Echoes from the Well: A Collection of Dark Tales

By Ryder Wells

Eleven short tales from the depths of a bottomless well ranging from the macabre to dystopian. Learn of how a certain store acquires its second hand goods, discover an old man's prized collection, join Emilio as he is forced to dig his own grave, go along with a prisoner and find out what becomes of the damned. Their stories and more can be heard when you stop and listen to the echoes from the well.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: May 5, 2011
• ISBN: 9781257743827

Book preview

Second Hand Goods

The sign above read simply Second Hand Thrift. A rather generic title in my opinion and a strange place to hold a club, but I wasn’t the one who was in charge, was I? No, Malcolm was in charge, and Malcolm was quite peculiar. The building was large, much the size of a warehouse, and the outside was a faded beige quite similar in color to a worn out pair of khakis. What was I doing here?

You ready? a voice inquires from behind me.

What? I respond, jolted from my surveillance.

I said, ‘are you ready?’ the voice of Cameron repeats.

Ready as I’ll ever be. I answer glumly; I am then led forward into the thrift store.

A musty, dusty smell penetrates my nose unwarranted as I enter this place. People are browsing all throughout: scavengers sifting through the wide selections of clothing separated into the three categories of Men, Women, and Kids; small children playing with the action figures once belonging to children much like themselves; others still relaxing in furniture priced at ten-dollars that would be seventy-dollars anywhere else. Looking at these people I again ask, what was I doing here?

Jacob, this way, Cameron leads on. I follow him through the sea of people, all the way to a back room surrounded by a dual-purpose glass: mirror on the outside, and yet clear glass on the inside. This I had already been told about. Cameron--who had been in front of me--looked to make sure no one was watching, then opened the door to this sectioned off room and he and I quickly entered, Cameron shutting and locking the door behind us.

There were three others already in the room: an aged, skinny man of average height sat in an arm chair looking down at the faded pages of an old book, seemingly heavily involved with the piece as he did not so much as raise his head an inch as we entered; a young man of light brown hair stood over by the left hand wall looking through the mirror at those that were shopping; lastly there was a skinny middle-aged man over at a bar in the far back of the seemingly expansive room pouring five drinks from what looked to be a wine bottle. This man had short dark hair, oval glasses, and a mustache; this was, of course, Malcolm.

Turning away from the bar, Malcolm looked to me and smiled, The mere fact that you stand here now in this room shows me that I made no mistake in inviting you, Jacob. Please, take a seat. I did.

Malcolm then picked up a small tray and brought the elderly gentleman, the man at the looking glass, Cameron, and myself each a dark gray long-stemmed glass filled with a crimson liquid. Malcolm then placed the tray back down at the bar and took the last glass for himself. There was no toast made, which seemed odd to me, but as I had stated I was not in charge here. I took a drink of the liquid from the glass which I, unlike the others, quickly pulled away from my lips. It was disgusting.

The older gentleman with the book was the first one to make any comment, Hmm, quite interesting, French?

No, Swedish, Malcolm answered. Sebastian I believe was his name, according to the documents I found on him. Malcolm walked over to one of the empty arm chairs scattered about the room and took a seat. Then sipping more from his glass went on, He’d been on the same bus as I, had gotten off at the same location as me, I had followed him into a bathroom and there I had well . . . obtained the fine liquid which we are drinking now. This last bit had been said with a trace of laughter in his voice.

Looking into my now three-quarter full glass I saw that the liquid within was a much darker red than I had at first realized, and a shiver went down my spine as I realized it was not wine.

What instrument had been used? Cameron asked, still standing near the door.

A hammer of course. Malcolm replied curtly.

Oh, real original, Malcolm, the young man threw in turning away from the looking glass. You’ve never used that before.

Well it’s far more compact than the objects you use, David, Malcolm returned. "Was your last one not a baseball bat? And did you not break it while using it on that woman in the fall? She