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Scifi / Adventure
Ruben L. Guzman
Age Rating:



By Ruben L. Guzman

Sammy had gotten into the well and was sinking slowly, as he held the roped that once had a wooden bucket at one end. He had gone to Maverick Meadows, a beautiful area that was now off-limits. It uses to be a mining area and had many unmarked shafts, wells, and possible perils.

He thought he had heard a noise coming from one of the shield wells, and once Sammy had removed the dusty boards, he looked down into the abyss that smelled musty. There it was a glimmer a tiny sparkle and what he thought was the sound of a girl.

He lifted his head and looked around. Licking his lips and said to himself. “Man, you will never see fifteen if you do this.” Sammy was unsure whether he would survive what he was attempting to do, or what his parents would say if they found out what and where he was.

He began shouting. “Hey, anybody down there? Do you need help? Is there someone there?” He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he heard something. He suddenly felt a chill that started at his neck and swept down the length of his back.

He swallowed deeply and threw his legs over the well’s brick wall, As he sat very still gripping the old rope with both hands.

He shoveled his body over the side and started his descent into the darkness of the opening. He pressed his back against the brick well wall as his legs shuffled on the opposite side, and he used the rope as a guide and safety line.

The wind swirled around the small area, and only a quiet whistle echoed through the shaft.

He stopped when he thought he heard the mysterious voice. He was sure he had heard it. Abruptly he lost his footing, and as he frantically grabbed for the old rope, it snapped. He felt himself plunging to the abandoned well’s depths, and the last thing he remembered seeing was the light at the entrance above him, that was now the size of a pea.

He awoke groggily, and as his vision began to clear, he distantly heard the steps of someone approaching him. Savannah Morgan was her name, a registered nurse. She looked deeply into his eyes, and it appeared to him that she was talking to him. She looked away, apparently saying something, but he could not quite make out what it was.

The area became crowded with what appeared to be doctors, nurses, and medical technicians. He was being prodded and spoken to extensively. After a few minutes, his head cleared, and he could see and hear plainly. They talked to each other, and a man told one of the nurses to call his parents.

He tried raising his head but could not but spoke in a raspy fashion. “Where am I?” They immediately turned to look at him. The one who appeared to be the head doctor came to his side. “Hello, Sammy, my name is Doctor Fallston. Can you understand me?” “Yes.” He answered, “Perfectly.”

“Looks like you took a pretty good fall, Sam.” Explained the doctor. “We’ve called your parents. They should be here shortly.” “Am I okay?” Sammy questioned. “Well, until we do a few tests, we won’t know for sure, but the broken bones, lacerations, and other bumps and bruises have all healed well without a bit of help from us.”

Sammy was puzzled. “What do you mean I’ve healed? How long was I unconscious?” The doctor seems to be searching for the correct words. “We don’t know exactly how long you were unconscious, but the authorities have just found you…after three years.”

Sammy’s eyes widened and looked like he was trying to understand a foreign language. “What do you mean three years?” The doctor rubbed his forehead, just as Sammy’s mother entered the room. She rushed to his side and instantly began sobbing.

Sammy’s mother, Nora, backed away and was holding his face. Sammy noticed that his mother’s hair appeared longer. “Mom, what’s going on?” Nora turned to look at the hospital staff, and they knew it was time to leave the room.

“Honey, I need to tell you something, but you will have to try to understand.” He stared at her intently and said, “You’re scaring me, mom, what is it?” She pressed her lips together, then spoke. “How old do you think you are?” He slightly shook his head and said, “I’ll be fifteen in a couple of months.”

She drew a deep breath and said, “You have been in this hospital for six weeks, and three weeks ago, your father and I were here to celebrate your eighteenth birthday.” Sammy only continued staring at Nora.

“Six weeks ago, some hikers had gone by “Maverick meadows” near the abandoned mines. They said that they heard a voice and that it was coming from a well. They lowered a light into the shaft, and when it was reaching near the bottom, they saw you.” There was a silence as if he was waiting for a logical explanation to appear.

