The Boy in the Well

by Dan Clark

  “That’s the only pub around here for at least fifteen miles. We should go one night, and introduce you to a few people,” Jeanette says, cheerfully. “When was the last time you were down here, anyway?”

  Carolyn rubs at her head. “Christmas, two years ago,” she replies. She agrees to go one night, though she’s not interested at all. She has no intention of meeting new people and making small talk with the locals. She just wants to get these couple of weeks over and done with so she can go home.

  They pull onto the cobbled high street, which gives Jeanette’s car’s suspension a workout, and pass shops Carolyn remembers from her last visit.

  “That candle shop has seen better days, hasn’t it? Don’t they ever change around here?” she asks, pointing to the battered wooden sign hanging from two rusted chains. “It looks as if a puff of wind would bring it down.”

  Jeanette chuckles. “No. People around here like things to stay the same. That’s one of the reasons I chose to live here. I didn’t want to be around people, always sticking their noses in….” She sighs. “Besides, what more do you need, apart from a good butcher, farm shop and church?”

  Carolyn doesn’t respond. She carries on looking out of the window, concentrating on the acres of fields and farmland that make up Llanbedr.

  After a few miles, the car swings left onto Cherry Garden Lane where it’s engulfed in bare overhanging trees and bushes. The lane goes on for three miles before passing the King family’s pig farm. The stench can be smelled through the air ducts in the car. Carolyn frowns and switches off the air-con.

  Jeanette chuckles. “You just need to get used to it, that’s all. You’ll be fine.”

  Carolyn gives an unenthusiastic grunt and tells herself she won’t be here long enough to get used to it. Tears begin to form as she remembers passing the farm a couple of years back. She, Simon and Ryan had pulled faces at one another and made funny oinking noises.

  Further down the country lane they pass a boarded-up building. It’s the Sunlight B&B, which used to be run by Mr and Mrs Powell, a retired couple who had turned their five-bed home into a business.

  Carolyn wipes at her cheeks. “What happened there?” she asks.

  Jeanette frowns, “Ah, about a year ago now there was a small fire that burned through the kitchen. Luckily no one was hurt. I think it’s going to be demolished. Shame really. They used to hold a coffee and cake morning every other Saturday. You would have enjoyed it.” Jeanette tuts. “Why don’t you join me in church this Sunday?”

  Carolyn responds with another unenthusiastic grunt and watches as Jeanette fixes her hair in the rear-view mirror. “God. You’re not still in love with Father Joseph, are you, Mum?”

  Father Joseph is the long-serving priest at St Peter’s Catholic church, which faces Jeanette’s bungalow. He wears thick, black-rimmed glasses that make his ice-blue eyes seem small and beady. He reminds Carolyn of a much older-looking Dave Grohl, the lead singer of the Foo Fighters. It was Simon who’d first pointed out the resemblance when they were down visiting Jeanette for her birthday a few years back, and now Carolyn can’t unsee it. They’d mentioned it to Jeanette once and she wasn’t amused.

  Jeanette pulls a face and waves away Carolyn’s question. “Don’t be so silly, Carolyn. We’re friends. I help him out at the church most days and that’s all,” she replies hastily, but keeping an eye on the doors of the church, presumably on the off-chance that Dave Grohl – Father Joseph Coyle – might appear.

  When he doesn’t, she lowers her shoulders and Carolyn is sure she hears a sigh of disappointment, though this might have been her imagination. Jeanette turns the car up the path of her bungalow and applies the handbrake.

  ***

  Jeanette unlocks and slides open the glass doors of the porch before unlocking the front door and holding it open for Carolyn to carry her suitcase through. She feels relaxed already. The plant next to the door reminds her it needs watering, and she makes a mental note to do so. Jeanette feels a sudden happiness as she sees her reclining armchair positioned in front of the television. Resting on the armchair is a TV listings magazine, now three months out of date. An unpleasant scent welcomes her back, not as revolting as the pig farm, but still quite nasty. It’s the smell of rotting meat that pervades the front room and is coming from the kitchen.

