The Distorted

Jack woke up from his sleep, those moments where he couldn’t remember how the day had begun, as if time itself had stopped. He got out of bed slowly and walked downstairs, where breakfast was prepared, but the atmosphere in the house felt strange, unsettling.

His family was as they always were: his father, Raymond, surrounded by an aura of cruelty; his mother, Sophia, wearing a smile wrapped in sorrow; and his younger brother, Jimmy, a little demon playing the executioner in this daily scene.

As Jack chewed a piece of meat, his brother’s words lashed through the air like a whip:

“Monster… bring me some bread.”

Jack looked at Jimmy with eyes full of anger, but his mother, who was watching the situation, snapped at him with a harsh tone:

“Jimmy, why are you speaking like that?”

But Raymond, still enjoying his cup of green tea, responded to his wife with a voice filled with bitterness:

“You were supposed to raise him as a child, not as a monster.”

Jack continued to chew his meat, his gaze shifting between his family members. Every word they uttered reminded him of his place in this life. He had always been called “Monster,” or “Burnt Face,” or “Freak.” Each time he heard those words, his pain was renewed, and he wondered to himself, “When will this suffering end?”

He then rose and headed to his room, as if everything around him was dissolving into shadows. In the bathroom, he stood before the mirror and looked at his face—a nightmare in itself. His features were ravaged by burns, as if sculpted in fire, with raw nerves visible beneath the damaged skin, as though pain itself was etched upon him.

He whispered to himself, “When will you die, monster? When will this suffering end?”

Then, he left the house in a suffocating silence. The sky mirrored his inner state—cloudy, as if preparing to rain. The wind was still, and people around him moved on with their lives as if nothing was happening.

Jack carried a red-covered book he had bought from a nearby village. It was a sketchbook—art was the only thing that made him feel like himself despite everything. He had been skilled at drawing since childhood, and this book was his only refuge.

He walked along the rugged path leading to the forest, where the trees twisted strangely, as if trying to hide him from the world. Passing by some girls working the fields, he felt their poisonous gazes pierce him. Their eyes were filled with mockery and disdain. He knew they were talking about his appearance, about his ugliness, as if he were a creature from horror stories.

He arrived at a vast wheat field, where children played a popular game in his village. But all he could feel was the hatred bubbling inside him. He remembered how he had always been rejected by the children, how they used to scream in his face:

“Monster! Monster! Monster!”

Their voices faded into the air, as if he existed in another world, alone with the monstrosity he could never escape, alone with the words that would haunt him forever…

At the age of eight, Jack had wandered through the streets of his simple village. He was unlike the other children—always different, his appearance a source of whispers. Suddenly, without warning, one child grabbed a handful of mud and threw it at his face. Others followed, pelting him as they shouted:

“Go away, monster! We don’t want to play with you!”

He returned home that day, crying bitterly, his eyes brimming with tears. His father, ever the strict man, did not hesitate to slap him hard across the right cheek.

With a voice filled with rage, he shouted:

“How many times have I told you not to leave your room? You are a monster! No one wants you here!”

His mother, Sophia, stepped in to calm him and gently urged him to go to his room. As he climbed the stairs with heavy steps, his father’s voice thundered behind him:

“Why did I marry you? To give birth to a monster?”

As Jack moved through time and space, he felt the world turning its back on him. He saw people looking at him with that same gaze—filled with fear and disgust. One of them, a blond-haired boy, sneered:

“Stay away, monster.”

Jack smiled, but inside, his heart was drowning in pain.

He kept walking until he reached the edge of the forest, where the trees seemed to strangle the sky. Suddenly, deep in the woods, he noticed something unusual. A man was digging into the ground, but the hole wasn’t just any hole—it looked like a grave.

Then, the man emerged from the pit, and Jack realized he wasn’t an ordinary person. He was dressed entirely in black, his eyes the color of night, his towering figure exuding an eerie presence. Around his neck, a golden pendant gleamed in the dim forest light, shaped like the letter “F.”