“I’m eighteen years old?” He whispered. “Where was I the other three years?” The silence was interrupted when Samuel Whistleton entered the room. “I got here just as soon as I could.” He commented. “Dad!” Sammy called. Samuel leaned over, embracing his son. “How do you feel, son?” He asked. “Confused, dad. Mom is telling me I am eighteen and that I’ve haven’t been home for three years, but they just found me six weeks ago, and I just woke up from a coma.”

Samuel looked over his shoulder then back at his son. “Well, that just about sums it up, Sammy. We were kind of hoping you could fill in the blanks.” At first, Sammy said nothing then spoke up. “Could someone get me a mirror?” No one moved until the doctor nodded his approval.

He had become a bit of a local celebrity when the Associated Press got a hold of it, and the news went national. There were microphones, video cameras, and reporters at his doorstep night and day. It took about three weeks, then everything was considered a hoax, and life went back to normal.

Two days later, Sammy was at home and looked like any other 18 years old except that he felt drawn to the well. It was the same voice that had brought him to the bottom of that well.

He had a dream that night; it was the face behind the voice. She was beautiful with a deep blue-gray eye, honey blonde hair, 5′3" tall and dressed unusually. Her clothes looked like a toga from some ancient village. Her footwear was a calve high sandal, while her braided curls held up her hair, but it was her look that haunted him.

She was looking at him and whispering, “Please, Sammy, please.” He wondered what she meant until he heard her say, “Come back, Sammy, I need you.”

He awoke from his dream, knowing what he had to do. He tracked down the hikers who had found him with the pretense that he wanted to thank them personally.

He found them both Les and Victor Senoa. They were brothers who lived locally and enjoyed hiking and camping. After a few minutes of small talk and a heartfelt thanks to his rescuers, he said, “So what exactly did you hear that called you over to the well.

The two brothers stared at each other, then Les finally said, “It was…a…girls voice.” At first, the two brothers seemed uncomfortable talking about what had happened, but Sammy encouraged them, and they continued.

“It was kind of strange.” Began Victor. “It was more like a humming.” “Humming?” Repeated Sammy. “Yeah, whatever the voice was saying, it was like in a real soft song.” Lee interjected. “we couldn’t figure out what was said, but it drew us to the well, and that’s when we dropped the light down the shaft.”

Sammy ended their meeting with a promise to keep in touch and left with more questions than answers. He knew that the voice called the two brothers were the same voice from his dream, but what did it all mean?

His life seems to be going back to normal until about two months later. It was Halloween night, and he and a couple of buddies went to a party. He was dressed as a Roman gladiator while Lyle and Morey dressed as pirates.

The evening was going well until Sammy ventured into the backyard and saw a decorative wishing well. As he made his way to the well, he thought he heard a familiar voice. Sammy looked around a saw nothing. He past under an arbor as he near his destination and, upon arriving, looked inside.

There was a shallow water pool, and as he looked at his reflection, the girl in his dreams suddenly appeared over his shoulder. He stood abruptly and whirled around, only to be greeted by the night air.

“Hey, Sammy, what are you doing?” It was Lyle. “Nothing.” He answered, “Just getting some fresh air.” They made their way back into the party as Sammy took a last look at the wishing well.

The next day Sammy knew that his experience the previous night was not a chance happening. It could only mean one thing. He was supposed to go back to Maverick Meadow.

He tried not to act unusual and told his mother that he was going to Lyle’s house to hang out during breakfast. She smiled and told him to be sure and call later. She wanted to be sure they had a nice family dinner that evening. He assured he would and departed.

The day was a chilly 49 degrees, and the wind chill factor demanded a windbreaker. When he was nearing the meadow, he pulled his cell phone out and called Lyle. “Hello.” Answered his friend. “Hey, Lyle, it’s me, Sammy.” “Like I can’t read my caller ID.” Lyle chuckled.

He told Lyle what he was going to do and what he had told his mother. “What? Why are you going there?” Lyle sounded concerned. “Man, it’s just something I gotta do.” He answered.” “Well, hold up, and I’ll join you.” Lyle offered. “Not this time. It’s just something I need to do by myself.” Insisted Sammy.

