The World in the Well

by Tamar Adelsohn

The legend of the well was my favorite when I was young.

I loved nothing more than sitting on Mom’s lap and hearing her melodic voice tell the story while she braided my brown hair. “There’s a legend about the well in the park. It might take longer to get, but the water pulled from it is said to always be cold and more refreshing than water from anywhere else. Do you know why?”

“Why?” I always asked. I knew the answer, but I knew my part of the story, and I loved being part of it, even if it was in such a small way.

“Deep, deep underground, it’s said that there’s a portal. A gate to another world. It’s a world filled with magic. The people are magical, the trees, even the water is magical,” she’d say, her smile growing.

“So the water’s magical!” I’d always giggle at the thought that I’d drank magic. “When we drink it, do we become magic too?”

Mom always laughed at my enthusiasm. “Maybe! But we’re different from the people in that world. We can’t use the magic ourselves. The only way we can tell the water’s magic is because it always tastes so good.”

“I’m gonna figure out the magic someday!” I’d promise. “I’m gonna go to that world and learn about magic, and I’ll come home and show everyone so we have magic too!”

“I’m sure you’ll be the best with magic. You’re my little magic Maggie, after all,” Mom said with a small smile, the story coming to an end. “But for now, you should focus on getting a bit bigger.” I’d scowl about the teasing, despite the lighthearted tone in Mom’s voice. She always continued by pointing out the perks to my small size: I was able to hide better in hide-and-seek, Mom could pick me up and carry me piggyback, and so on. Then, she’d tie off the newly completed braid and start a tickle fight.

As I grew up, those moments happened less and less. When I was five, my younger twin siblings were born. My mom and dad absolutely doted on their precious youngest children. When I asked Mom to tell me a bedtime story, she told me, “Not now, sweetie. I’m busy with your brother and sister.” Instead, I had to play with my older sister, Angelica, who was always busy with schoolwork or playing with her own friends. When I tried to tag along with them to the playground or something, they always said, “Let’s play tag. Here, you’re it!” And they’d all run off. Or they’d say, “Let’s race! Last one to the park’s a rotten egg!” I chased after them as fast as I could, but my little legs couldn’t keep up with them, and they left me in the dust. And of course, when I was inevitably the last to get anywhere, they’d mock me. “Slow snail! Little slug!”

School wasn’t any better. Oh, it was fine, at first. The kids were nice for the first couple of years, but as we grew older, they changed. They mocked me for being too skinny, stupid when I had trouble with math and science, and how I never had the trendiest clothes or toys or anything. I was nothing like Angelica, who seemed to always have friends surrounding her. I eventually gave up on that front, simply cutting my hair short and wearing comfortable t-shirts and sweatpants rather than tight tank tops and miniskirts like Angelica loved so much.

To make matters worse at school, I had the same teachers as she did. They remembered how Angelica got top grades at everything and expected me to do the same. When I struggled, they told me to get help from her. When I asked her for help, she just rolled her eyes and walked away with her friends. Even when Mom got a job and Angelica was supposed to look after me and the twins, she just had her friends over every day and they stuck together, shunning me. Finally, Angelica just said, “I don’t want my dorky little sister hanging on around my friends. Go take care of the twins, ‘kay?” She waved me away and walked off, leaving me to make sure the twins weren’t getting into trouble.

My family wasn’t entirely supportive. With Mom and Dad both working all day, and Angelica with her friends all day, it fell to me to take care of my little brother and sister, Alan and Sara. It wasn’t like they were brats or anything. In fact, they were pretty cool, for kids. Alan was playful, and Sara loved stories, which made it easy to entertain her. I’d tell her all the stories Mom told me, and stories I read aloud from my books.

These legends and stories were my saving grace. When I learned to read, I started to go around with my nose in a book. History, too, was one giant story and legend, but the myths and stories with adventure and magic were my favorite. I started to dream of being a hero just like I read about. Going to mystical lands with dragons and knights and sorcerers would be such a better life than simply going to school and taking care of Alan and Sara, day in and day out. A life of helping with homework when I had my own to do, and making snacks, and cooking for myself and my siblings while my parents worked late was nowhere even remotely as exciting as the prospect of saving the day, of using magic to make my dreams come true, of someone actually saying, “Gee, thanks, Maggie!”