The man looked at Jack and spoke in a calm voice:

“You arrived just in time.”

Jack, confused: “Who are you? Where did you come from?”

The man smiled. “I am not from here, but I am a part of everything in this world.”

Jack, now anxious, asked, “Is that a grave?”

The man responded with a chilling gaze. “Yes, it is your grave.”

Jack couldn’t believe what he had just heard. His voice trembled as he asked, “When will I die?”

The man’s response was cryptic: “That’s the wrong question… The real question is: How will you die?”

Jack stared into the man’s eyes, a strange sensation creeping into his heart. His words echoed in his mind, screaming from the depths of his soul: “Is this reality or just a dream?”

But deep in his mind, something pressed against him—a truth he needed to understand. Yet, courage was slipping away from him, replaced by an insatiable curiosity. He tried to flee, but he could still feel the man’s gaze lingering on him, clinging to him.

Jack continued walking, trying to escape, but with each step, he felt something odd. He had arrived at a place he had never seen before—a place no one dared to go.

It was the place everyone feared, the one spoken of in legends.

A place called “The Wishing Well.”

Jack stood there, stunned, unable to believe his eyes. How did I get here?

He had heard countless rumors about this well—some claimed it granted wishes, but at a terrible price. Others said it devoured souls, while some believed it consumed the dreams of men.

But deep in his heart, curiosity slithered like snakes, pushing him forward. A whisper echoed within him.

Could the wishes be real? Or was it all just a lie?

As he stood there, he felt something stirring inside him. Something deadly, something unbearable. He had the feeling that this moment would change everything in his life.

He felt anxious, yet he couldn’t help but step closer. What if a monster emerged from this well? What would I do then? His mind screamed, “Run now, you fool!” But his curiosity was stronger than anything else, whispering to him, “Why not make your wish?”

Jack felt something strange pulling him toward the well, as if something down there was waiting for him. He cautiously approached, his eyes fixed on the deep opening. Below… utter darkness. Nothing but silence. Then… he saw them—yellow eyes! Eyes gleaming in the dark.

Jack screamed in terror and immediately staggered back, falling to the ground. He wanted to run, but suddenly, an unfamiliar voice emerged from the depths of the well, speaking in a soft tone:

“Jackie… I know what you desire.”

Jack stood up quickly, surprised that the voice wasn’t as frightening as the stories foretold. No, it was a feminine voice, flowing gently from the abyss, as if it had lived in the well for eternity.

Cautiously, Jack asked, “Who are you?”

The voice responded calmly, “Do not be afraid… come closer… I will not harm you, Jackie.”

His eyes searched the darkness, trying to make sense of what was happening. “Aren’t you coming closer? I thought you weren’t that foolish,” the voice replied with an eerily sweet tone.

“As you wish… go ahead… make your wish.”

“Will my wish come true?”

The voice replied mockingly, “Only one wish.”

Jack smiled despite his unease, but he was thinking cleverly. “What’s the price?”

The voice hesitated for a moment, as if considering the answer, then said, “Food… you will bring me food… and you, like the others before you, will provide for those like yourself.”

Jack recoiled in horror, but the voice continued: “Then… you have no wish here. Leave.”

Clutching the book that had fallen with him, Jack rushed home as if escaping something beyond comprehension. He entered his house and silently made his way to the second floor when a soft voice stopped him:

“Where were you?”

Jack froze and turned to see his mother. He tried to appear guilty, knowing that such a trick always worked on mothers like her. Slowly, he said, “I was drawing, Mom.”

His mother spoke with concern, “You should have been back an hour or two ago.”

Jack lowered his eyes, forcing a fake smile and feigning sadness, “I’m sorry, Mom.”

But his mother wasn’t fooled. She held his shoulders firmly and said, “Don’t apologize to me… I’m just worried about you.”

She hugged him, but despite her gentle embrace, Jack’s mind was consumed by thoughts of the monster in the well and the price it demanded. Could it truly grant his wish? And what would he have to pay in return? No, no… He knew that this creature could do anything. But the price… the price was always waiting for victims, just as it had said.

