The Cistern

Franklin Ward awoke to the reverberating clang of the distant smelting factory he worked at. The early morning light through the filthy window gave the large, occupied room a headcount of at least ten men fast asleep. Careful not to awaken the others, he eyed the door, then the man’s hairy arm that pinned him to the dingy mattress. With careful effort, he slid out of bed and pushed up off the floor. Franklin retrieved his tattered coat from the hanger off the wall, and then, ever so quietly, he opened the door. Grimacing as it slowly groaned open. Then, he ever so carefully closed it in the hallway with a click. Turning away, Franklin made his way down the worn wood steps and slipped past the maidservant. She watched on as she laboured over an iron wood stove in a makeshift kitchen, distracted by a whistling pot of tea. Franklin usually had the habit of saying hello to her; only she appeared preoccupied with preparing breakfast before the morning shift.

Outside the brick-and-mortar workhouse, Franklin’s footfalls crunched down upon the shaded frost that coated the cobblestones. Carefully taking a moment to see if anyone took a keen interest in his whereabouts, he slipped down the obscure path and trotted through the brambles and a tight slit of uncut trees. Stopping at a suitable clearing where he could reflect. His hands searched through his pockets for a book of matches and the remains of a cigar uncovered in some filthy ashtray in a nearby pub. Trembling with stained and numb finger, Franklin held the lit match up to the stubbed butt and took a long, hearty drag. Then, with his back resting against a thick oak tree, he relaxed with a long-deserved sigh.

He exhaled in mild amusement at how it whisked around his mouth and nostrils like he were a furnace chimney. Franklin ignored how it burned his eyes and coughed at the thick smog. He glanced around for anyone else out for some air, yet he was still glad to be all alone with his thoughts. Wetting his lips, Franklin spotted something amiss through the mist in the rolling field the labourers had been busy clearing away. The wood that fed every furnace, including the iron-smelt ones, choked the air with ash. While surveying the ravaged landscape, something odd in the rolling autumn fog caught his eye. Curious, Franklin drew closer to what looked to be a massive hole in the earthen ground with aged Celtic glyphs and elaborate stonework that encircled it. As he drew closer, the rolling fog managed to keep him from seeing what lay at the bottom of this elaborate downwell. Though he had never been here before, something gnawed in him about it. Not one person in the workers lodge had ever mentioned this strange finding, yet here it was. Behold such mysteries before me, Franklin mused at the thought. Is it worth more than a shilling a day?

Franklin sighed. Wishing his life had been on stage rather than shovelling coal into a roaring furnace. Was it just luck, or perhaps even some twist of fate? He wondered.

Like every ignorant fellow among him that laboured away in this remote steel and iron factory, Franklin drew closer to alleviate his curiosity. Perhaps there was something he could find profit in. Enough so that he could leave for good and never look back. Maybe offer a share of his findings to a gig carriage or a passing a loaded lorry headed for some nearby harbour town or train station. But what his perceptions could not perceive, Franklin looked over the odd and ornate excavation. On all fours, he wished for a lantern so he could peer deeper into the darkness. With one hand roving into his jacket pocket for a single wood match, he smirked. A stone slipped over the edge, and after what felt like forever, it echoed with a hallow splash.

Maybe this was a well at one time. Franklin bent a little lower with a lit match. The wavering flame managed to burn his fingers until he let it slip into the dark.

Franklin ignored the warnings. The packed brickwork under his weight crumbled and broke loose. Some of it fell over the side with a splotch and a splash. But he was too curious to be concerned about his own welfare. How far does this go? He coughed into his hand and ignored the spotted flecks of blood on it. Franklin bent closer. The smell from the opening reminded him of a fish market in London Harbour. So was it a well? He pontificated. Or perhaps a coalmine shaft, flooded with rainwater, occupied by a soup of-long dead creatures? He wore a sour look at the thought of it being the source of their drinking water.

A bubbly gurgle echoed from below. Like an empty belly anticipating a meal.

Despite Franklin’s curiosity and apparent disgust, he held his breath and edged a little closer, squinting into the dark yawn, fascinated. Something is down there, all right. He wanted to edge closer, but despite his curiosity, Franklin did not want to fall in. Yet whatever lingered in there squirmed around with life. What is that, a snake? He went to stand up and slipped on the dewy grass. The brickwork gave way. Just as he teetered over, Franklin spun around. After a few seconds of absolute panic, he managed to claw and clamour back onto solid land.

Panting for breath, Franklin turned over on his back, staring upwards at a turbulent and clouded sky. He giggled as beads of sweat traced down his backside. His heart thumped hard enough to burst free. Supine with his legs dangling over the edge, Franklin fought to control his rising panic. After a few minutes of calming down, a mad little giggle escaped him. I’m such an idiot, he mused.

Franklin baulked as the clouds above churned and darkened. But even then, the sky began to look so strange. As it squirmed with moving shapes and patterns, he could not recognize. What the heck is going on? He wanted to shout out. That was until something stuck and wet whipped around his dangling leg. It constricted tightly and before he registered what was happening, it started to reel him in. He screamed as he spun over onto his belly and clawed at the soft soil.

A shadow fell over him.