They ended their conversation with Sammy assuring Lyle, that he would call him in an hour.

The meadow looks nearly the same as he had last seen it, but he was still having difficulty understanding the three-year lapse. The winter breeze felt good against his face, then he heard it again, that melodic sound. He was squinting as if that would enable him to understand better. He headed directly for the well and was surprised to see barb wire around it and a small sign, warning trespassers of the dangers.

He looked around and saw half-covered plywood and 2x6 boards. He threw them against the six-foot-tall fence and created a makeshift barrier that would protect him from the razor-sharp barbs.

Once he was safely over, he concentrated on the well. He immediately realized that he had the same feeling he had three years earlier. It was the familiar chill on his neck, that again ran the length of his back. But this time, he wasn’t worried about making fifteen.

The well had been sealed once more, but Sammy found a piece of re-bar to remove the planks. He worked determined as if he had only an allotted amount of time.

Upon freeing the well from its wooden incarceration, he took note of the voice that, even though it was barely audible, called him like a thousand trumpets. It no longer sounded strange or distant but familiar and warm.

He looked down the musty shaft and was startled when his cell phone rung. “Hello.” He answered quietly. “Hey, Sammy, it’s me.” It was Lyle. “Are you okay? Do you want me to head over?” “No, I’m okay. Has my mom called?” Asked Sammy. “No, not yet. Are you sure you don’t want me to come over?” “Yeah, I’m sure. I’ll be leaving in about five minutes, and I’ll come over to your place.”

Lyle seemed satisfied with Sammy’s answered and hung up, saying that he would be waiting for him.

There it was again. It was like a ring in his ear but gentle, almost soothing. It was like flowing words without clarity. As he hunched over the well opening, he said, “Have you been waiting long?” His words seem to descend into the abyss slowly. He did not know why he was not surprised when the answer to his question floated from the gulf’s depths…“Yes.” The voice responded.

He was not going to be unprepared this time. He made his way back to his dirt bike and removed a small winch, flashlight, and phone relay that he would leave on the well’s ledge.

He was eager to finish what he had started years earlier. But before he would begin, he wanted to test the shaft’s possible depth. He picked up a rock the size of a baseball and allowed it to fall. He listened carefully but never heard its collision with the bottom of the well. He understood that if he attempted to drop another rock, it would be in vain.

He wrapped the cable around the wooden spindle, and once he verified it was secure, he swallowed bravely and began his journey. As he made his way, he focused the flashlight downward but saw nothing.

He looked up, remembering how the opening had become a dot when suddenly the winch stopped. He tugged and tugged until he felt the wooden spindle give way under his weight, and all he could think was, “Not again.”

He awoke with an overwhelming feeling of déjà vu. It was not Savannah Morgan, the registered nurse from the last time but another caregiver. Once he had recovered enough to talk, he learned he was no longer eighteen. He was now twenty-seven, and both his parents had perished in an automobile accident.

The world had changed, and everyone wanted to know where he had been. Morey had gone to college and taken a job in artificial intelligence sensors with the Mac Corporation. Lyle had gotten married and worked at his father’s organic produce business, and Sammy had lost nearly twelve years.

The wires went wild with the story of what was dubbed the Wishing Well Kid. Scientists conducted an in-depth analysis until the well was determined to be just that and nothing more. Still, the media hounded him for interviews, talk shows, and even a possible book contract.

The middle east conflicts took precedent, and most considered him a runaway, who merely came back for whatever reasons, and the case was officially closed.

Once Sammy had been released from the hospital, he was encouraged to seek professional help from a psychologist. The treating physician believed that Sammy had somehow been traumatized and would require someone qualified to uncover the cerebral truth.

Dr. Emerson was a well-respected psychotherapist, who sometimes included hypnosis for regression sessions.

Sammy became depressed. His life was in shambles. He had lost his parents and years of youth, yet there was an intangible seed that whispered everything was as it should be.

The first session with Dr. Emerson proved unfruitful, and when Sammy left the office, he decided to go for a walk. He walked for hours, and as night fell, he found himself near Greers Park. As Sammy entered the park square, he found a clearing and laid there, staring at the moonless night that hosted thousands of stars and cried for his losses.