The next day, Jack returned to the well, pondering the cost he would have to bear. Staring into the deep darkness, he called out, “You! Can you hear me?”

Those yellow eyes reappeared in the abyss. Fear gripped Jack’s heart, but he steeled himself and declared, “I want to make a wish.”

The feminine voice returned, “I knew you would come sooner or later.”

Jack ignored the remark and cautiously said, “I want to be beautiful.”

The voice answered decisively, “Very well… bring me food, and I shall grant your wish.”

Jack returned to his village, formulating a plan. How could he bring his first offering? Would he lure them into the darkness?

Suddenly, as he walked along the path, he spotted the perfect target.

Ronald was just a year younger than Jack—sixteen years old. He had a slim build, short hair, wide brown eyes, and thick, connected eyebrows. He wore a dirty white shirt and short trousers that revealed his knees.

As Ronald approached, Jack felt something strange stir in his eyes, as if a hazy thought was taking shape in his mind. He quickly initiated conversation, hiding his true intentions:

“Ronald! How are you?”

Their relationship was nothing more than an acquaintance, but Jack knew exactly how to strike the right chord.

“I’m fine, and you?” Ronald replied, his eyes filled with unease. “What’s going on?”

Jack moved uncomfortably close, his face nearly touching Ronald’s. The boy flinched slightly but quickly regained his composure. Then, Jack whispered in a subtle tone:

“Sarah sent you a message.”

Ronald’s heartbeat accelerated. His eyes widened as if they were about to pop out of their sockets. He looked around cautiously, then burst out angrily:

“Why did I send you a message? And why aren’t we talking about this at the mill?”

Jack smirked slyly, and an invisible tension linked their hearts as if something big was about to happen.

“You know very well that her parents are devout and would never allow her to leave. She’s currently being punished and confined to her room.”

Ronald took a step back, hesitating before asking:

“What did she say to you?”

Jack smiled again, his eyes gleaming mysteriously.

“She told me she’d meet you at the Wishing Well.”

Ronald froze in place, his eyes widening further. “The Wishing Well?! Are you sure of what she said?”

Jack placed a hand on Ronald’s shoulder, sending a shiver through him, though he managed to compose himself.

“Yes, she confirmed it to me. She said she’d wait for you at midnight by the well.”

At that moment, a strange feeling crept into Ronald. He looked at Jack with suspicion-filled eyes.

“If you tell anyone what you just told me, you know what will happen to you.”

Jack chuckled lightly, showing no fear.

“Don’t worry, I don’t betray my friends.”

That dark night, shadows danced on the ground as if they were breathing. Jack lurked behind a tree somewhere, while Ronald reached the well. He stood close to it, his eyes darting in every direction. Above him, the moon shone in an unnaturally bright way, as if it were watching the scene with anticipation.

Ronald whispered cautiously,

“Sarah! Where are you?”

A heavy silence enveloped the area, as if the place itself were breathing slowly. Suddenly, from the depths of the well, came an unforgettable hoarse voice:

“My love, Ronald… I’m here.”

His steps hastened toward the edge, his eyes fixed on the deep darkness inside the well. Before he could utter a word, everything vanished into absolute darkness, and he screamed:

“Sarah! Sarah… what are you doing there?”

In a quiet village bathed in moonlight, Jack watched Ronald from behind a tree trunk as he stood at the mouth of an old well. Suddenly, Ronald stumbled and fell into the well, the sound of his body hitting the water echoing through the air. Terror gripped Jack, and he rushed home, panting, whispering to himself:

“It wasn’t my fault… it wasn’t my fault.”

The next morning, Jack woke up with a strange feeling. When he touched his face with his fingertips, a wave of confusion overwhelmed him. His skin… was perfectly smooth, free of all the scars and burns of the past!

