CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "At the bottom of my garden, there's a man who lives in the well" Creepypasta

Episode Date: May 26, 2022

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by Darkly_Gathers: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comm...Creepypastas are the campfire tales of the internet. Horror stories spread through Reddit r/nosleep, forums and blogs, rather than word of mouth. Whether you believe these scary stories to be true or not is left to your own discretion and imagination. LISTEN TO CREEPYPASTAS ON THE GO-SPOTIFY► https://open.spotify.com/show/7l0iRPd...iTUNES► https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast...CREEPY THUMBNAIL ART BY►https://mobile.twitter.com/formeldahy...SUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g7YCb...►"Personal Favourites"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AEa2R...►"Written by me"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gX6RA...►"Long Stories"- https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list...FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter: https://twitter.com/Creeps_McPasta►Instagram: https://instagram.com/creepsmcpasta/►Twitch: http://www.twitch.tv/creepsmcpasta►Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CreepsMcPastaCREEPYPASTA MUSIC/ SFX- ►http://bit.ly/Audionic ♪►http://bit.ly/Myuusic ♪►http://bit.ly/incompt ♪►http://bit.ly/EpidemicM ♪-This creepypasta is for entertainment purposes only-

Down at the very bottom of my garden, where the grass and run-down fence meets the field and forest beyond, is an old stone well. I'm looking at it now from my bedroom window, as a deep grey cloud slowly roll their way across the sky. The first pinpricks of rain tap coldly against the glass. The well came with a house. We didn't build it or anything. It borders an old trail path, one that runs between our garden and the field. hikers come by sometimes. They stop for a moment at the well.

They toss in a coin, and then away they go on with their lives. But I watch. I watch through the window waiting for something to happen. Because, for as long as I can remember, I have always believed that a man has lived in the well. I'm not sure where this suspicion first came from. A dream, perhaps. When I was younger, I used to.

the plane near there. My parents never let me climb on or around the well itself, but I'd sit nearby. I climbed trees and try to peer down into the tunnel. I'm told enough now to just stand right beside it, of course. I'm too old to play, but I still go down to the well sometimes. Run my hand over the cold, wet stone. I've thrown a coin or two, make a wish, and when I do. It's almost like I can hear something, like a whispering in the back of my head, like someone trying to talk to me. It's fascinating, in a creepy kind of way. Maybe I'll go down there again now, before it gets too dark. I draw on my coat, push my arms through the sleeves, and I head from my room and down the stairs to the back door, slipping on my boots and make

my way out and into the rain. I draw up my hood as a walk the length of the garden and across the grass. The grim, dark stone of the well draws closer and closer beckoning me. Beyond it, the trees rustles softly in the breeze. Rainwater drips from the pine. I come to a stop at the well's edge, and I look over, down into the darkness below. Down it goes, deep, dark. Might as well be bottomless.

for all I know. The coins never make a splash. I never hear them hit the earth or stone at the base. They just vanish into the void. I shiver. It's cold this evening. I reach into my pocket for a coin, taking one out and turning it between my fingers, shining silver. Yes, this will do nicely. I make my wish. My go-to is this. I wish to learn more about the secrets of the well, and I flick the coin from my thumb, watching it as it tumbles through the air and disappears down into the shadows, bouncing and tinkling of the stony walls.

And then... Silence. The coin falls and is lost to the void, to the gloomy, unending darkness below. I place my palms on the rough stone and look down, waiting. The rain patters on the grass all around me. I strain my ears.

Come on, I mutter. Give me something. I wait a little longer. It's always right as I'm about to leave, to give up, to conclude that I've always imagined it and that nothing is going to happen. I slide my hand away from the stone. I make to turn back to the house.

And it's then that I hear his voice, the voice of the man in the well. An almost imperceptible whisper, right there in the back of my mind. Almost. I hesitate. I return my attention to the well. Almost, I repeat, murmuring. What does that mean?

There is a wet croak of a sound, and then... I cannot yet claim the key, my heart hammers. It's unusual to hear so much in one go. My throat dries as I lean a little clencholk, closer, peering down, squinting into the darkness. What do you mean? I whisper. What key? But there, the voice ceases. I reach into my pocket for my phone. I switch on the flash and angle the light down into the well.