Tonight, my story’s finally about to begin. I’ve been dreaming of doing this for years, but it’s only been a few months since I started to get ready. Even with Angelica not caring about them, the twins were ten years old, so now they would be able to care for themselves with me gone. I peeked one eye open and looked around. My siblings and I all shared one room, which made this particularly tough. But I’d done it. I glanced at the digital display of the alarm clock. 3:14 AM. I decided it had been long enough and silently slipped out of bed. I had specifically gone to bed early so no one would see I was in day clothes rather than pajamas. It saved me time, which was vital.

I walked across the room, opening the door as little as I could, silently cursing the light that poured in from the hall and over Sara’s bed as I slipped out of my room. At least it meant I could get one last good look at her, the light brown hair she wanted to grow long like Mom’s, unlike my short bob style. But I couldn’t see her brown eyes, darker than my own hazel ones. I would just have to keep those in my memories. Once I was out of the room, I shut the door behind me. It latched shut with a small click. Turning, I walked down the hallway, stopping in front of a plain door. The supply closet. Grabbing the stepstool next to the closet, I as always cursed my shortness. I had never truly “grown out of it” as Mom always claimed I would. But I had learned to cope. I grabbed the doorknob and twisted it. The hinges creaked as I stepped back to let the door swing open. In the silence, the sound was loud enough to wake the dead. I froze and looked back toward my room, but no one came.

It was a fairly plain closet at first glance. Its shelves were filled with cleaning supplies, spare toiletries and folded linens, and general supplies we never used but kept “just in case” like our old landline phone, or the tent from the time we went camping when I was an infant and too young to remember. But I wasn’t here to get those. I wasn’t about to steal from my own family, after all. I set down the stepstool, gently so it didn’t make any noise, and climbed on it. I reached up above me, to a couple of spare rolls of paper towels. I moved them aside. There was enough space in the back of the top shelf to hide that certain something I’d been preparing slowly for months, saving the tiny bit of pocket money Mom and Dad gave us and spending it on what I’d truly need. An old blue backpack, filled to bursting with supplies I’d need. I wasn’t going to be one of the heroes that wasn’t prepared for an adventure. Spare clothes I’d slowly moved from my dresser to here, food that’d last a good, long time, rope, a water bottle, a compass… I really got everything I might need and crammed it into this backpack. Now I was finally going to use it all.

I slid the bag down from the shelf and slipped it over my shoulders. Once it was secure, I moved the spare rolls of paper towels back into position from where it had been hiding my backpack. I stepped down from the stool, careful not to step too heavily. I picked it up and carefully moved it back into the exact spot it had been in. I shut the door, cringing once again at the sound of the hinges squealing.

I walked over to the living room, to where a stack of sticky notes laid with a pen next to it. A mini trashcan with crumpled-up notes was next to the table. Some words were visible here and there on the discarded notes.

“love”

“late”

“tonight”

“don’t stay up”

I picked up the pen and wrote a note. “Don’t look for me. Goodbye.” I didn’t even bother signing it or peeling it off the pad, just set the pad and pen down.

I took a deep breath, looking around one last time. The pleasantly pale green painted walls covered in photos of all of us over the years. The glass end table that Alan had chipped last year when he wanted to play catch one rainy day and he misjudged his throw. The bookshelf nook I spent so much time, whether by myself or reading stories to Sara, with the cushioned chair surrounded by bookshelves overflowing with books ranging from colorful picture books to the fantasy novels I so adored. The dining table I accidentally colored blue in one spot when I was a kid with a coloring book and some markers. I sealed those sights in a special place in my mind.

I shook my head. No use in getting sentimental now! I turned and walked down the hall, reaching the front door. I only hesitated for a second before unlocking it and turning the knob to open it, stepping out into the cool night. There was plenty of light to see from the street lamps as I locked the door behind me and started walking. I took the familiar route down the streets. There wasn’t much traffic this time of night. I didn’t even see a single person in the ten minute walk through the streets, my shadow circling around me as I passed the periodically spaced lamps. The shadows of the ever-so-familiar buildings loomed over me. The house where only the two older neighbors Mr. and Mrs. Samson lived; the house Angelica usually went to after school where one of her friends lived, that had a set of lawn toys out front; the convenience store I used to always go to after school to pick up snacks. I was finally leaving it all behind as I crossed the last street and entered the park.