He ran to the bathroom and stood before the mirror, staring at his reflection. This wasn’t the face he was used to seeing. He washed his face repeatedly, pinched his arm to wake himself up, but everything he saw confirmed the truth. A mysterious miracle had happened… but how?

Jack rushed downstairs, calling out in a trembling voice,

“Mom!”

Sophia appeared, holding a breakfast plate, but as soon as she laid eyes on him, she froze. The plate slipped from her hands, shattering on the floor as her eyes widened in shock.

This was not the face of the son she knew—it was the face of someone entirely different.

Later, Jack sat in the office of Dr. Bolt, the only doctor in the village, who examined him carefully before speaking.

“What happened to you, Jack… cannot be explained. It’s a miracle, no doubt about it.”

But Jack, with a sly smile concealing conflicting emotions, thought to himself:

“This is no divine miracle… I know what happened.”

When he returned home, his father had just come back from work at the blacksmith’s. The moment he saw Jack’s face, he froze in place and turned to Sophia.

“Who is this?”

Sophia replied in a trembling voice,

“It’s our son, Jack.”

But the father, his face darkening with anger, snapped:

“Impossible. Jack was… a deformed creature. How did he end up like this?”

Jack fled from those angry gazes to his room, shut the door behind him, and sank into a deep sleep. But he couldn’t stay away from the village for long. He wandered through the alleys, whispers following him from every corner:

“Who is this boy? Could it really be… Jack?”

The women’s gazes held admiration mixed with disbelief, while the men’s eyes carried suspicion and hidden secrets. But Jack didn’t care. He walked with confident steps, savoring the moments of glory he had always dreamed of.

But life in the village does not always go as one desires. As Jack crossed the street, he suddenly stopped in front of the Simon family’s house, where a police car was parked. That family… was Ronald’s. The boy who had fallen into the well.

His heart clenched for a moment, but he quickly looked away, feigning indifference, and continued on his way.

That night, Jack returned home, only to be met with a scene that sent chills through him. Another police car was parked outside, the flashing lights casting eerie reflections on the walls of the house.

A strange feeling washed over him, something resembling fear. But he took slow, deep breaths, trying to steady himself before murmuring under his breath:

“Everything will be fine… I’ll get through this.”

Jack opened the door to his house and found everyone sitting inside: his mother, Sophia, and his father, Raymond, on their usual blue couch, along with two unfamiliar men. The first was the village chief, an old, bald man wearing a robe resembling those of Buddhist monks. The second was a police officer with a thick mustache and sharp eyes.

Sophia looked at Jack and said anxiously, “Jack… dear… the officer wants to ask you a few questions.”

Jack felt a tightness in his chest, but he smiled calmly and replied, “Alright.”

He sat between his parents as the village chief began speaking. “How are you, my boy?”

Jack responded with a slight smile, “I’m fine, Chief.”

The officer then introduced himself, “I’m Officer Clark, and I’m sure you’ve heard about Ronald’s disappearance.”

Jack nodded. “Yes, it’s very sad.”

Clark’s eyes gleamed as he asked, “You were the last person to see him before he vanished. Do you know where he went or what happened to him?”

Jack answered firmly, “No, officer.”

Clark stared directly into Jack’s eyes before saying, “Witnesses confirmed that you were speaking with Ronald yesterday at noon. What were you two talking about?”

Jack quickly replied, “It wasn’t anything important… just casual conversation.”

Clark leaned in slightly and spoke in a sharp tone, “Answer the question properly.”

Jack swallowed hard and said, “He was asking me to paint a picture for him.”

The officer raised an eyebrow in surprise. “A painting? He asked you to paint something? Why? For whom?”

Jack responded coolly, “I don’t know the reason.”

Clark fell silent for a moment, sipping his water before asking another question. “Your mother told me that you stay out late at night, and coincidentally, at the time of Ronald’s disappearance, you were out of the house. Where were you?”

Tension crept into Jack’s chest, but he steadied himself and said, “I was painting, sir. I lost track of time.”