But it does little. It gives me a couple further metres of sight, but then it is swallowed by the gloom and lost to the dark. Hello? I call down softly. Then a little louder. Hello! But there is no response. The rain falls harder, and it leaks to the pine beyond the broken old fence.

I sigh and turned to leave, trudging back across the grass to the house. I consider throwing in another coin. But no, I'll leave it for now. A part of me still thinks I'm making it all up. And if that's the case... Well, I certainly don't want to encourage any madness. I prepare for my night as the rain clatters on the glass, casting one last look out into the grey beyond,

down to the well at the bottom of the garden. I swear I can see something in the moonlight, you know, glistening and glinting on the edge of the well. It's tough to see in the dark, but it looks like a pair of coins. Curious. I didn't see a hiker go by, and it would be unusual at such a time, and in such weather. But not impossible, I guess.

I quietly draw the curtains, and the rain falls steadily through the night. The next day goes, as they typically do. The weather is grim, the sky is overcast, a couple of hikers pass by. I watch from my window as they throw in their coins. I watch intently, waiting for something to happen, to hear more of those maddening, taunting words in my head. But no, there is nothing. It has to be me. I have to be the only one to make the wish.

So I return that evening once my work is done. The grass is still wet, though it isn't raining tonight. I stand by the edge of the well and toss in a coin. A copper today. I make that same wish. I wish to learn more about the secrets of the well. And I wait, waiting for a response. The trees rustle nearby.

The sky rolls through his tones of grey. And before me stands the well. Ancient moss-covered stone. The walls, perhaps the only thing preventing the darkness inside, from spilling out and over that it is. land like ink. Come on, I know you have more to say, I whisper into the well, peering down. My most faithful visitor, I will be sure to reward you when I have the key, friend.

This does not come through as a murmur in the back of my head. It comes through clear, cold and clear. Words that send my pulse into overdrive, and I scramble away from the gaping mouth of the well, slipping in the grass and tumbling down into the mud with a gasp. Hello? I reply in fear, scrambling to my feet and looking down into the dark. Is someone there? Hello? My rational mind battles with irrational. A voice can only mean that someone is trapped down there in the well.

But no, that doesn't really make much sense either. Do you need help? I call, though my voice cracks. and breaks on this word. Yes, comes to reply, slow and measured. Just another few wishes. That's all I need. Be careful when you make them, though. I might just be able to grant them.

I turn on the spot and I head the hell back to the house, nobing away as my heart pounds in my chest. I just repeat the same word over and over in my head. No, no, no, no. it's not real. I let my imagination get carried away. I have willed my thoughts into something beyond their means. I lock the door and return to my room.

I draw the curtains, resenting that I have the house alone for the night, and I crawl into bed, staring into the darkness as the voice rattles around my head. The voice of the man in the well. No, not possible. The man in the well does not actually exist. He can't. I fall eventually into a restless sleep. My dreams are like water.

I stand in the shimmering grey of a misty field, the well at its centre. There are trees around us, I think, but they are hard to see through the fog. And every time I turn to try and look at one, its location changes. The well starts the leak. Water spills up and over the stone and flows to the grass. Roots push and creep their way from the earth, long and cream white, like bone, slithering through the grass around my feet. And as I watch in terror, a shadow rises up from the dark of the well, the darkness itself perhaps, choosing for itself a form as a grin appears in its swirling depths. It's time to make a wish, says the voice loud and sharp.

I awake in cold panic, staring up and into the dark. I haul off the sheet and head to the window, pulling back the curtains. And there, through the rain, is the well. No shadows, no creeping roots. But there are those coins again, shining silver specks on the edge of the stone. The rain falls, and angrily now I pull out my coat. I head downstairs, the steps creaking beneath my feet. I pull on my boots, unlock the back door, and march through the haze towards the well.

It's just a well, I say out loud, nothing more. I'm not going to be afraid of a cluster of stones, and I'm not losing my mind over this. I stand at the well's edge, not failing to note that the two little sparkling coins have now vanished. I run my hands over the rocks. I crouched down by the well's base to look for them, pushing my hands through the grass. But they are nowhere to be seen. I stand back up and press my palms into the edge of the well, shouting down into the void. Show yourself!

