“No, I do, I do,” Benjamin begged.
“Then do as I say – it will work!”
Benjamin nodded. “I’ll do what you say.”
“Good, you won’t regret it, my friend.”
Just as Benjamin was about to leave, something suddenly occurred to him.
“What shall I write in the card?”
The boy in the well was silent for a few moments. Eventually, he said: “You’ll know what to write when the time comes. Just put down whatever comes to mind.”
Frightened now about what would happen if he disobeyed the boy in the well, Benjamin went back to Mr Wittle’s shop, telling the shop keeper he needed a card for a cousin of his. He had just about managed to scrape up enough coins to afford it, though he had to search the whole of his bedroom for each last half-penny. The card he bought was colourful and had the picture of a clown on the cover.
He walked home with the card, looking at the blank inside page, wondering what to write. Why had the boy asked him to write the message? Why was he even sending it to his mother? He knew that the boy’s requests were odd, but he feared disobeying his instructions. Besides, if the card did what he said, and finally got rid of the horrible vicar, it was probably for the best.
When he arrived at his home, an idea suddenly appeared in his head. He went straight to his father’s desk in the living room, reached for his pen and wrote very quickly:
“It’s my birthday today. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten. Come and visit me, I miss you xx”.
Benjamin looked at what he’d written. He didn’t understand why he’d written it, in fact, he didn’t really remember even writing it. One moment the card was in front of him, the next, the words were there.
He wasn’t sure what they meant, but somehow he knew they were what was needed; that they were the right words and that the boy in the well would approve of them. So he placed the card in the envelope and waited to deliver it in the morning.
The rest of that day seemed to disappear. Benjamin awoke the next morning, barely remembering how he had come to be there or even what he had spent the rest of the day before doing. He could just about remember eating supper with his father and mother and the two still not really talking. Besides that, he could remember very little.
It wasn’t until he was dressed that he even remembered the card. And then he couldn’t remember what he had done with it. But as he stood on the landing, he spotted his mother collecting the post from the carpet under the front door. Could that be his card, there? There were two letters; she took them both into the living room. Benjamin was confused, what had happened to the card? Could that really be it?
Benjamin crept after her, trying his best not to be heard. His mother walked over to his father’s desk and pulled out a letter opener from the drawer and opened the first envelope.
It was his card – now he knew it! His mother cut open the envelope and pulled out the card. She looked at it curiously before opening it up. It seemed to take a moment for the words to sink in. She seemed frozen, motionless as she looked it over and read what was inside.
Then, suddenly, she fell. Collapsed down to the carpet with an almighty thud.
Benjamin ran across the floor to her, screaming “Mum, Mum!” He shook her, but she wouldn’t come around.
Benjamin’s father heard the commotion and stormed into the sitting room.
“What happened?” he demanded.
“She just fell over!” Benjamin was in tears. “She read the card and fell over.”
“What card?” His father was shaking her now too. After a moment she came around and started shrieking and screaming.
“What happened?”
“My baby,” she yelled. “He’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead!”
She started to cry, but more than that, she started to wail: “My baby, my precious baby!”
“Your baby’s here,” his father shouted. “He’s safe, he’s right here.”
He pulled Benjamin towards her, but she wouldn’t even look at him.
“He’s wasn’t evil. He was my baby, my little baby. Don’t take him, don’t take him from me...”
It was as if they weren’t even there. Benjamin was terrified, frozen to the spot in terror – what had he done…
His father commanded that he fetch the doctor and Benjamin wasted no time in obeying. He ran faster to the house of Doctor Jenkins than he’d ever run before. He was fortunate because the doctor was at home and was able to come straight away to the cottage. He took Benjamin back immediately on his trap, questioning him all the way about what had happened. Benjamin could not bear to tell him about his role in his mother’s condition; he said only that his mother had collapsed after reading a card in the post and had become hysterical, more hysterical than she’d ever been.
When they arrived at the house, his mother was still writhing, crying tears of torment. She had purged into the waste paper basket. Benjamin’s father was standing over her, helpless as to what to do.
“She’s gone mad, doctor,” he said. “I cannot calm her down.” As the doctor came in, Benjamin’s father ordered him to his room, uttering ominously: “I will deal with you later.”
Those words sent a chill down his spine. He ran up to his room and dived in amongst the sheets, crying his heart out for what seemed like hours. He was overwhelmed now with guilt, if he’d have known what would happen, he would never have done it. His mother was in agony and it was his fault!
But of course it wasn’t really his fault. It was the boy in the well; it had been his idea – it was really his fault! He should never have listened to him. They were supposed to be getting the vicar back, how was this hurting the vicar?
After his mother had stopped crying, Benjamin waited tensely for his father to come to him, and in time, the moment came. He heard his father’s heavy footsteps on the stairs and he trembled as he came in through the door.
“Is Mum all right?” he asked in a panic.
“She is sleeping,” his father said. He held up the card and all Benjamin’s hairs stood on end.
“Where did this come from?”