Strong iron welder hands grabbed his scrawny arms and yanked him up. Franklin glanced back to the source of his abduction, as thin black tendrils slipped back into the well. He looked over to his lifesaver but could barely manage to express his gratitude.

“What are you doing all the way out here, then?” The burly man asked as he dusted himself off. “You shouldn’t be pissing about around that old water hole.” He scowled. “It’s ain't safe.”

“I was just out getting some air, that’s all.”

“Well, you just stay away from that cistern.”

“What’s a cistern?”

“It’s a receptacle to store water, you daft little bugger. This one had a wood door on it but I guess a storm last winter just tore it right off. Or else, it just fell in. All the old wells here are mostly empty, aside from this one. So we certainly do not need some poor daft bloke like you buggering around it, falling in and breaking his neck. Polluting up the only drinking water we have now, do we?”

Franklin looked over his shoulder back at the cistern. “I think something’s in there.”

“Oh?” The man crossed his hairy arms and asked, “What makes you say that?”

“Well, something in there grabbed me by the leg, see?” Franklin grimaced as he touched the slash marks on his swollen calf.

The man made a face and waved it off.“Fah, looks more like rope burned to me. Nothing a salve couldn't fix.”

“Dunno, really.” Franklin nodded with his chin to the cistern. “But I swear I saw something squirming about below.”

“Could be tadpoles,” the stranger shrugged off. “Or a grass snake had fallen in.” He laughed and backhanded Franklin’s scrawny gut. “Could even be one of them reed fish. Now that’s a tasty find.”

“So you don’t know, then?”

“Well,” the man said, scratching at his shaggy beard. “It’s all down there, now ain’t it? It could just be an armada of newts; sometimes they get in there and then they go on and lay their eggs all over the place, or it could be anything really; it happens from time to time.” He stomped towards the cistern and motioned for Franklin to come closer.

A wind picked up. A hard odour drifted in from the factory. It burned his throat and made Franklin cough. His lungs hurt, and his eyes watered. The sky above them was thick with clouds of fiery ash. That grew darker by the second. A foreboding feeling washed over Franklin, as the man stood close enough to touch. He wanted to step back, but feared it would be impolite.

“See that twinkling at the bottom there?” The swarthy man pointed into the cistern.

Franklin stole a glance downward and nodded once.

“They could also be minnows, beetles, and such; we get them too sometimes. Incidentally, when we take the water from here, we filter it with charcoal and sand filters, then boil it very well, and then let it all cool. Some would like to fish from here, but to be honest, they don't taste so good.” He gestured, “So I wouldn’t suggest it.”

Franklin looked further and drew back, pointing. “Did you see that?” His voice raised a pitch.

“What?” The man drew close beside him and looked around in confusion. “Have you lost your mind, boy? I told you already.

“Look over there. There’s a giant eye looking back at us!”

“Oh bullocks,” the man squinted and bent closer to inspect the area more. “A giant eye, you say?” He squinted.

“Don’t you see it?” Franklin tried to keep the calm in his voice.

The stranger looked quiet as something stirred at the very deep bottom and started to float its way to the surface. It bobbed up and down, blinking at them. Thick barbed tentacles swum through the water around it like overlapping serpents. “Well, I’ll be damned.” He was impressed.

“So you do see it, right?”

“Yeah,” the man nodded. “Not many can see it, but more like feel it looking back at them. You know?”

“That thing is in our drinking water.”

“Well, it’s kind of like this; it’s been down there forever, lad.” The man’s burly arm slapped Franklin’s scrawny back. “It doesn’t usually show itself like this to many, so you are very unique just to be able to spot it.” He tapped at his temple. “Many, though, are beaconed here. I don’t know why that is, but I suppose it’s the results that matter.”

“What do you mean results?”

“Don’t worry, you’ll see shortly,” the man said, showing off his rotten black teeth. “Some say they all come here to serve it; others pray to it... and sometimes they are just drawn here to help feed it.”

Franklin blinked, “excuse me?”

A rustling of bushes and the crisp snap of fallen twigs from behind caught Franklin’s attention. He turned and spotted strangers exiting from the surrounding woods dressed in thick, dark burlap robes, chanting in a strange dialect. Their faces were shadowed by the dark sky above as the landscape transmogrified around them. Gnarled trees in the remaining forest and excavated fields twisted in deformity as they tried to scratch up at the heavens. shadowed faces that appeared to howl in silence and terrible anguish. Overhead, dark, elegiac clouds tore open like a tear in time and space. Revealing clusters of celestial bodies and ominous semi-translucent bulbous and amoebic lobopodias. Each devouring each other like the anomalous cosmic titans they were.

Franklin paused and slowly turned around. From each carved stone that encircled the cistern, an odd blue-green glow emerged. A creepy, eerie feeling washed over him as he glanced over at the stranger and gasped. The stranger’s face glowed like the stones through the circular scarring that appeared. On the sides of his neck, little, fine slits opened and closed like the gills of a fish. His eyes were as black as the night, glinting with specs of starlight.

“Thèid do ìobairt a dhèanamh don bhiast-bhèist!” The brute intoned in Gaelic, and then he shoved poor Franklin into the cistern. Into the ever-hungry Itheadair nan Anam, whose tentacles enveloped the poor struggling sod and dragged him down into the dark, murky waters.