Full Body Chills - CAMPFIRE: The Well at the Edge of Town

Episode Date: October 29, 2024

A story where the truth is drowned inside a well.Written by Caedmond Holland. Full Body Chills is brought to you by Max. This Halloween, the movies that haunt you are available on Max. Stream all month long. Subscription required. Visit max.com. Looking for more chills? Follow Full Body Chills on Instagram @fullbodychillspod. Full Body Chills is an audiochuck production.Instagram: @audiochuckTwitter: @audiochuckFacebook: /audiochuckllcTikTok: @audiochuck

This episode was produced with immersive audio. For the best experience, we kindly recommend you listen with headphones. They watched it die. The fire, the ashes, twinkled like the sky. There were no more shooting stars. The weight of the cold nothing tethered their hopes. With a flashlight, Olive weaved a needle through the trees. There, the world grew disconnected. Here, stranger shadows seized their chance, skulking closer within arm's reach.

A subtle finger, a drop of sweat, drew a line down Maya's spine. Acid climbed her throat, but she swallowed the urge to scream, just as Jake swallowed another fly. In the dark, he couldn't see the mist of wings, but he could feel them, buzzing, biting, drinking his warmth, combing his hair like lice.

He scratched, waved, and shook his head, but the little brain suckers kept coming back. For Matt, the darkness was a relief. In the shade, his hands were hidden. In the dark, he didn't have to look. Without the light to prove him wrong, Matt could pretend that he was still him. And that's the end of that. I swear, man. These bugs are like those beetles from the mummy. So... are we calling it a night? Wait. This early? Early? It's night. And your fire's dead, Matt. Not like it ever lived.

Yeah. That suckers off life support. Huh. I thought you said we didn't need a fire. We still have a flashlight, don't we? Yeah, but only one. And you have your phones. Uh... Come on, this camping trip is only once a year. Who knows what'll happen between now and next year?

One of us could die, or the world could end. What if we all can't make it? Well, if everyone else wants to... Screw it. I don't need my blood. Fine. But I just told a story. So it's someone else's job. That's all right. I just told a story. So it's someone else's job. That's alright. I've got this one.

You...again? Yes, Olive. Me. Great. And what does Studio Matt have in store? Another painting? You're kidding. Okay, okay. I'll think of something else. How many painting stories do you have cooked up? Canonically, it shouldn't be more than 12, right? 12?

Unless you count spin-offs. All right, all right, I said I would do something else, okay? Just give me a minute. Matt backtracked his thoughts, his fears, gathering twigs of inspiration. While nature was full of storms and wet wood, his mind was primed to kindle, the planes of imagination permitting excavation. What was he afraid of?

He noticed his hands, the callus around his middle finger, the ridge upon his fist, a wrinkle, a scar. A memory tripped his line of thought, and suddenly, he's back, staring at himself. The lame light slathered every surface with coffee stains. In the bathroom mirror, there he stood, eyes locked with a stranger. His face was framed within a fading wet smudge, his skin glowing raw from the recent shower. His hair flayed wild and his eyes, his eyes, held irises ranging with autumn cliffs. held irises ranging with autumn cliffs. He trailed them one by one following circles, round and

round, tramping his gaze in an endless spiral. He knew dissociation, depersonalization, BIID, and body dysmorphia. These terms were chiseled into his search history. But what he didn't know, what he sought to understand, was whether his eyes were once green. Are you falling asleep? What?

No, I'm not falling asleep. You sure? Because it looked like your eyes were closed. Hey, I'm supposed to hold the flashlight, remember? Well, that depends. Are you telling a story? Hey, can we get this along? Sooner or later my skin's gonna come off. I've got one, okay? Now give me the light. Okay. Catch.

Alright. Stop me if you've heard this one. The well at the edge of town. The well? At the edge of town? I don't think so. No? Well then, gather round and listen close. Don't go to the well at the edge of town, for that's where the witch took the children to drown. If you visit there on a moonlit night, you're sure to have a bone-chilling fright. And if you peek into that dank, dark hole, the dead children there will steal your soul.