Clark gave a subtle smirk that made Jack’s heart clench. He felt like he had walked into a trap.

Clark spoke slowly, as if testing him, “I’ve heard that the villagers have noticed a change in your appearance. Do you have an explanation for that?”

Jack replied calmly, “I don’t know. Maybe it’s some kind of miracle.”

The officer asked seriously, “Do you believe in miracles, Jack?”

“Yes, sir.”

The officer and the village chief stood up, shook hands with Jack’s father, and left. But before exiting, the chief turned to Jack and asked, “Where do you do your painting?”

Jack quickly replied, “In the forest. Why?”

The chief didn’t wait for an answer. He simply smiled and left.

At that moment, Jack realized he hadn’t just fallen into a trap—he had stepped into a labyrinth with no way out… What a disaster!

In the dense darkness of night, Jack sat at the edge of his bed, his mind weighed down by thoughts as heavy as stones. Suddenly, the darkness was pierced by a strange blue light streaming through his window, a signal of an impending storm. Rain poured down violently, slamming against the glass with an unsettling force.

Jack approached the window and gazed out at the vast field before him. An endless stretch of golden wheat lay before him, with a lone tree standing at its center, as if it harbored a hidden secret. When lightning struck again, Jack spotted something he never expected—a dark silhouette, unmoving, standing at the base of the tree.

His heart pounded, and fear crept through his veins like slow-acting poison. He took heavy steps back from the window, his lips trembling as he whispered to himself:

“Who is that? How did they get here?”

But his shock soon turned into sheer terror. Staring down at the floor, he muttered in a low voice:

“They’ve found out… Damn it.”

He returned to his bed, trying to escape the thoughts that pursued him, but sleep came only in the form of heavy, nightmare-ridden rest.

As dawn broke, Jack woke up as if nothing had happened. He went to the bathroom to wash his face, but when he looked in the mirror, his eyes widened in horror, and his teeth chattered at the sight before him.

His forehead was beginning to revert to its old, deformed state, as if his past was relentlessly hunting him down. He hesitantly touched his face and whispered with sorrow:

“I’m changing again.”

He let his hair fall over his face, covering the ugly mark creeping across his skin, trying to maintain a normal appearance. He sat down with his mother, Sophia, and his little brother, Jimmy, for breakfast, but his mind was elsewhere.

Jack left the house feeling as if unseen eyes were watching him. Heavy footsteps echoed behind him in the village streets, as if a ghost was lurking in the shadows. He tried to ignore it and kept walking until he reached the forest. Sitting under the trunk of a massive tree, he attempted to paint, but the constant sensation of being watched made his hand tremble, resulting only in jagged, erratic lines.

The days passed slowly, filled with tension. Who was watching him? And why? He tried desperately to shake off the looming sense of danger, but the presence of the observer was always there—like a shadow that never disappeared.

Then suddenly, after a week of suspense and fear… the watcher vanished.

Jack stood by his window, gazing cautiously into the field, expecting the shadow to appear once more—but it was no longer there. Even in the village streets, he no longer felt like someone was following him.

At that moment, Jack realized this was his only chance to communicate with the mysterious creature lurking in the depths of his inner well. He resolved to face his fate, no matter the cost. But now, his face was half-disfigured, and the villagers’ stares weighed heavily on him. Even his mother sensed that something terrible was happening to him.

When she asked him to reveal his face, he simply replied from beneath his cover:

“Please, Mother... I’m just very tired.”

But the truth was far too great to be spoken. Jack wasn’t just tired—he was trapped in a horrifying spiral of transformations, consuming him day by day.

Darkness began creeping along the edges of the forest, and the sun bid farewell to the horizon with a strange, blood-red hue. Jack stood at the mouth of the well, his breath quickening, his hands trembling. He shouted into the silence with a deep voice:

“Are you here?”

His voice barely faded before glowing yellow eyes emerged from the well’s darkness, followed by a cold whisper, as if rising from the depths of the earth:

“Jackie… I know what you seek.”

