Witch(58)

My fingers found the rope and they curled around it. I yanked it from the wall and nearly fell over. The rope was heavier than I had expected.

“Come here,” Vincent said, rushing over to me. He bent down, picked up the rope, and hoisted it over his shoulder. “Now let’s just get outter here.”

I pushed my butt against the barn door, desperate to hide our tracks, as Vincent set off back up the hill towards the well. There was a rattling sound as the lock was pulled back on the farmhouse door. I heard it swing open, followed by the deep, booming voice of Grayson.

“What’s wrong, girl? Who’s out there?”

Hearing her master’s voice, Jess started howling and barking all over again. With the sound of Grayson’s huffing and puffing drawing closer, I slinked around the side of the barn and raced up the hill and into the darkness. Vincent had climbed about halfway by the time I’d caught up with him. His breathing sounded heavy and laboured as he struggled with the rope. The rain was lashing down now, and progress up the hill was becoming treacherous. The mud had become as slippery as ice, and every step we took had to be carefully made, which slowed our escape. The rope had become wet, too, and it slipped around Vincent’s shoulders like a giant snake.

I looked back into the darkness and could just make out Grayson’s outline, silhouetted in the light flooding from his open front door. I could hear Jess barking wildly. I couldn’t see any sign of Michael. I turned away, and was grateful there was no moon tonight. I slunk into the darkness and followed Vincent up the hill and to the well.

I reached the top to find Vincent drawing deep mouthfuls of damp, cold air into his lungs. I helped him lift the rope from about his shoulders.

“I just hope it will be long enough to reach the bottom,” he breathed, peering through the darkness and into the well.

“I hope the bottle is still down there,” I whispered over the sound of Jess yapping in the distance. I prayed that Grayson hadn’t seen either of us clambering away up the hill. I couldn’t use the torch as it would have been like a beacon going off in the night at the top of the hill. Fearing that our time was short, I looked at Vincent and said, “Let’s just get this over with.”

Vincent snatched up one end of the rope, and trampling through the mud and rain, he wrapped one end of the rope around the nearest tree trunk. He fastened the end with a knot. “The rope’s too wet. The knot might just slip apart again as soon as any weight is put on it. You wait up here for me, and hold onto the rope, whatever you do.”

Taking the rope from his hands, I looped the free end of it around my waist.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he hissed from the darkness.

“I have to go and get that bottle,” I whispered.

“Why?” Vincent snapped, trying to take the rope from me. “It’s way too dangerous.”

“Molly showed me that bottle in my dream,” I tried to reason with him. “If the bottle is at the bottom of the well, and it’s the same one, then she showed it to me for a reason. She showed it to me, Vincent, not you. I have to go and get it.”

“But...” he started to protest.

Cutting over him, I said, “You keep hold of the rope. When I’ve got the bottle, I’ll yank on the rope and you can pull me out. Okay?”

“Okay,” he said reluctantly. I guessed he knew we didn’t have time to stand and argue about who was going to venture down into the well.

With the rope feeling as tight as it could be around my waist, I clambered up onto the edge of the well. Rain fell hard all around me and I could hear it drumming onto the water at the foot of the well, deep below me. I looked over the edge. It looked like a yawning throat of darkness. Taking a deep breath and my heart racing, I swung my legs over the edge of the well.

“Are you sure about this?” Vincent breathed.

“No,” I said, looking back at him. “But I know it’s something I have to do.”

“Be careful,” Vincent said, taking up the slack in the rope and leaning back. His boots slid momentarily in the sodden mud.

“Okay?” I asked, watching him regain his footing before I climbed in to the darkness.

“Okay,” he answered back.

Taking one last glance at Vincent, I turned, then slowly climbed into the well. I gripped the rope as it slid wetly through my fingers. The well stank of mildew and damp. Rain water ran down the walls which circled me. The rope gave a little, and slowly, Vincent lowered me down into the well. It was so dark now inside, that it became almost impossible to see my own hands gripping the rope. I glanced down and could see nothing but a inking well of black. I had no idea how far I was from the bottom or even if we had enough rope to get me there.