Growing up in a small New England town, there wasn't a kid who didn't know that rhyme. The funny thing is, to this very day, I have no idea where it originated. I heard it first on the playground during elementary school. My friend Bobby, the one who shared it with me, said he heard it from his older brother. His older brother says he heard it from a friend, and the friend from a friend. But the few kids who spread the rhyme all said the same thing. They heard it from someone, another kid, a sibling, but never an adult. It made me wonder who came up with it, and how did it spread if none of the parents ever spoke of it?

But it comes as no surprise. The town I grew up in is old. And when I mean old, I mean old enough that it had its own Salem witch trials. I don't think it was on any level near what the actual trials were, but there was at least one victim. Hannah Andrews was burned at the stake for the disappearance of three children. It was rumored she'd kidnapped them in the dead of night and drowned them in, where else? The well at the edge of town.

Looking back on it, I could see why the grown-ups never disputed or confirmed the superstitious nature of the rhyme. There was indeed an old well on the outskirts of town, and kids tended to be careless and stupid. A parent would much rather want their child to fear and avoid the well rather than investigate. But what a lot of parents forget is the bravery that naivety and ignorance bring with it. That was me in a nutshell at 10 years old.

Brave, bright-eyed, and completely oblivious to the dangers of the real world. It's hard to blame my younger self for this, as the small town life really is a smokescreen. There was no real crime to speak of. Everyone knew everyone. Nobody even felt the need to lock their doors or cars at night. It was the perfect breeding ground for a ten-year-old hopped up on piss and vinegar to head out with a head full of adventure. I'm not sure what sparked my interest.

Maybe the well being out of town spurred an urge to go exploring. Or maybe the fact that none of the other kids seemed curious made me feel special and unique. In any case, I started my investigation. As a ten year old, it was nigh impossible to do any sort of historical research on the site. I asked my teacher, but all she would say was that it was dangerous and told me to stay away. When I asked the local librarian, well, I got the same response.

The internet was still new in those days, so online access was limited. My only real resource were books. After days scouring through the library, unassisted, the only info I could find on the well was its location. But that was all I needed. It seemed the well wasn't exactly on the edge of town, but a couple miles outside of it. The next thing I did was plan my trip.

Turns out, living near the center of town didn't help me at all and that to reach the site I would have to trek a total of 12 miles. Luckily I had a bike, but that meant getting to and from the well wouldn't be a simple ten minute trip. Subverting parental intervention, I needed a wider window of time. That's where Bobby had me covered. Making sure it would be on a night of the full moon and on a weekend, I told my parents that Bobby invited me for a sleepover. Wouldn't you know it? His house was only a five minute

bike ride away, and my backpack could carry everything I would need. In truth, my backpack didn't have anything needed for a sleepover, but everything I thought was needed for a spooky late night adventure. I had my flashlight with backup batteries, my cross made of two sticks and twine, just in case I needed to fight off ghosts, my first aid kit, my pocket knife,

my worst case survival guide, and various snacks and drinks. It was absolutely everything I could need for the challenges ahead. I said goodbye to my parents at around 6.30 in the evening and began pedaling. Over the last week I had put my route to memory by studying a few maps. I could hardly contain my excitement. It was a warm, late spring day and the nights had lost their chill, so I wasn't concerned about my t-shirt and shorts being too thin. My mind was focused on the prize ahead and nothing was going to

stop me. I still had to be careful though. I wasn't worried about my folks calling up Bobby's parents or anything, but I had to be cautious with where I rode my bike. If one of the other adults saw me speeding around at night, when I should be in bed, they would have ratted me out in an instant. So, to avoid the greatest grounding of my life, I rode as fast as I could, taking every possible backstreet.

Even though I was only 10, I was a very athletic kid. So I managed to reach the eastern edge of town while there was still light. Now all I needed to do was follow the road for a while, and then I would be there in no time. I ran into a bit of a snag, however. I ran into a bit of a snag, however. The road wasn't as deserted as I thought it would be. Sure, it wasn't rush hour, but there were enough cars to call me out. I decided the next best thing was to walk my bike through the woods. It was going to take a lot longer than initially planned, but at least I would have some cover from the few eyes coming down the road. But dragging

my bike through all the underbrush would have been a pain, so instead I hid it behind some bushes near the now entering sign and began the trek on foot. After night fell, I learned how quickly the forest changes hues. In a manner of minutes, the trees went from magically lit by the evening sun to eerily caught in sinister shadows. I never lost sight of the road, as there were just enough headlights to guide me, but everything else was pitch black, and the silence that surrounded me, broken only by the twigs under my feet, pressured me to run at every passing sound.