“It came in the post; she picked it up from the doormat this morning with another letter.”
“This writing,” with one hand he held open the card in front of Benjamin, and with the other, he grabbed hold of Benjamin’s hand. “This writing looks to me to be a lot like your writing. Did you write this?”
“No, I swear, I swear. It was on the doorstep this morning, I never saw it before. I never saw it.” Tears poured across his cheeks. He shook free from his father’s grip and buried his head in his bed sheets.
“What did she mean? About her baby being dead?”
“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Benjamin mumbled in amongst his tears.
His father was calmed somewhat by the sight of his son’s tears, but only for the briefest of moments.
“I know you know something about this,” he said through gritted teeth. “If you know something you had better say so now young man or else there will be hell to pay later. I’ve been patient with you, by God, I’ve been patient. But if you are mixed up in this, whatever it is, you will be banished from this house. Do you hear me? I will be through with you once and for all.”
Benjamin didn’t say a thing as his father slammed the door behind him. Though he was still crying, in his head, he was already making plans. He would need to be patient; he knew he might have to wait hours. He waited restlessly and hungrily. He kept creeping out to the top of the stairs, listening in to hear the sounds of movement, of stirring. He listened carefully until he heard the sound he had been waiting for – the sound of his father snoring.
He walked carefully down the stairs and into the sitting room, and sure enough, in keeping watch over his mother, who was passed-out on the settee, his father too had fallen asleep; his head hanging over the back of his old arm chair.
Now he was sure he could get away, Benjamin took his chance and darted sharply to the
back door and made his escape.
Tired, but determined, he made his way back through the fields, through the woods and back up to the hillside where his friend, the boy in the well, would be waiting for him. Or at least, it would normally be so. As he approached the stone circle, the boy offered no greeting. Just as well, as Benjamin was in no mood for pleasantries.
“You lied to me!” he cried. “You said I was out to get the vicar, when all the time you were trying to get my mother!”
Benjamin waited for the boy to answer, but there was no sound, no response from the well.
“Do you know what you’ve done? Do you know what you’ve done to her?”
There was still no answer. The well was silent. There was no voice.
Or was there… at that moment Benjamin suddenly heard a voice, not from the well, but inside his very own head. And that voice said to him: “Me? I didn’t do a thing. You did it all. You did it to your mother. You did it all yourself.”
“You’re a liar.” Benjamin screamed. “I hate you! I’m never coming up here again. You’re not my friend. I hate you!”
He turned and began to run back down the hillside, when suddenly the boy in the well finally spoke. “I’m not done with you yet Benjamin,” he cried.
Benjamin ignored it and did not turn back.
“You’ll see me again!” the boy cried out to him. “You will see me again!”
Benjamin ran as fast as he could back into the forest. He did not turn around and did not stop until he was home. His father was still asleep; he awoke when Benjamin arrived, but fortunately he did not realise his son had been outside. Nevertheless, he was still unhappy with him and ordered him straight to bed.
Benjamin slept poorly that night; restlessly tossing and turning, reacting to his ambivalent feelings of anger, guilt and fear, constantly awaking and falling back to sleep.
He woke abruptly the next morning; his father was shouting for him from downstairs. Benjamin rushed down, still wearing his night clothes; he entered the living room and was horrified at what he found.
There was a message written across the living room wall; scrawled in big dark red, frenzied letters; the words still wet and dripping down the wall.
The message read: “No present? It’s my birthday come visit.”
Benjamin almost screamed himself. He had been here – the boy in the well had come to the house. But how? What was going on?
His father was looking at him, staring down hard at him. “Did you do this?” he asked, barely able to control his anger.
Benjamin was speechless, then his father pointed at him: “Look at your hands”. Benjamin looked down; they were red – covered in blood!
His father grabbed his hands. “You did do this!” He slid up the sleeves of his night shirt and saw two long, bloody cuts on his forearms.
“It wasn’t me!” his son swore.
“What is wrong with you! Why you did do this?” he began to shake him. “Why did you do this!”
“It wasn’t me,” Benjamin said weeping. “It was the boy!”
“What boy?”
“The boy in the well!”
The front door burst open; the two of them spun around to see the vicar standing in the doorway. He hadn’t seemed to have expected them; he cried out “Emily” before even noticing them there.
“I must speak to Emily,” he demanded, walking towards them.
“Why are you here?”
“I must speak to her on a matter of great urgency.”
It was at that moment that Benjamin’s father noticed that the vicar was carrying an envelope, an envelope and a card that he quickly recognised.
“What is that you have?”
The vicar mumbled, saying that it was a private matter. Benjamin’s father struck him, hit him square in the jaw. He was taken by surprise and fell back into the hallway. He took the card from the vicar’s grip and opened it, finding it to be exactly the same card his wife had received the day before and in the same writing.
“Where did you get this?” he roared. He wasn’t taking any chances; knowing that the vicar was a soldier, he went quickly towards the fire place and picked up a poker. As the vicar rose to his feet, he stood before him again, poker raised and ready to strike at him.
