“I must say, Mr.Walker, The story is… Strange.” The passenger said to the driver. “I’m glad you think so sir I--”
“I don’t mean it in a good way, Mr.Walker.” The passenger interrupted him. “First of all, the plot is too blunt. If you are desiring to be a mystery writer, then you must make it vague. You’re practically telling me who the killer is!” Mr.Walker frowned, but the passenger did not see. “Well, you see, that is the point! It's the red herring, you see I--”
He interrupted again. “I have no care for a red herring. This story is not original. It's all predictable. We all ruined the red herring. If your story is going to be good, make it so that the reader doesn’t know what is coming.”
Silence in the car. Mr.Walker had no response, and just kept driving the car. The passenger lay the story in his lap, and laid no more eyes on it. Mr.Walker did. He looked at the paper on his lap. He had a strange feeling about it.
“Eyes on the road, Mr.Walker.” He notified him. Mr.Walker looked up instantly back to the road. What trouble would it cause? There was only one other car on the road, and it was about fifty feet in front of him. He no longer looked at the book. Just focused on the road. Minutes passed, then an hour.
The silence was so strong. Somehow he had to break the ice. But he couldn’t take his eyes off the road. But he had the strength. “You know, the character I made in the story, I based him off of someone I knew. He--”
“MR.WALKER!!!”
Mr.Walker was thrown forward in his seat, his head colliding with the airbag, glass flying in and out, cutting him and the passenger. The car took off the ground and barreled down the hill, the passenger flew out the window, but Mr.Walker remained seated. It tumbled down the hill and soon collapsed upside down at the bottom. Mr.Walker was still awake, although he wanted to sleep. He undid his seatbelt and slumped onto the roof of his car. He slowly crawled out of the broken window, the glass still cutting him.
He couldn’t even stand. His shin was clearly broken, and standing on it made it bend. The passenger was a small distance away, laid on the hill. He was dead.
Mr.Walker couldn’t bear to see the man. He was cold, and he was thirsty. He limped into the woods to get away from the fire. He had to force himself to move, and if he stopped, he worried he would die. At this point, his leg was completely incapable. He could only hop with one leg now.
There was a well just a short distance away. If he was lucky. He could have a drink. He approached it. It was an old well, made out of stone, which had eroded from the rain and snow before. The wood was broken and rotten, and the bucket was no longer there. But there was still water there. Maybe if he reached just a little farther, he could get some. Closer… Closer…
Something grabbed him by the legs and threw him inwards. He flailed his arms and screamed, his body scraping the edges of the walls. He collided into the water, the frigid cold surrounding his body as he sunk like a rock. The world was collapsing around him, losing all consciousness, he felt so empty inside…
Darkness. There was no light to walk towards. His body was stiff, the ground felt like cement. Is this what it was like to be dead?
“Hey, can you move?” A voice said softly. Was that a spirit? No, it couldn’t be. But could it just so be that Mr.Walker was still alive?
“Yeah… Who- Who is that?” Mr.Walker said. He reached his hands out and felt a hairy arm. “Yup, that’s my dog you're touching.” There was something blocking his eyes. He Grabbed it from the middle of his nose and pulled up. It was a muddy rag, and the room was blurry when he opened it.
“Careful now… Your leg is severely broken. Any more broken and I would have to have cut it off.” It sounded like a woman's voice. The blur remained, but he was able to make out a brunette woman and a black dog, both to his right side.
“Where am I? I don't recognize this place.” The air was cold and minty, his insides felt so strangely deprived, and he felt like this place was inhuman.
“We call it the Killing Well.”
“We?” He said, questioningly.
“Yeah. You and me aren’t the only people who have fallen in here. There are at least five others. Fell in here just like you did.”
“Why do you call it the Killing Well?”
“Because when I came, there were at least ten more of us.”
Mr.Walker was speechless. People died here? But he couldn’t die now! Who built this place? What purpose did they have? What did they want from me?
“I have so many questions…” Mr.Walker said, his voice shaking in fear.