  Carolyn flings her suitcase onto the sofa and opens the windows, covering her nose with one hand. In the kitchen, flies are buzzing happily around a joint of lamb that’s been left sitting in an oven dish on top of the work surface, along with what looks as if it used to be garlic cloves and rosemary. They both hold their noses as one opens a bin bag and the other chucks it in, dish included.

  “When your neighbour rang me, what’s her name again… Sara. When Sara rang and told me what had happened, I couldn’t speak at first. I was just standing there frozen, then after crying for a while, I turned off the oven, threw a few sets of clothes and underwear in a case and dived in the car. I forgot all about the meat,” Jeanette explains, trying her best not to throw up the sandwich they had bought from the service station a couple of hours back. Jeanette opens the fridge and also throws away the chunky milk and green spotted cheese and spoiled vegetables.

  “I think this is a really good idea that you’ve agreed to come stay for a while,” Jeanette says, still holding her nose as her stomach twitches. “It must be hard, to be reminded every day at home. It’s not healthy for you.” She hesitates for a moment before continuing. “I’m not saying any time soon, but when you’re ready, you should think about donating the majority of Simon and Ryan’s things to charity. I can help you if you like.”

  Carolyn just nods, and hopes her mother knows that when she heads back to Leeds, she’ll be going alone. At this moment in time, she isn’t ready to donate their things. She doesn’t think she will ever be ready. She wants to be back home, to surround herself with Simon’s clothes, to smell his shirt she’ll be wearing as she cuddles Ryan’s favourite teddy. To look at the sofa and picture Simon sitting there, totally engrossed in one of his historical fiction novels. She wants to look out into the garden and imagine Ryan sliding down the slide, laughing and mumbling to himself.

  She just wants this nightmare to end so she can join them. She makes her way to the spare room, pulls off the dusty blanket covering the bed, fixes the new bedding her mother had got out of the wardrobe and unpacks her case.

  In the kitchen, Jeanette pours two tins of soup into a pan and writes a list of ingredients that she’ll have to get from town tomorrow. Not that Llanbedr has much of a town centre: just the one decent shop – Llanbedr Convenience – and a few other smaller independent shops, coffee houses, the police station, the fire station and The Red Fox pub.

  They eat soup and watch Jeanette’s daily shows, Jeanette slouching comfortably in her recliner and Carolyn on the sofa, yawning.

  “Go and have an early night. It’s been a long day. Once this show’s finished, I think I’ll be going myself,” Jeanette says, fighting back a yawn. Carolyn accepts and changes into her pyjamas. She unpacks a picture of the three of them together. She and Simon are sitting with arms around each other as Ryan lies on his front resting on his elbows on top of a picnic blanket, with woodland in the background. She places it on the bedside table.

  It’s not long before her eyes are flickering. She doesn’t fight it. She doesn’t want to. At the moment, sleep seems to be the best cure for her. A minute later, she’s dreaming.

  Chapter Four

  Carolyn wakes as the sun is setting, with the last remaining rays illuminating her room a cool pink through the thin curtains. Feeling flustered, she kicks off the quilt and sits up. It’s time for her to take two Mirtazapine. She listens to her mother’s snores from the other room as she heads quietly for the kitchen. The lid pops off her tablet case, and she swallows them with some water.

  The key to the back door, leading to the garden, is hanging on a small wooden plaque that bears the words MY GARDEN, MY RULES. The
plaque had belonged to her father. He was always an avid gardener. Jeanette had brought it with her when she moved from Leeds.

  Carolyn unlocks the door and opens it. A refreshing breeze brushes past her, instantly cooling the thin cotton pyjamas she’s wearing. Jeanette’s slippers are on the shoe rack next to the door. She slips them on and steps outside, closing the door behind her. The abandoned garden which has stood alone for more than three months shows how nature has taken over. Weeds have sprouted through the cracks of the flags and covered the path leading to the old wooden shed in the corner. The shed was here when Jeanette moved in, looking as if any day now it would crumble to dust under a strong wind. The grass stands just below Carolyn’s knees, hiding the various faces of the gnomes.