Jack’s body stiffened as he responded in a trembling voice:

“Why am I changing back? What is happening to me?”

A feminine voice, dripping with mockery, answered:

“Because you haven’t fulfilled your promise… You haven’t satisfied my hunger.”

Jack took a step back, his eyes widening in horror:

“But I gave you Ronald… isn’t that enough?”

The woman laughed, a sound like dagger thrusts:

“Ronald was only the beginning, Jackie… I want more. And more means you stay as you wish to be.”

Jack clenched his fists, his voice erupting in rage:

“You’ve been deceiving me all this time!”

The reply came with a chilling calm:

“It wasn’t deception. It was a deal. The more souls you bring me, the longer you keep your beauty. But you already know that, don’t you?”

Jack trembled, his face contorted with confusion and fury. At last, he shouted:

“Damn you!”

He turned away from the well, his footsteps heavy with fear and regret. Entering his home without a sound, he shut the door behind him and sat on his bed, burying his face in his hands.

The next day, Jack walked into the village, scanning the crowd for his next victim. His eyes roamed until they landed on a teenage boy sitting alone on a hay cart. It was Jesse—the outcast, shunned for his sexuality. A perfect target.

Jack approached with a forced smile and said:

“Hello, Jesse! How are you today?”

Jesse looked up at him and smiled shyly:

“Jack, I haven’t seen you in a while. How have you been?”

Feigning hesitation, Jack replied:

“Jesse, I want to tell you something… something important.”

Curiosity flickered across Jesse’s face. Jack added:

“I wrote you a poem… and I want you to hear it.”

Jesse’s eyes lit up with excitement:

“A poem? I didn’t know you wrote poetry! That’s amazing!”

Jack stepped closer, whispering:

“But this isn’t the right place… I have a better spot. A magical place, perfect for this moment.”

Jesse hesitated before murmuring:

“But my family won’t let me go out at night.”

Jack smiled, placing a hand on Jesse’s shoulder, his voice dripping with mystery:

“Trust me, Jesse. Midnight… just you and me. It’ll be a night you’ll never forget.”

Jesse hesitated, but the excitement and curiosity had already won him over.

Jack walked away, his eyes gleaming with sinister intent, already plotting another night in the forest… where the darkness showed no mercy.

Under the dim moonlight, Jesse stood by the old windmill, glancing around cautiously, making sure no one was watching him in the dead of night. Suddenly, he heard soft footsteps approaching.

Jack emerged from the shadows, holding a white sheet of paper, his eyes gleaming with mystery.

He whispered, as if afraid someone might overhear:

“Did anyone see you?”

Jesse answered in a hushed voice:

“No, but I can’t stay here for long.”

“I promise you, this will be the most beautiful night of your life.”

They walked together into the forest, where the chirping of crickets blended with the distant hoot of an owl. The thick darkness wrapped around the towering trees, and the air carried the damp scent of decay.

Jesse broke the silence, whispering shyly,

“Jack... how long have you had these feelings for me?”

Jack looked at him with a faint smile and replied,

“For a long time… but I was afraid to admit it. You know how the villagers treat people like us.”

Jesse remembered all too well the hatred they both faced growing up—the loneliness that shadowed their childhood. They shared a silence heavy with painful memories, until Jesse suddenly pointed at the paper in Jack’s hand.

“What’s that paper you’re holding?”

Jack’s smile turned mysterious.

“A poem. But not yet. Let it be a surprise.”

They stepped over the massive trunk of a fallen tree, but Jesse stumbled, nearly falling before Jack caught him. Their eyes locked for a few seconds, but Jack quickly turned away, continuing on without a word.

As they neared their destination, Jesse hesitated before asking cautiously,

“Jack... I need to ask you something, but please don’t take it the wrong way.”

Jack’s voice remained calm.

“Ask whatever you want.”

Jesse hesitated, then finally said,

“How did you change like this? I mean… how did you go from being… ugly to… looking so good?”

Jack showed no sign of offense. Instead, he smirked and replied,

“Do you believe in miracles, Jesse?”