Cold washes of fear passed through me in waves, but I persist, stubborn. Show yourself, let me help you find the key, or whatever it is that you want. Are you going to grant my wishes? I'm just shouting nonsense, really. I know that nothing is going to respond. Surely, surely not. I pause and wait for a response. My breathing slows.

My heart rate eases. Just as I expected, the well is empty. I reach into my pocket for a coin and toss it down the well. I wish to meet the man in the well, I mutter as it clinks and bounces off the stone on this way down. And then, in the darkness, of the night, something starts to change. For a second, I swear that I'm imagining it. But no, the ground, the very grass and earth beneath my feet is being slowly drawn to the well. What the? I don't understand. This isn't physically possible. I take a step, then another.

I stand right by the well and stay still. But I can feel my feet moving nonetheless. I look down into the darkness of the well's tunnel, seeing nothing but void. I reach into my pocket for my phone, hands shaking a little now, my breath clouding in the cold. And after a few attempts, I switch on the flash. I hold the phone over the edge, angling the light down into the darkness. And the wide-eyed face of the man in the well grins back up at me. I scream in fright and slip, staggering back and collapsing against the rotted old vents. My phone tumbles and bounces off the stone, cracking the screen in the corner before it falls into the wet grass beside me.

I feel a rumbling now, subtle, in my bones and across my skin. Her presence, I suppose, as the man in the well reaches a slow, shadowed hand out and over the edge of the well. His fingers are long, far longer than they have any right to be. His second hand appears beside it, slow, creeping movements, and up he rises, up and up and out of the well, growing taller and taller and taller. He's dressed in black, his skin too pitch black, but his eyes, his eyes sparkle like silver, white and wide. and his grin, his teeth do not match. Each one looks like it could have come from a different mouth. He reaches full height, staring down at me, and yet he still ascends.

With slow, terrible, deliberate purpose, he simply rises. His legs stretch upwards, up and up, until he leaves twice my height, and then three times as tall. At last he stops, and we regard each other in silence. He, grinning. and myself frozen and white with fear. The rain patters around him. A worm rises up from the grass just by my hand, slithering and squirming from the earth.

I open my mouth to speak, staring in horror at this monster from the well. Don't hurt me, I whisper, and the grin of the man in the well stretches wider. Almost free, he mutters. His lips cracking and stretching with the words, Just a little more. Then I can come help you.

I can come grant you all of your wishes. A little more of what? I croak out, backed up fully against the fence. What happened to you? Who are you? They sealed me away, he whispers as the wind blows. They told me out. remain in the dark until I could pay my debt.

His eyes flicker from me to the worm and then back. When I can buy the key, unshackle myself, and be free. I stare at him and he at I, don't understand, I whisper. They sealed me away, he repeats, but my debt is almost paid. I am almost free. and I can grant you all your wishes, my greatest patron, I owe you your wishes. Patron, I reply, my throat death dry. The man in the well grins wide, and in a slow, sickening gesture, he reaches into his pocket.

I follow the motion with my eyes as he carefully draws from it, a coin. But no, not just any coin, it's the one I threw in mere minutes ago. He cocks his head, the little dark pinpricks in the center of his eyes widening and shrinking. The debt is almost paid, and I will be free to leave this well, friend. After so, so long, and I will come for you. He begins to lean down towards me. His legs in the well remain perfectly straight, but forwards he leans. his face drawing closer to me, closer and closer, and I can take it no more.

I clamber to my feet as a river of horrors runs down my spine. I lurch away and I scramble across the length of the garden. I shoot a look back over my shoulder to see him watching, to seem grinning. I slam the door to the house and barricade it shut. I race up the stairs to my room and stare through the window. and I watch as the man in the well slowly starts the sink as he descends lower and lower His hands at the sides disappear beneath the rim of the well

Then his torso, his chest and neck Until only the top of his head is showing One with the darkness and the shadows His eyes like two shining coins In the gloom I have not made any more wishes at the well I have not thrown any more money down, but there is only so much I can do. I chase away the hikers that pass by like a lunatic.

I stop them from throwing down their coins. But I'm heading away for college soon, a blessing and a danger. What will happen if there is no one to guard the well? My debt is almost paid, he had said. Then I will come for you. you.