Witch

It was dark inside. I couldn't even see the bottom. Taking my torch from my pocket, I switched it on. Casting a beam of white light into the well, I saw the grey stone walls. Were they the same walls I had seen in my dream? I couldn't be sure. They were covered in slimy green patches of moss, but what did that mean? Wouldn't all dank, dark wells be covered in the stuff? I listened intently. Was there any sound which I could connect to my nightmare? All I could hear was the Plink! Plink! Plink! of dripping water. I splashed the light from my torch down the length of the walls. It was so dark inside; even with the glow from my torch it was difficult to see anything. I pressed my legs flat against the side of the well. I leaned forward so my top half was hanging over the lip, my arm dangling out before me, hand gripping the torch. Something glistened back at me. What was it? Was there someone in the bottom? Was it the girl? The old man?



With my heart in my throat, I leant forward further still, aiming the cone of light from my torch into the bottom of the well. Screwing my eyes almost shut, I peered into the gloom. There was water, black, dark and oily-looking at the bottom. I had been standing in a foot of water in my nightmare. Hang on  -  there was something! The torchlight reflected off it as it moved from side to side at the bottom of the well. With my heart racing and beginning to feel sick with dread, I knew I had found the well  -  the well I had fallen into in my nightmare  -  the well with the singing girl and whispering man at the bottom of it. Bobbing to and fro in the black water at the bottom was the bottle I had seen in my dream, and it looked as if there was a folded piece of paper inside.



A hand gripped my shoulder and I screamed. I gripped the edge of the well with my free hand. My scream echoed down into the deep hole and back again, sounding shrill and ear-piercing. I span around, holding my torch high above my head like a weapon and looked straight into the face of Michael.



"What are you doing?" he asked, looking surprised to see me.



"What the freaking hell are you doing?" I gasped, my voice still sounding high-pitched and frightened. "You scared the hell out of me!"



"Sorry," he said, placing a hand on my shoulder as if to calm me. "What are you doing all the way out here?"



What could I say? I've been having nightmares about a girl who sings Police songs while trapped at the bottom of a well? I didn't think so. So, I said, "I was getting tired of sitting at home and staring at the four walls."



"So you thought you'd like some company," Michael said, taking me by the hand and guiding me away from the well.



"I guess," I said, smiling at him.



"You're freezing," he said, rubbing my hand in his. "Let's go and warm you up."



"I know your idea of warming me up," I half-smiled at him.



"Sorry," he said, winking back at me, "the old man's at home. There's always the barn?"



"A nice hot mug of tea would be just fine," I smiled back.



"Sure?" he said, looking a little disappointed.



Michael led me down the hill. I looked back, wondering what was in that bottle. I couldn't help but feel confused, as I had dreamt about it. If the bottle, with its folded piece of paper tucked inside, was real, then wasn't the girl, too? Maybe Michael did know something about her? After all, she had died on his father's farm. I wanted to ask him about her, but not in front of his father. So as we passed by the barn, I pulled Michael towards it.



With his thick, dark curls blowing about the sides of his face in the wind, and his green eyes twinkling, he smiled at me and let me lead him inside. Michael pushed the door closed with the heel of his boot. The barn was warm inside, and bales of hay lay scattered about the dusty floor. No sooner had the door been shut, when Michael folded me in his arms and kissed me. This hadn't been the reason why I'd wanted him alone, but the feel of his lips against mine felt so good, that it was impossible not to kiss him back. As we kissed, Michael ran his hands down the back of my coat and squeezed my arse with his strong hands, pulling my hips against him. He guided me towards a pile of the hay and eased me down into it. It felt soft and warm beneath me. He pulled my coat open, his eyes never leaving mine, a smile playing on his lips. I closed my eyes and felt his hands fumble open the button which held my jeans up. Once open, he slipped his hand inside, and I felt the tips of his fingers brush over me. His touch excited me as much as ever, but I just couldn't get the images of that well and that girl out of my mind. I tried to relax, but couldn't. I gently took hold of Michael's wrist and pulled his hand free of my jeans. He looked up at me, that smile spreading across his handsome face.



"You want to be in charge again?" he whispered excitedly.



"No," I whispered back, refastening the button on my jeans.



"What's wrong?" he asked, leaning over me as if to kiss me again. "Is this another game?"



"No, Michael," I said. "I just want to talk."



With a cocked eyebrow, he looked down at me as I lay on my back beneath him. "This sounds serious."



"It's not serious," I said, pulling myself up onto my elbows, straw covering me and my coat. "Or at least I don't think it is."



Michael rolled onto his side next to me, resting his head on his hand. "What's wrong, Sydney?" he asked, sounding concerned.



Sitting up and folding my coat about me, I took a deep breath and said, "Do you remember I told you I'd had a nightmare about falling into a well?"



"I think so," he said thoughtfully. "Why?"



"It's just that I had another nightmare about the same well," I said, looking at him. "But this time there was a girl in the well. She was crying. She told me she had been pushed..."



"It was just a nightmare," he said with a gentle laugh, as if trying to ease my mind.



"I'm not so sure..." I whispered, now looking away from him, scared I might make myself look like a fool. With my eyes fixed on the opposite barn wall and the tools and rope which hung from it, I added, "I think she died in that well...the well on this farm."



Michael didn't say anything. He didn't try and laugh my idea away like he'd done just moments before. Slowly, I turned my head to face him again. Michael was now sitting up and staring back at me. I couldn't be sure if it was the light inside the barn, but his face appeared to have drained of all colour.