Jesse scoffed, his tone dry.

“I don’t believe in anything called God.”

Jack chuckled softly.

“Maybe you’ll change your mind tonight.”

At last, they reached their destination—an old, abandoned well at the heart of the forest, surrounded by thick trees. The moon loomed high in the sky, casting a faint glow over the eerie scene. An owl perched on a low-hanging branch, its glowing eyes fixed on them like burning embers. A strange unease crept into Jesse’s chest, making him take a step back.

“Jack... this place doesn’t feel right. Let’s go back.”

But suddenly, without warning, Jack kicked him hard, sending him crashing to the ground. Jesse tried to get up, but Jack pounced on him, pinning him down and raining punches onto his face.

“Do you know why I brought you here?”

Fists struck Jesse’s nose and mouth, blood dripping onto the damp earth. He struggled to free himself, but Jack grabbed his hair and dragged him toward the dark abyss of the well.

In a desperate moment, Jesse’s trembling fingers found a jagged rock. With all his strength, he slammed it against Jack’s leg.

Jack howled in pain, releasing Jesse’s hair. He stumbled backward, cursing,

“You little bastard!”

Jesse seized the moment and scrambled to his feet, trying to run. But Jack lunged at him from behind, and they crashed to the ground once more. Jack climbed on top of him again, his fists slamming down relentlessly.

“That one’s for my leg, you faggot!”

The final punch sent Jesse spiraling into unconsciousness.

Breathing heavily, Jack stood up, his injured leg forcing him to limp. He grabbed Jesse’s limp body and began dragging him back toward the well.

But what was Jack planning to do?

And what dark secret lay hidden within that cursed well?

Jack was gasping for breath, dragging his exhausted body and his blood-soaked left leg. He glanced at Jesse, lying motionless on the ground, wondering if he was still alive or lost forever. A scream of helplessness echoed inside him, but he ignored everything and cautiously began pulling Jesse’s arm. Yet, the pain in his leg felt like a blade ripping through his body.

He tried to stand but collapsed again, shouting in frustration, “Damn it! Why is this happening to me?”

Amid his desperate attempts, a strange female voice emerged from the abandoned well behind him: “Bring me food.”

Jack froze in place, trying to ignore the voice that seemed to come from another world. But he couldn’t ignore the harsh reality—his leg was bleeding, Jesse wasn’t moving, and darkness was closing in on them.

As he tried to lift himself once more, hundreds of white lights suddenly ignited, tearing the night apart and turning it into a terrifying daylight. The voices of police officers grew closer, and one of them called out firmly:

“Jack... the place is surrounded.”

Jack took a step back, looking around only to find himself trapped from all sides. He realized the game was over, and his arrest was inevitable. But he didn’t surrender. Quickly, he pulled a knife from his pocket and pressed it against Jesse’s throat, shouting in a frenzy, “I’ll kill him! Don’t come any closer!”

But the police didn’t move. The officer responded calmly, “We won’t do anything... just drop the knife.”

At that moment, Jack’s tension reached its peak. He gripped the knife tightly, his eyes darting around in paranoia. He trusted no one, and Jesse was his last bargaining chip.

Then, suddenly, without warning, a massive black arm—like that of an octopus—emerged from the well. It coiled around Jack’s wounded leg and yanked him toward the gaping abyss. He screamed in terror, “Nooo! Help me!”

Some of the officers moved forward, but the village chief raised his hand, forbidding any intervention. Shock took hold of everyone, and no one understood what was happening. Jack, torn between agony and horror, clung to the edge of the well, his face drenched in tears as he screamed, “You created this monster... this is your fault!”

And in a single, fleeting moment, everything collapsed. Jack plummeted into the abyss, vanishing before their eyes.

All that remained was the open well, swallowing its secrets in eerie silence.

The murmurs of the officers faded, and the village chief’s expression said it all. There was no need for words... because the truth he alone knew was far too horrifying to be spoken.