“I want to know what this is all about. For years and years the two of you have kept secrets from me. And this will be the end of it! There’s always been something between the two of you and I will know what it is. I swear to God, I will be told!”
“You are imagining things,” the vicar snarled.
“Liar – what does this mean?” he said showing him the card again. “And what does that mean? The vicar had not seen the message on the wall; he recognised immediately that it was written in blood. “My God,” he said, stricken with panic.
“I will know the truth from you, even if I have to beat it out of you!”
“No wait,” he cried, as Mr Morris swung back the poker. “You don’t understand; years ago, while you were away, at sea. Emily was…” He struggled to say it. “She was taken against her will by another. A brute, a monster; he forced himself on her and she... she became with child.”
Benjamin’s father began to shake. His anger was so intense, he couldn’t even speak. The vicar knew that his life was in the balance, that the man had it in him to kill him if he so desired it.
“She wanted to keep the child,” the vicar continued. “But our parents wouldn’t allow it. This man; he was despicable, evil; his issue would’ve been abhorrent and they would not allow it in the family. So he was taken away from her...”
Benjamin’s father scoffed. “Well, well,” he said, “That explains plenty. They didn’t want me near her when she was pure. But suddenly when I was back from the sea they were ready to foist her on me. Damaged goods was she?”
The vicar took a chance and tried to take the poker from him. But Mr Morris had firmer footing and forced him back, causing him to fall once again to the ground.
“You killed the baby, didn’t you? Drowned it in the well!”
“It wasn’t my choice.”
“You took her baby and you killed it. No wonder she was so changed when I came back. She never was the same old girl I used to know. I knew it, but I was too glad to have her be mine.”
“It had to be done, it needed to be done.” said the vicar, before he realised: “How did you know that? How did you know about the well?”
It was at that moment that Mr Morris remembered his son and what he had said. But when he turned his son was nowhere to be seen.
“Benjamin!” he cried. “Benjamin, where are you?” He yelled throughout the whole house, but his boy was nowhere to be found.
“What does Benjamin know?” the vicar demanded.
“He said the boy in the well did it. He said he did it all, the letters and writing on the wall.”
“That’s ridiculous!”
“Where is this well?” Benjamin’s father demanded.
“You must know the one. The hillside well, near the south-end of the farm.”
Both took off for the well almost instantly, running out the door and through the woods after Benjamin, shouting for him as they went.
Despite their years of living in Bullham Brook, neither the vicar or Benjamin’s father knew the land the way Benjamin knew it and both struggled through trees and unkept fields surrounding the village and Parson’s estate. Benjamin’s father proceeded quicker than the vicar, the two becoming separated as they ran on.
When Mr Morris arrived on the hillside and started to climb, he found that the sky was dark. Clouds were blocking out the sun and the wind was racing into a gale. The tall grass rumbled as it was swept from side to side in the fierce gusts. He found it hard to look ahead, to walk forward against the wind’s unrelenting force. But he marched on; he could see the well, and to his horror, he could see Benjamin, standing upon the stones, stood precariously facing him, teetering over the open well.
He shouted to him, but
Benjamin gave no sound of recognition, though it would be hard for him to hear over the roar of the wind. He climbed higher, his son still stood motionless there, looking vacant down to the dark void below.
Mr Morris got himself to within just a few yards of the stone wall when there was suddenly a crack of thunder. And above that rang out the words: “Do not come any closer or your son will become mine forever.”
“Don’t hurt him, please,” cried his father, frightened almost beyond his wits and looking around, desperately hoping the voice had come from somewhere else, and not deep within the well.
“Shut up and listen to me,” hissed the voice.
But Benjamin’s father kept on: “If you must hurt someone, hurt me. Do not harm him, he has done nothing.”
“I’m not interested in you; you mean nothing to me.” And then after a pause and another roar of wind the boy cried out: “He on the other hand, means everything.”
Benjamin’s father was confused until he saw that the vicar had caught up and was now with them on the hillside.
“You’ve finally come to visit me. And after all this time…”
“By God,” he cried. “What are you?”
“You know who I am,” roared the voice. “You of all people should know me!”
“Please!” Benjamin’s father begged. “Whatever he did to you, please, leave Benjamin alone. He’s done nothing, he’s just a boy.”
“I’m just a boy,” raged the voice. “A lost boy, forsaken by his mother and his father, the two people who should’ve loved him the most! What’s the matter? Are you ashamed of your son!”
“I do not understand you,” cried Benjamin’s father.
“I am not talking to you,” screamed the voice.
It took a few moments for it all to sink in, for Benjamin’s father to realise the horror of what the boy in the well was saying. The boy laughed as Mr Morris looked to the vicar, his face a picture of disbelief, horror and disgust.
“He didn’t tell you did he?” the boy laughed. “The monstrous brute, the man possessed of some evil walks amongst you, disguised as a man of God!”
Eleven New Ghost Stories Page 23