For weeks after the Black Hollow Church incident, the villagers refused to go outside after sunset.
But even terror couldn't stop thirst.
The town's main river had dried into a cracked scar, leaving only the ancient, sealed well in the center square. No one had touched it for fifty years. The stories said people who drank from it were never seen again.
"Fantastic idea," Finn grumbled as the mayor forced him, Lira, and a handful of villagers to unseal the stones. "If horror movies existed, this would be page one."
"On the bright side," Lira chirped, balancing on the rope pulley, "maybe it's just stale water. Worst case, diarrhea."
The last stone slab was pried off. A wave of stink rolled out—rot, wet soil, and something metallic.
The well groaned.
Then it breathed.
Cold wind howled up the shaft, carrying whispers that weren't human. The rope pulley rattled.
"Bad idea," Finn muttered, backing up. "Very bad idea."
Before anyone could argue, the water below moved.
Something surged upward.
A pale arm, bloated and waterlogged, shot out of the well, slapping against the cobblestones. Another followed, and another—too many, all jointed wrong. Each was covered in leeches, squirming like veins.
Then the head rose.
Its face was stretched skin, eyes sealed shut, mouth sewn open. Water poured endlessly from its nose, ears, and stitches, drenching the square.
The villagers screamed.
The arms lashed out, grabbing one man by the waist. With a sickening crack, his spine snapped as he was dragged screaming into the dark. Blood bubbled to the surface.
Another villager swung an axe wildly, hacking into one of the arms—only for the wound to burst into a shower of leeches that buried themselves in his skin. His body convulsed as they ate through him from the inside.
"RUN!" Finn shouted, pulling Lira back.
But Lira's foot caught the pulley rope. She yelped and went flying into the air, flailing helplessly as the monster's head turned toward her.
"…Hi! Sorry to drop in!"
Her frill went off mid-fall, the blast of hair startling the beast. She landed directly on the pulley wheel, which spun so fast it yanked the rope violently, slamming the well's cover back halfway.
The monster roared, thrashing, its arms flailing wildly. One smashed a villager clean in half. Another grabbed Finn's lantern and crushed it, spraying fire across the cobblestones.
By sheer dumb luck, the flames ignited the leeches. They screeched, bursting like overripe fruit, splattering black ichor everywhere.
The monster wailed, body steaming as the fire spread across its bloated flesh. Its many arms clawed frantically—but the half-sealed well cover slid further, grinding down, pinning it.
And then, with one final shriek, the thing collapsed, dragging itself and the flames down into the abyss.
The well slammed shut.
The square was quiet.
Bodies were everywhere—burned, broken, half-eaten. Only Finn, Lira, and two others had survived.
Lira lay sprawled on the stones, soaked and coughing. She gave a weak thumbs up. "…Well… guess that's one way to plug a leak."
Finn stared at her, face pale. "You're not human. You're… you're cursed with luck."
But deep below the well, the whispers rose again.
Not defeated. Not gone.
Just hungry.
And this time, the hunger knew her name.