“And I have no answers. If you are to find out why we are here. Knock yourself out. Be the first.” The images started to clear now, and Mr.Walker could see her face. She was muddy as well, her brown hair had spots of black in it, and it was pulled into a ponytail. The dog to her side was lying asleep, and had only three legs.
Mr.Walker tried to get up from the saggy mattress he was apparently laid upon, only to feel a large spike of pain. “Hey, there. Careful. I had to do some scrappy surgery to help you there.” Mr.Walker looked to his right leg that was hurt in the crash, which was laced with gauze that was painted red. “Are you a doctor?” Mr.Walker asked.
“No. I dropped out of med school. I could only land a job as a pharmacist. Oh, and i’m Nancy by the way.” She got up from her place and walked to a table in the corner of the room. “And who exactly are you supposed to be?” I guess it was only fair to reply. She had saved his life. “I’m Addam, Addam Walker. I’m just a writer.”
She chuckled, and kept working on whatever she was doing in the corner of the room. “Huh, I actually think we had a writer here once upon a time. His name was like, Thomas, or something. We weren't that close.”
She came back and had something that looked like medicine. Mr.Walker took it, and his face crunched up with disgust at the instant flavor of it.
“Uch! What is that stuff?”
“What does it look like? It's medicine.”
“Exactly what type of medicine?”
“Painkillers. For what comes next.”
“What comes next?”
She dabbed alcohol onto a wet rag, and took off the bandages from his leg. He was finally able to take a look at his leg. It was purple and red, a great big cut stretching from his kneecap to his ankle. She put the rag onto his leg, and Mr.Walker grit his teeth. He lurched back and forth, holding the scream in until there was no more to hold. It echoed around the room and rebounded into his ears once again. The pain slowly diminished, until there was no more.
“There we go. That should prevent the risk of infection. We don't have any stitches, so all we can do for it is just put the bandage that was on before and keep your leg in that place.”
She grabbed another roll of gauze and wrapped it around his leg. It wasn’t red like before, but it was dirty and turned a slight brown. With no more words, she left the room through a door in the corner of the room. She didn’t come back.
He couldn’t hold my position for any longer. And besides, the gauze was getting itchy. He couldn’t stand on both of his legs, so he grabbed some homemade crutches from the side of the room and hobbled out of the room through the same door that Nancy went through. It led to a dimly lit hall, completely made of metal. It was empty, and it looked like there was no end.
He walked through the hall. Strange, there were no doors on either end of the hall. It just stretched around, like going in a circle. Eventually, the walls degraded, going brown instead of that white and gray they had of the ceramic. The hall itself grew slowly larger, Mr.Walker's altitude decreasing with each step. Soon, there was no ceramic to be. There was a cliff with a drop of two feet, leading into a long, straight tunnel that had no end. Mr.Walker looked to the dirt ground. He slowly stepped down to avoid any further injury to his leg. As he set foot on the dirt, it echoed around the wall. A soft rumble came. He took another step forward, and felt something on his gauze. It was a little worm, wriggling around on his foot. He kicked it off. He tried to step forward, but another rumble came, this one much stronger, followed by the steps of at least five people behind him.
“NO! GET OUT OF THERE!”
It was Nancy yelling. Mr.Walker looked back to her and the tunnel. A light came from the tunnel. It was a fire-like light, and it continually got bigger. Mr.Walker used his only instinct and ran towards the ceramic hall once again. He couldn’t run on his only leg, so he dismissed the crutches and ran on both legs, his right shin bursting with pain. The burning light was getting closer, and closer, about fifty feet away, the face of what it was was invisible. Nancy had her hand held out reaching for Mr.Walker, but he was slow and weak, but still capable. He leapt onto the ceramic pad and crawled up into the hall.
It was a worm. A ginormous worm. No eyes, pale skin, large burning mouth with a million teeth. It whimpered as it's face collided with the ceramic hall, peeling the tiles off, revealing more dirt. It pulled away, and hid inside the darkness once more.”
“WHAT WAS THAT!?!” Mr.Walker screamed. Fumbling backwards.
“Oh, Them?” Nancy said, panting, with her hands to her knees. “Meet your new neighbors.”