  She steps out, flattening it as she creates a path and walks in a circle around the garden, examining the gnomes. A Grandfather gnome and a Grandmother gnome (a present last Mother’s Day from Carolyn, Simon and Ryan) are standing side by side. He’s holding a shovel and sporting a long white beard, while she holds a basket of eggs. Both have warm smiles painted on their faces. The other gnomes are what Jeanette has picked up throughout the years, including a fisherman sitting on a rock with a green hat, and a young princess wearing a long pink dress.

  Birds tweet and land not so far from Carolyn before taking flight again, searching for their last meal of the day. She reaches the back fence, or at least, what’s left of it. The six-foot fence runs around the perimeter of the garden. Cheap thin wooden slats that had fallen or been blown off by the wind lie behind the wild privets in front of it. An opening in the fence leads into the woodland behind. It’s large enough for Carolyn to fit through. She looks down at her mother’s slippers and examines the ground beyond the fence. It’s a dirt track made up of fallen twigs and tree branches. The smell of wet soil and rotting tree trunk welcomes her. The woodland is beautiful; she doesn’t see enough of this sort of thing in Leeds.

  Carolyn stands and takes in the beauty. She imagines that Ryan would have loved it here, and feels a slight pang of guilt in her stomach. Carolyn and Simon hardly ever brought Ryan here. It would always be Jeanette travelling to them for visits.

  The floor of the forest is covered with small yellow clover-like flowers, and the squirrels chase one another around a large thick tree. Carolyn could swear this might be a set from a Disney film. She kicks her way through the thick grass, stretches her arms out wide, and feels the bark of the elder trees in her palms. The sun setting and bouncing off the remaining leaves above gives her an autumnal feeling. She looks around her, taking in the bright colours of the many plants and bushes.

  It is the dark-coloured brick that first catches her eye. Up ahead, to the east, stands a small brick structure.

  Maybe it’s an old wall, or ruins from an ancient castle that’s lain in wait for a hundred years, just waiting for somebody to discover it.

  With that thought, and knowing it’s what Simon would have done, Carolyn begins heading towards it. She carefully avoids stepping on as many plants as she can, not to destroy this newfound haven at the back of her mother’s home.

  On closer inspection, Carolyn realises the small brick building is round with an open top.

  “A well,” she whispers to herself, smiling as she runs her fingers along the brickwork. Red dust flakes off and blows away.

  Simon would definitely love this place.

  Carolyn walks the circle around the well. Moss has overtaken a large portion of it. She begins to imagine what it could look like if she cleans it up, picturing herself sitting with her back against it, reading on a summer’s day. She might wear shorts and a vest top as she sunbathes and could even bring a camping chair. She and Jeanette would bring sandwiches (not that Carolyn’s planning on staying in Llanbedr much longer than she has to).

  The small ball of excitement in her stomach is short-lived, however, when she peers down the darkening hole.

  The well looks to have been filled many years ago with soil and crushed brick, though it’s still at least fifteen feet deep. It’s hard to say exactly, with the sunlight gradually fading and the thick, broken tree branches that fill the opening of the well.

  Then she notices something else.

  Carolyn can’t move her face. Her eyelids won’t blink. It is as if they have been superglued to her face. She is temporarily paralysed. The vision in the corner of her eyes turns blurry; only what is down the well stays in focus. The song of the birds singing above in the trees is muted, as if an evil dark cloud has formed above her, killing all the joy in Carolyn’s little space. Her brain begins sending signals and making sense of what she is seeing. It is the broken and twisted remains of a young boy.

  The flesh on the boy’s skull has not yet fully decomposed, and he looks as though he’s been dead no longer than a few days. His skin is dark, his body twisted with one of his legs bent behind him. Carolyn squints and can see a badge, a logo even, on the chest of his green jumper.

  Carolyn’s eyes water and her breathing becomes erratic. Finally she looks away, snapping her eyes closed. Ryan’s face flashes in her mind. He calls for her in a loud, scared and lonely tone. She shakes her head and opens her eyes. Tears roll off her cheeks as the urge to throw up rests in her stomach.

