the rope Aaron wrapped around it. He then gripped tightly to the fuzzy hemp rope with one hand and the grasped the lip of the well head with the other. He stared down into the darkness below his feet. His heart raced. He squinted, eagerly looking for anything below him.
The rope lurched downwards, and Vincent suddenly felt himself dropping past the stones that lined the top of the well and into the dark chasm below. He grabbed the hemp rope with both hands.
"Whoa, Aaron! Not so fast!"
Aaron laughed and continued to feed the rope around one of the large poles that were stuck into the ground along opposite sides of the well. The two poles were all that was left of the small roof structure that once covered the well.
Vincent continued to drop in small short jerks.
Roger's shaggy-haired silhouette suddenly appeared in the opening above Vincent. The inside of the well dimmed.
"How is it down there?" Roger hollered.
"Cold!" he said sharply.
Vincent was wearing the same short sleeve T-shirt he wore to work at the greenhouse where he helped load customers’ vehicles with their purchases. It was nearing the end of the summer break, and an uncommon cool spell swept into the valley. The light drizzle that fell throughout the morning finally stopped and left the countryside moist, cool, and humid. Fresh goose bumps broke out and crawled slowly across Vincent’s exposed forearms.