I tried for the longest time to brave it out and not use my flashlight, but I quickly convinced myself that the road was less busy and clicked it on. Still just as brave, but twice as exposed, I continued following parallel to the road, until I found it. An old dirt path that cut through the trees. I was pretty sure this was the trail I needed to follow. So, that's what I did. Soon the dim light of civilization was fading away, leaving but the beam of my torch to steer me on. I had thought that the full moon would help to illuminate the way, but the sky was covered in clouds. Not that it would have mattered. The thick

tree canopy held like the dense roof of a cave. Up to that point, I had never experienced such darkness before. And for once, I began to doubt. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. Maybe I could just tell everyone that I had made it to the well, and if I turned back now no one would ever know. These thoughts plagued my mind as I seemed to walk for miles and miles down this old dirt road. I was so close to turning back when the edge of my light let go of the trees and vanished into an open field.

This was it, the location of the well, and now that I was here, no way was I turning back. But as soon as I entered the clearing, I stopped. My blood went cold and my feet froze to the ground right as something met my ears. There was no wind, and the nighttime noises had almost entirely disappeared, but faintly, ever so faintly, I swore I heard someone... singing. I couldn't make out any words, but changes in pitch, however soft they were, came through to me. My legs began to shake involuntarily, and my heart was pounding.

Every instinctual alarm bell in my head was going off and screaming at me to run. But I couldn't. Some part of me was overriding it all, insisting that I keep moving forward. I hadn't even seen the well yet, and maybe the singing was some campers off further in the forest. Yeah, that had to be it. What else could it have been? Step by agonizing step, I continued into the clearing, shining my flashlight in every direction, desperately looking for the well

so I could say that I saw it, turn around, and get out of there. Yet with each step, the singing was getting louder. Well, louder isn't exactly the right word. More clear and defined. I still couldn't make out any words, but then again my mind was on panic mode. Finally, about 30 yards into the clearing,

my flashlight struck the infamous well. During the daytime, and I can confirm this, the well wouldn't have looked like anything special. It was just an old stone cylinder, raised about three feet off the ground, with a wooden well head and winch long since rotted away. But to me, at that time, seeing it seemingly creep out of the darkness, it looked to me like a portal to hell. Worst of all, what truly reinforced that fear was that I could hear the singing coming from inside. And then I did a stupid move, as a stupid kid in a stupid situation does.

I mean, there was singing here, and only people sing, so there must be people in there, right? Hello? I called out, timidly, not knowing what to expect. The singing abruptly stopped, and the shaking that had been in my legs graduated to the rest of my body. I stood there in the silence and shadows, nearly blind, trembling from head to toe. The clouds must have moved as moonlight abruptly flooded the clearing. More of the rhyme was coming true by the moment, but I was so close to being the only kid to

have visited the well. All I needed to do now was, look, just a quick peek down. How hard would that be? Maybe the singing was just air down in the well bouncing off the walls or something. What else could it have been? Each step closer threatened to throw me off balance. I didn't want to do this anymore. I didn't want to be here, but something inside me kept pushing

Was it the wells curse was it the drowned children coaxing me to look whatever the reason I couldn't stop I Was only a few feet from the well now and I noticed a heavy iron grate shielding the top, a barrier, preventing me from falling into that abyss and barring whatever lay below from coming out to grab me. Finally, I made it to the edge of the well. In the sky, the great silver eye was glaring. I stowed my flashlight. The last thing I wanted to do was to go poking into the gloom and disturb whatever may be down there. I took a few deep breaths, clenched my fists, and ever so slowly, inch by inch, leaned over the wall and over the well.

The moonlight reached maybe five to six feet down. In the colorless glow, the stones appeared ancient and deformed. Lower than that, there was nothing. Darkness formed a perfect ring. But for all intents and purposes, it was just an old well. The longer I stared, the more I began to admonish myself. The terror that gripped my heart gradually lessened. I decided, then and there, that I would wipe away my fear altogether by administering one last test. One last stupid test.