  Only a few minutes ago, Carolyn had considered this her new happy place; somewhere she could be alone with her thoughts, to forget the stresses of owning a cake shop, and (even if only for a moment) Simon and Ryan’s death.

  Now, next to an old derelict well, wearing pyjamas and her mother’s fluffy slippers, she is standing on top of a potential crime scene.

  Maybe the boy fell, and had got stuck and died from his injuries? Nothing sinister at all, just a young boy out exploring the way boys at that age do.

  Carolyn doubts it. The world is never really that simple and innocent, is it?

  She hears a twig snapping from somewhere behind and spins around, expecting to see people watching her, the killer or killers of this terrible act coming at her for exposing their dumping ground. She imagines them to be dressed in dark cloaks and clenching large pitchforks or machetes.

  The tears on her cheeks turn to ice; the low refreshing breeze from before is now gripping hold of her spine and refusing to let go. She doesn’t want to take another look, but she knows she has to. She has to be certain it is what she saw, and not her imagination playing a cruel trick. Her neck aches as she spins left to right, checking that she’s alone, that there are no machete-wielding murderers behind her. Taking a large breath, she looks down the well.

  Carolyn takes a step back and vomits on to the ground, not wanting to contaminate the crime scene any more than she has already. She’s learned this from multiple episodes of CSI and other true crime documentaries she and Simon used to watch.

  Behind Carolyn, bushes move. It’s not from the mild breeze, either. Though Carolyn doesn’t notice, her sides feel as though they’re being squeezed by a vice as more vomit is brought up.

  The woods are now a dull grey. The place no longer seems beautiful.

  Her knees go limp and she drops to the hard ground. The thin cotton pyjamas offer no support to her kneecaps as small stones and twigs dig in, but she doesn’t feel the pain. She feels dazed and nauseous. Her energy has been swept away. She tries shouting for help, but nothing more than a whisper leaves her lips. Her throat is dry, and she’s now breathless.

  She lies down on the uneven ground and looks up at the darkening sky. The trees seem to spin, laughing and mocking her with their bony structures.

  There are no birds or squirrels around now. It’s only Carolyn and the decaying corpse of the boy in the well.

  Chapter Five

  Two days ago, the freezer in which the body of the young boy down the well had been stored, broke. The first thing the killer noticed was the smell. Even now, standing in the bushes and watching as Carolyn vomits and lies down, that damn smell won’t leave him. It’s as if the scent has etched its way into his nostrils as a constant reminder
of his crime. He stays back, standing motionless, with the ladder in one hand and heavy-duty bin bags in the other.

  ***

  The ground beneath is cold on Carolyn’s back. The chill has finally made its way through her pyjama top, giving her the energy to do what’s right and inform the authorities. She rolls over onto her front and lifts herself up with exhausted arms, wiping the soil from her hands against her thighs. She spins around to find the path to home as she shouts for her mother. At first, no noise comes out, only air. With every step she takes, her voice returns, growing louder and louder. She rushes through the gap in the fence, trampling the plants before knocking over and cracking the princess gnome in the long dress. She leaps through the high grass garden taking huge strides.

  Her heart is beating so furiously in her chest that she feels as if she’s about to pass out, or will throw up again.

  Carolyn continues to shout for Jeanette while at the same time trying to catch her breath. Jeanette has always been a heavy sleeper. Carolyn pushes the door of the spare room open and reaches for her iPhone. She swipes it open and dials 999. The phone is quiet as it attempts to connect. The top left of the screen is showing no signal.

  “COME ON!” she screams at the screen, hoping this will entice it to work. She dials the number again, but nothing. The phone beeps and goes back to the home screen.

  She throws it on the bed and runs to the living room, reaching for Jeanette’s mobile. The same. No bars. Carolyn grabs her mother’s car keys from the table next to the door. There’s no time to wake Jeanette, or to even grab her coat. She dives into the driver’s seat and starts the car. The small Polo’s engine starts first time, releasing a cloud of black exhaust smoke behind her. Slamming the car into reverse with a crunch of the gears, she accelerates and backs out of the drive, skidding on the gravel stones and leaving an imprint on the path.