The winter evening forced him to wrap his coat tightly around himself when suddenly he saw a brilliant shooting star streaking across the horizon. It seems to last much longer than the usual flare across the sky, and he said his childhood idiom. “First star out tonight I wish I may I wish I might get the wish I wish tonight.” He paused for a moment, then continued. “I wish I knew the truth…where have I been?”

He stood, and as he readied himself to leave, he looked across the park and saw the well the wishing well he had entered. He did not hesitate or try to rationalize what was happening but hurried to the vision. Nearly upon it, a small dog ran in front of him and tripped him. From the fresh grass, he looked up, and the well was gone.

“What do you think it means, Sammy?” Questioned Dr. Emerson. “I don’t know, that’s why I am here.” Answered Sammy. “What do you think it means?” The doctor put his pad down and lean forward. “It doesn’t matter what I think it means, Sammy, only what you think it means.”

“Then what are you getting paid for?” Sammy questioned. The doctor smiled patiently and answered his question. “You and I are in a…partnership. One that requires trusting each other. Hopefully, since I have traveled these roads before, I may guide and advise you along the way, but ultimately it is you behind the steering wheel. By communicating, we should be able to find where you have been, where you are, and where you might be going.” Dr. Emerson continued. “Do you understand Sammy?” “I think so doc. I am sorry I wasn’t trying to be a smart aleck.” The doctor smiled but did not say anything, and they continued their session.

That night Sammy dreamed of someone named Mysong. Soon he realized it was the girl from the wishing well. She was even more beautiful now, but her face hinted of sadness.

Three days later, Sammy met with Dr. Emerson again. “Sammy, I’d like to try hypnotherapy on you. Would you be willing to participate?” “Hey doc, if it can get us some answers, I am in.” He smiled.

“Sammy, I want you to understand I am not one of those doctors who believe in regression to find some past life, but I have had tremendous success uncovering traumatic experiences. And in doing so, unraveled some of the obstacles in our awaken and present psychic.” “Great! Let’s get started.” He responded.

Dr. Emerson’s office was a comfortable cherry wood walled room. It housed his various degrees, a few family pictures, and a recliner that faced a beautiful 36x48 inch photograph of the ocean as the sun was setting. He walked over to the corner of his room and turned on a CD that featured an Indian flutist and sat slightly behind Sammy, once Sammy had made himself comfortable in the recliner.

It took about 10 minutes to induce the trance, and Dr. Emerson began his questioning.

“Sammy, you are about ten years old, what are you doing?”

“I’m playing catch with Lyle.”

“Where are your parents?”

“Mom’s in the house, mopping the floors.”

“What about your father?”

“Dad’s at work.”

“How do you feel about your mother and father?”

“They’re the best.”

“What do you mean?”

“Mom’s a great cook, and dad and I are going fishing after he gets off work.”

“Do you ever go to the mines?”

“No, My folks won’t let me go near them. They say it too dangerous out there.”

“Did you ever go, even though they told you not to?”


“Do you like wells, Sammy?”


“Yes, like wishing wells?”

“I guess.”

“What are you afraid of?”

“I’m sort of scared of Mr. Dryers.”

“And who is Mr. Dryers?”

“He’s my math teacher and said that he has never given anyone a grade higher than a B.”

“What about dark places, are you afraid of the dark?”

“Not really.”

“Sammy, you are now fourteen, and you are at Maverick meadows. Can you see the well where you heard the voice?”


“What does it sound like?”

“Like a girl talking without breaks between the words.”

“You mean singing?”

“Sort of.”

“Do you know what she is saying?”

“I think she is calling my name.”

“Anything else?”

“I’m not sure, but she seems to be calling me.”

“Is she in trouble?”

“I thought she was, but she isn’t.”

“You are now sitting on the edge of the well and are about to enter. What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking about how upset my mom and dad will be with me.”

“But you continued. Why?”

“She needed me, and I knew she wouldn’t hurt me.

“You slipped when you in the well, what happened?”

“I just lost my footing.”

“Then what happened?”

