The village of Hollow’s End was as unremarkable as its name suggested, tucked away in a quiet valley surrounded by thick, shadowy woods. It was a place where days passed slowly, marked by the toll of the church bell and the chatter of the marketplace. Yet, there was one thing that set Hollow’s End apart: the well.
It stood in the center of the village square, ancient and weathered, its stones smooth from centuries of hands brushing against them. The villagers called it The Silent Well because no sound ever echoed from its depths. No matter how many stones or buckets were dropped into it, there was never a splash or a thud, just a vast and oppressive silence.
Most avoided the well, treating it as a relic best left alone. But when drought came to the valley, it became their only source of water. Despite the silence, the well never ran dry, its cool, clear water sustaining the village through the harshest summers.
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Cora was one of the few in Hollow’s End who didn’t fear the well. As a child, she had been fascinated by its silence, often leaning over its edge to peer into the darkness, wondering what secrets it held. Now, as a young woman, she had inherited the job of wellkeeper from her father, who had died mysteriously near its base years before.
Her duties were simple: maintain the pulley system, ensure the stones didn’t crumble, and fetch water for the townsfolk. Yet, despite her daily interactions with the well, she couldn’t shake the feeling that it was watching her, its silence more alive than the bustling market around her.
One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Cora stayed late to finish repairs on the pulley. The square was empty, the villagers long gone, and the air was thick with the kind of stillness that made her skin prickle. As she tightened the last bolt, she heard it—a faint, muffled sound coming from the well.
At first, she thought she had imagined it. But then it came again, clearer this time. It was a voice, low and mournful, calling her name.
“Cora...”
Her breath caught in her throat. She leaned over the edge, staring into the darkness. “Who’s there?”
The voice didn’t answer, but the silence that followed was heavier than usual, as if the well itself was holding its breath.
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Cora couldn’t sleep that night. The voice haunted her, its tone familiar and yet unplaceable. The next morning, she confided in her best friend, Emrys, the town’s blacksmith.
“You heard a voice from the well?” he asked, frowning as he hammered a horseshoe. “That’s not possible. Everyone knows it’s just... silent.”
“I’m telling you, it spoke to me,” Cora insisted. “It knew my name.”
Emrys set down his hammer and wiped his hands on his apron. “Maybe you’re just tired. Or maybe it’s... something else. People say strange things about that well.”
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“What kind of things?”
Emrys hesitated. “My grandfather used to say it’s cursed. That it’s not really a well at all, but a doorway to somewhere... darker.”
Cora shivered but couldn’t let it go. She needed answers.
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That night, she returned to the well, lantern in hand. The square was eerily quiet, the windows of the houses shuttered tight. She tied a rope around her waist, securing the other end to the well’s frame, and lowered herself into the abyss.
The descent was slow and nerve-wracking. The silence grew deeper the further she went, as if the world above were fading away. The walls of the well were slick with moss, and the air was damp and cold.
After what felt like an eternity, her feet touched solid ground. She expected to find water but instead landed on a dry, stone floor. Her lantern revealed a tunnel stretching into the darkness.
Cora hesitated only for a moment before stepping forward. The tunnel walls were carved with strange symbols, their edges worn smooth by time. The air grew colder with each step, and the faint sound of whispers began to echo around her.
The whispers grew louder as she approached a massive, circular chamber. In the center stood a stone altar, and on it lay a book bound in leather that seemed to pulse faintly, as if alive.
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Cora reached for the book, but the moment her fingers touched it, the whispers turned to screams. Shadows erupted from the walls, twisting into forms that surrounded her.
“Who dares disturb the silence?” one of them hissed, its voice a harsh rasp.
“I... I just want to know what this place is,” Cora stammered.
The shadows writhed, their forms shifting constantly. “This is the Womb of Silence,” another shadow said. “A place where secrets are born and truths are buried. You have trespassed.”
“I didn’t mean to,” Cora said, stepping back. “I just... the voice called to me.”
The shadows paused, then coalesced into a single figure. It was tall and cloaked, its face obscured. “The voice you heard was a fragment of what was lost,” it said. “The well is not a source of water, but a prison. Something ancient and terrible lies bound here, and your intrusion has weakened its chains.”
Cora’s blood ran cold. “What... what is it?”
The figure leaned closer, its voice dropping to a whisper. “The Fallen One. A being of silence and shadow, banished from the light. If it awakens, all will be consumed.”
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Cora fled back to the surface, her mind racing. She couldn’t tell anyone what she had seen; they would think she was mad. But the well was no longer just a source of water to her. It was a ticking time bomb.
Over the following days, strange occurrences plagued the village. Shadows moved unnaturally, crops withered, and people began to hear faint whispers in their sleep. Cora knew the well was the source, and she had to act.
With Emrys’s help, she devised a plan to seal the well permanently. They gathered iron bars, heavy stones, and sacred symbols said to ward off evil. But as they worked, the well fought back. Winds howled, the ground shook, and the whispers grew deafening.
In a final act of desperation, Cora climbed onto the well’s edge, holding the book she had taken from the chamber. “You want this?” she shouted into the abyss. “Then take it!”
She hurled the book into the darkness, and for a moment, the world went still. Then, with a deafening roar, the well erupted with light, blinding and pure. The shadows retreated, and the whispers fell silent.
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When the light faded, the well was just a well again, its silence empty and harmless. The villagers never spoke of the strange events, and life in Hollow’s End slowly returned to normal.
But Cora knew the truth: the well’s secret had been buried, but not destroyed. And in the dead of night, when the wind was still, she could still hear it—the faintest echo of a voice calling her name.