Chapter 1: The Pact

Our sneakers crunched on pine needles, sweat prickling under the summer sun, as Joey trailed behind us, grinning and clueless. We played a cruel prank and tricked the mayor’s grandson into the old, dried-up well deep in the woods outside Silver Hollow.

Back then, the well sat like a forgotten scar, ringed by pine needles and the faint smell of moss. Our laughter carried on the summer air, bouncing off the trunks as we led Joey, the mayor’s pudgy grandson, deeper than he’d ever dared go alone. We were just a bunch of small-town kids with too much time and not enough sense, but even then, the woods felt like they were watching.

We gathered rocks—heavy, jagged things that scraped our palms—and stacked them over the mouth, then buried everything beneath a blanket of last year’s brittle leaves. The five of us worked together, hands shaking as we stacked jagged stones over the mouth, then swept up armfuls of last autumn’s leaves—old and brittle, smelling of dirt and rot. My heart hammered as we patted the camouflage into place, each crackle of a twig setting my nerves on edge. For a moment, I almost wished Joey would start yelling, just so I’d know he was okay. But the silence was thick, and nobody moved.

The sirens cut through the town’s quiet, the woods crawling with uniforms and neighbors armed with flashlights. We’d sit on our bikes near the edge of the trees, trying to look worried. Every time a flashlight beam swept near, my stomach flipped between terror and a strange, dizzy pride. Nobody suspected the mayor’s grandson would disappear so close to home.

We scattered after high school—one to Wall Street, another to a tech startup, a couple to the city. At every reunion, we toasted new jobs and old secrets, never once mentioning Joey.

But then, to our shock, we heard that someone planned to build a luxury home right on top of that old well.

It started as a rumor at first—something on the Silver Hollow Facebook group, then a blurb in the town paper. The old woods were finally going to be carved up and paved over, and one of the first lots was right where our secret lay buried. My stomach dropped the moment I read it, cold sweat prickling my neck.

Afraid of being exposed, we agreed to go back and deal with the remains.

We made the call late at night, voices hushed and tense, afraid the lines might be tapped. One by one, we agreed: we couldn’t let anyone dig there. Our pact, sealed with childhood guilt and adult desperation, dragged us back to the place we’d tried to forget.

The five of us set out together, but only four of us arrived. The ringleader back then, Derek, was nowhere to be found.

We drove separate cars—nobody wanted to be seen together—and met up at the edge of the woods. Four of us, faces older but expressions the same: nervous, determined, haunted. Derek, the one who’d always pushed us the furthest, didn’t show up. We called, texted, but he ghosted us. His absence made the trees seem even taller, the shadows longer.

Under their pressure, I had no choice but to crawl into the dark mouth of the well myself.

I hesitated, the others glaring at me, and the weight of their expectation heavier than any stone. My palms were slick with sweat as I tied the rope around my waist, breath fogging in the cold night air. The opening yawned before me like a throat waiting to swallow secrets.

Shining my flashlight down, I suddenly saw two skeletons lying at the bottom of the dried-up well.

The flashlight beam caught on something pale—a skull, jaw open, teeth bared in a silent scream. Then another shape: more bones, tangled together, impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. The sight made my skin crawl, the air in the well thick and stale, like the breath of the dead. A metallic taste flooded my mouth.

Just as I was about to cry out in shock, I heard the sound of rocks being dragged over the opening above my head…

There was a scraping above—gravel and stone grinding, echoing down the shaft. My heart seized in my chest as I realized: I heard the scrape of stone above and my stomach dropped. This wasn’t about Joey anymore. They were sealing me in, just like before.

Panic clawed at me as the darkness pressed closer.