“I began falling, and as I looked up, I saw the opening get smaller and smaller.”

“What happened when you landed?”

“I don’t remember the landing.”

“What do you remember?”



“Yes, she is the girl that had been calling me.”

“Where are you?”

“She told me it was called Mizzies.”

“What do you see?”

“A lake so clear, you can see every fish and to the bottom.”

Sammy appeared to be looking around. “The skies are so beautiful and the air so pure. There are mountain ranges but not steep and grassy areas that appear to be gently brushed by the breeze.”

He stopped talking and seemed to be focusing on the distance.

“What do you see, Sammy?”

“I didn’t know what it was until Mysong told me, but it is the shadow that I think is called Past-age.”

“What is the shadow, Sammy?”

It looks like a gigantic snake that is swallowing people.”

Sammy stopped speaking and acted as if someone was next to him. He jerks his body as he again looked into the distance. His eyes widened, and his breathing became erratic.

“Sammy.” The doctor began, knowing it was time to end the session. “Sammy, everything is okay. You are back home, and you are resting. When I count to three, you will awaken feeling refreshed and remembering nothing. Do you understand?”

He nodded and answered, “Yes.”

“One…two…three wake-up feeling rested and refreshed.” commanded the doctor.

The next day was Saturday, December 15th. He placed a call to Lyle. “It’s me, Lyle.” “Yea, Sammy, what can I do for you?” His friend replied. “Can you meet for coffee?” “Yeah, I suppose, what time?” “Let’s say in 30 minutes at Starbucks on Northern.” They hung up with the agreement to meet.

As Lyle entered the coffee shop, Sammy was already waiting. “Hey Lyle, thanks for coming.” There were two hot coffee mocha’s sitting between then on the small round table. “No problem, what can I do for you?” He questioned.

“I don’t understand what is going on in my life. but I know that the answer lies at the bottom of the well.” “Now, you are talking crazy, Sammy.” “No! hear me out.” Sammy insisted.

The two friends had known each other far too long to be deceived by some off the wall story.

“Look, Sammy.” Began Lyle. “I believe you believe what you are saying, and I also know you well enough to know that you won’t let this go. If you are going to do this again, then this time it will be with me on the other end of the rope.”

They embraced and left, saying that they would challenge the well one week to the day, December 22nd.

Sammy made a point of visiting Dr. Emerson one more time but would not allow the hypnosis. His next appointment was Thursday and skipped it, saying he was coming down with a cold.

Friday, December 21st, he made a scouting trip to the site, and on Saturday morning, he met Lyle in his garage.

“What did you tell Amy you were doing?” “The truth Sammy, just hanging out with my buddy.”

“By the way, what’s in your backpack?” Questioned Lyle. “Just something we might need for our…activity.” He replied.

The Maverick Meadow area was fenced again. On his journey the day before, Sammy had made some preparations. He had Lyle help him uncover a tarp that was camouflaged by shrubs. They flung it across the fence and covered the potentially dangerous barbs.

They saw that it had been capped with a metal cover and a large lock as they arrived at the well, which secured its penetration.

“What are you doing, Sammy?” Asked Lyle as he observed Sammy removing something from his backpack. “I just thought we might need these.” He extracted lock cutters and easily cut through the formidable lock.

They then attempted to lift the patterned metallic plate and were unsuccessful. Sammy returned to his backpack and removed a crowbar. In a relatively short amount of time, the metal plate had rusted tightly with the well’s edge. They took turns prying the plate loose until it finally gave way.

They carefully removed the heavy cover and stared at the hollow. Lyle looked at Sammy, knowing that they had reached a crossroads.

Sammy then removed two walkie talkies from his waistband. “Phones don’t work in the shaft, but these should keep us in communication.” He then pulled out a penlight, a lighter, and a small canteen from the nearly emptied backpack.

There was an unspoken uncertainty between the two friends. Lyle felt awkward, knowing there was something to say but afraid of sounding either overprotective or as a doomsayer. Sammy understood he had to do this, but there was a sadness in leaving his friend.