I called out again. Hello? Whales and screams responded to my call, and a dozen or so hands reached out of the dark, all of them pale and bony, all of them reaching up to me, reaching up to grab me and drag me down, to steal my soul and have me spend eternity with them, to be another pair of hands reaching out of the dark, another scream to join that choir of the damned. I responded to their shrieks, with one of my own, and I ran. I don't have much memory of the journey back. I know from a couple of scrapes and cuts I discovered in the morning that I must have

fallen down a few times. I know I must have had some semblance of sanity as my bike was back in the garage and my parents were surprised to see me, which means I carefully and quietly snuck back in. I wish I could remember any of that, but all I could see were those hands clawing out of blackness and all I could hear were those cries, desperate and frail. Needless to say, I was traumatized. I never told a single other person about my experience, and instead of the young brave jock I thought I would grow into, I became the gloomy goth kid with a fashion for horror.

Maybe I was always chasing something scarier, something to replace that night so that I could forget. But I never would. I wish I could say I never went back there. I wish I had never gone there in the first place. But my mother always says that if wishes were horses, beggars would ride. The summer after graduation, before I left the state and went off to college, I went

back to the well one last time. This time, though, I went during the day, and this time I drove my car. Parking at the edge of the clearing and seeing the well so clearly in the distance was an unexpected sight. There was no singing as I approached, and even though the child in me fought to run, I was resolved to face my demons. Getting closer, I realized something was different. Someone had removed the grate. The metal shield had been pulled off and now laid across the grass. Like a deer caught off guard, I looked around, watching the woods for any sign of life. No one else was around, and so cautiously I approached the well's edge.

I peered in, hoping to see anything to combat my childhood nightmare. At first, there was nothing. The sun was overhead, shining so bright as not to leave a single stone unexposed. The well itself wasn't that deep, maybe ten feet total. There was zero water inside, and by the bits of moss growing at the bottom I'd wager it's been dry for quite a while. As I scanned the hole for anything, a glint suddenly caught my eye. Focusing, I noticed amidst the gravel and weeds some kind of trash.

Containers. Wrappers. A plastic bottle. And then...something else. The reflective object roped between litter. It tethered to the wall and ended in a dozen or so rusty metal manacles. And then I spotted the claw marks. They rode the wall, the highest reaching five feet, the same height I had seen those hands eight years ago.

What's more, within the gravel was a tiny patch of light, the bone around an empty eye socket, staring back up at me. Police were called. I was questioned and released, and the whole town went up in a flurry. Details weren't released until after I had left for college, but I made my parents tell me everything over the phone, even though they were vexed to talk about it. As it turns out, what I found was a partially decomposed skull. The skull of a child. But not a child from the 1600s. No.

It was a bit more recent than that. The truth is, the well at the edge of town, the well we all knew from local lore, had been used as a drop-off point for child trafficking. That is, until about two years ago, when the ring had been discovered and exposed. But apparently, sometimes, the children would be left alone for so long before pick-up that some would die, never leaving their places of holding. That's what keeps me up at night. That's what keeps me seeing a therapist, not the ghostly hands of long dead children

wailing for my soul. It's the malnourished, desperate hands of those still living. The children reaching up and crying, pleading with me in mingled fear to take them out of the well to save them and I just ran so wow I didn't expect your story to be so good dark Please tell me that's not real. Is it? The scariest stories often are. Just look it up. The Omaha Menagerie, the Clay's Mill Clowns, or Puppy Parlor.

Yeah, I like my targeted ads as they are. I'll pass. How do you even know this stuff? You listen to true crime, don't you? I stay informed in other ways. You mean Reddit? Or other ways. He means Reddit.

Hey, isn't Reddit where you heard about the Lightstalker? Uh, it's the Light-Taker. And that was TikTok. Totally different. Right. Because a shadowy bat monster is way more realistic than whatever I just said. Earlier, I saw a bat flying around the camp. Maybe it was the light-taker. Wait, really? If we're lucky, it'll take you first.

-♪ Full Body Chills is an AudioChuck production. This episode was written by Kaidman Holland and read by Michael David Axtow. Intro outro written by David Flowers and read by Ashley Flowers, Idris Jones, Kirsten Lee, Nathan Noakes, and Shai Chourey. So what do you think Chuck? Do you approve?