The Girl in the Well

It's all fun and games until it's not anymore. Two girls, ages twelve and fourteen, were playing in the backyard of the abandoned house down the street. The house had been vacant for years; the owners had died and never had the chance to put it up for sale. The roof had fallen apart and windows shattered due to age and harsh weather. The city hadn't bothered to try and clean it up and resell it. No one had ever been inside since then, but the backyard was a hotspot for the kids. The backyard consisted of a stone patio, with the weeds growing in the cracks and the grill collecting rust under the cloth cover, colored with dirt and old stains. With age, the stones had become discolored and blended with the weeds, with some stones cracking and lifting in areas. The kids had drawn hopscotch and four-square across the stone. In the back left of the patio was a stone well, about four feet high, with an old metal bucket hanging from the rope that strung down through the roof. The roof of the well had been old sheet metal found in the city dump all those years ago. It was covered with rust, and the rope was hanging on by a thread, with no one bothering to try and replace it. The previous owners used to have the neighborhood kids compete to see who could get a coin into the bucket first. The ones who missed leaned over the edge to wait for the echo of the coin hitting the stone floor dozens of feet below. Sometimes they would hear the coin splash if it rained the day before. On dry days, the kids had heard the rattle of their coin hitting the others at the bottom. Excitement and laughter used to bounce off of the stone walls. Now it was silence. Until the girls were told the stories of the neighborhood kids from their parents and continued the tradition after the owners passed. At first, the girls collected the old coins cluttered around the well from the other kids falling short of the bucket. They had been covered in dirt but had worked just the same. Then the girls had brought their own, wasting at least a dollar every week. The quarters had been easier to throw, because of their size and weight. The dimes had been the hardest because they were small and light. Pennies had been the easiest to find, and nickels had been hard to come by. The girls had tossed coin after coin, getting one into the bucket here and there. Their squeals had only been heard by each other since the backyard was surrounded by dense wilderness. The two girls had trekked through the woods together from the main road to get to the well every day after school. They had drawn a line on the stone with sidewalk chalk, so they had known where to stand to toss. The pink chalk had faded every few days, washing away completely after a rainstorm. One of the girls had gotten behind the line, her shoes barely touching it, making sure she was as close as possible. She had tossed a dime, then a quarter. The dime had bounced off of the bucket, landing back at her feet. "Dang it," she said. The quarter had landed perfectly in the bucket. The two girls clapped in excitement. "My turn, my turn," the other chimed in. A nickel and a penny. The nickel had ricocheted off of the metal rim and over the well into the weeds. The penny had skimmed the stone ring and fallen down into the darkness. She had run over to watch it fall. But the stone flooring of the patio had not been level. Some pieces had cracked and raised above the others. The weeds hid it well and went unnoticed to the naked eye. Running over to the well, she had tripped on the broken stone, reaching out her arms to catch herself. Phew, that was close, she thought. She stuck her neck over the edge and had heard it echo up against the walls. "Move, it's my turn now." Two pennies, one of them had Abraham Lincoln barely visible. The coin floated through the air and had landed perfectly in the bucket. The metal clank rung through their ears and had cheered with excitement. "I've got one more left." She took a few steps back, the pink chalk barely visible over the tips of her sneakers and had flicked the second penny into the air, watching it roll around the well like a toilet bowl. It had looked like it was going to fall in. She had had a head start to watch it drop. She ran to the side of the well, forgetting the stone was not flat, forgetting her friend had just watched her life flash before her eyes. The front of her sneaker had caught the lip of the rock. She had reached out her arms out to catch herself. But it had been too late. Her hands had missed the edge, the palms of her hand had skimmed the stone before she was reaching into the darkness. The force from her excitement had made her legs go over her head. The walls of the well had been too far apart to try and stop or slow down the fall. Her screams echoed as she fell. Down, down, down. The girl had raced to catch her friend. She had put her arms out, screaming for her to stop. But it had been too late. She had heard the thud, and the screams had stopped. A small rattle of the coins she had landed on echoed slightly. She had peeked over the edge, not wanting to see what was at the bottom. The girl had spoken her name, with no response. No words, no whisper, no noise. It's all fun and games, until it hadn't been anymore.