Sammy emptied his satchel and removed a winch similar to the one he had used years before. Upon securely placing the winch and everything else was in order, the two old friends stood facing each other. Sammy spoke first. “I love you, man. Thanks for everything.”

Lyle knew he was lying when Sammy said, “We’ll tell our grandchildren about this one day.”

He harnessed himself in and climbed into the wishing well. With one hand on the tow line and the other on the well’s ledge, he took a final look at his friend. It was cold, and the void whistled with the air as it danced against the walls.

He descended for a while until he thought he heard his friend. Sammy looked up, trying to understand what he was telling him, but it only sounded like a hum. He pulled out his walkie talkie and called Lyle. “Hey, buddy, what is it you are saying…over?” The response came shortly but again only as a song. It reminded Sammy of how he described the voice from the well.

He had been lowered deep into the mysterious well’s belly, yet there seemed to be no end in sight. Even now, as he looked upward, only a speck of light remained of his former life.

Sammy took his penlight out and directed it downward, but the light’s brightness was lost in the abyss. He was without communication, without a net, and then it happened.

A strange sound swallowed him whole. Then total darkness followed enveloping him with the scent of yesterday.

He was no longer attached to the winch line, but he was not falling. Something was guiding him through folds of light and dark. He was no longer cold and could hear the faraway sounds of a melodious song.

Meanwhile, on the surface, Lyle fell back as the taut line gave way.

Frantically he began yelling while he pulled and pulled on the line until all he held was the end of the rope that had was severed.

He screamed into the walkie talkie but knew there would be no answer, not now, not ever.

Sammy felt as if he were being born, as the darkness spewed him from its grasp. He was left sitting on a field of sweet grass and a wishing well used by Mysong.

She made her way to him, holding a pottery cup filled with fresh water. As she kneeled next to him, she smiled warmly. He looked into her eyes as he thought he had so many times before.

He looked over his shoulder and saw the shadow from his dream; it was the serpent. Sammy sat up quickly, but Mysong touched him gently, saying, “It’s only Passage.”

He intently looked at her, “But in my dream, you said his name was Past-age.”

“Not all messages are heard clearly?” She smiled.

“Then it was you. I did see and hear you in my dream.” He said.

“Sammy…you just came through the Passage, and it will take a while to regain your memory.”

“Regain my memory? I know who I am.” He stated.

“You know who you thought you were.” She quietly corrected him.

“What did you mean by I just went through the passage?” he asked, sounding frustrated.

She looked over her shoulder and began speaking to him. That shadow is Passage. He is the one you pass through to come home.”

Sammy was getting more confused by the moment.

“Passage is a portal that corrects space-time breaches.” Sammy sat quietly listening, as the serpent’s scales changed from light to dark and then disappeared into the clouds. “Anomalies with soul placements happen periodically, and it can take years to find the displacement, but when found, Passage makes the corrections.”

Sammy was squinting in disbelief. “But what about the things I know?” He questioned.

“Soon, they will be forgotten.” She answered.

“But what happened when I was fourteen and eighteen?” He interjected.

“Your soul was merged with the souls of different space in time. Unknowingly, you had disrupted the time continuum, and you needed to be merged and re-introduced in segments to your point of origin.”

“Point of origin?” He questioned.

“We all have a point of origin. It is essential because that is where we will end.” She answered.

He was trying desperately to understand, when she reached out and touched his hand and said, “Soon, you will recognize your life.”

“Are you part of it?” He asked.

Before she could answer, a boy of four years of age came running up to Mysong. “Mommy, can we go by the water?” He asked.

She looked at Sammy smiling and said, “I don’t know darling, why don’t you ask your father?”


Lost In Time

Another story by Ruben L. Guzman


Sammy's life is turned upside down, when he begins to hear a melodic voice at the bottom of a mine.

Has he been living a lie or did he just not belong? Sammy will have to travel between two worlds, to find out the truth.

It is all of our stories, as we try to find where we fit in time and space. As we have to summon the courage to find our own truth.

Sammy was living the average fourteen year old's life, until time started to get away from him.

And as he learned, sometimes we have to give up what we thought we had, for something we were destine to have and to live.


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