The park was one of my favorite places to go when I could. The tall trees, providing relieving shade on cool days, now provided pockets of darkness on the otherwise lit path. The grassy clearings, wherein the day children ran around in the sun, were now barren in the lamp- and moonlight, except for the occasional animal that ran into the bushes as soon as it saw me, like a raccoon or a stray dog. Crickets chirped in the quiet night, a cool breeze delivering the sound to me.

I walked on the path, my sneakers making quiet taps on the concrete as I walked. Other than the crickets’ song, all was quiet, except for a soft sound behind me. A sort of soft slapping sound, from directly behind me on the path. I paused. The sound sped up in rhythm for a second before stopping. I turned around. I couldn’t see anything. I shook my head and turned back around, squaring my shoulders and putting a hand to one of my backpack straps. I gripped it tight and kept walking, pretending not to hear the sound continuing behind me.

As I moved more to the center of the park, the scenery changed from a path through a wild area to a mostly clear area with multicolored flowers. Red and yellow and blue almost shone under the lamplight. And of course, right in the middle was the well.

The well didn’t look like much at first glance. A ring of a three-foot tall stone wall, with a simple brown shingled roof suspended above. A beam held a coil of rope with a hook on the end that was supposed to have held a bucket on it. Right now, I was glad I was small and skinny. This rope wasn’t the sturdiest, but it should be enough to hold my weight.

I walked up to the well, then took a second to look around one last time. Something moving caught my eye as I turned slightly. An animal on the path? No, it was too big to be a wild animal. I turned the rest of the way and stopped.

“Maggie?” Sara asked. She was still in her green nightgown and didn’t even have socks or slippers covering her feet. “What’re you doing?”

“I should ask you that. I can go for a walk if I want,” I defended myself, taking a step back toward the well.

Sara stepped forward, keeping me from widening the gap between us. “With a full bag none of us knew you had? And leaving a note saying not to look for you?” She held up the pad. Despite the dark ink, my words seemed to shine in the light. Her eyes narrowed. “Where are you going?”

“To fulfill my destiny.” I turned back, looking at the well. “I don’t belong in this world, don’t you see? This is my way to finally belong somewhere!”

Sara was silent. I paid her no mind as I walked over, starting to crank the lever on the well beam to lower the rope into the well itself. I eyed her out of the corner of my eye as she walked over to me. “The well? Are you serious? You need help.” The last part, though it might have been phrased like a question, was definitely a statement.

“I know what I’m doing. I’ve been planning this for ages,” I rolled my eyes. “Go home, Sara. Go back to sleep.”

“Only with you!” Sara grabbed my arm and started tugging at me. “You’re nuts! You’re just gonna reach water at the bottom and sink with that bag!”

“I’ll go through the gate, to the other world. I’ll have a place in the world of magic, I just know it,” My tone was sure. Sara just kept trying to pull me away. I tried to yank my arm away from her, but she twisted her fingers into my sleeve. “Let go of me. Go home.”

“Shut up! You’re not leaving!” She shook her head violently, her hair thrashing behind her, the bedhead becoming even more tangled. “C’mon Maggie, let’s go home! I won’t even tell Mom or Dad!”

“No. I’m not going back, and that’s final!” I yelled. I started to pry her fingers off of my arm. “Go home! Just go home!”

Something changed in Sara. Her wide eyes narrowed; her body visibly tensing. “I’m not going home. You’re nuts, so someone’s gotta look after you,” Sara rolled her eyes, letting go of me. “Those stories are fun, but they’re just stories. Made-up.”

“They’re real. I know they are,” I frowned. “And I’ll prove it. I’ll bring something magical into this world. Not just good water, but something no one can deny!”

“No, you’re just gonna fall into a big pool of water and climb back up.” Sara shook her head before pausing and smirking in a way that made her look more like Angelica than myself. “But… if you somehow do enter some fantasy world… I’m coming with you.”

I blinked for a second, processing what she just said before exploding. “What?! No! I’m going there alone! Besides, how will you know? The portal is too far down to see anything go through!”

“Simple. If you’re down there for more than ten minutes, I’ll go down after you.”

“And if I’m back in under ten minutes?” I raised an eyebrow.

“We go home, and this has just been a fun little adventure.” Her smirk turned into a sweet smile. “We could even start going on night adventures like this more often!” She giggled.

I frowned at her lighthearted tone. She thought this was a game? She was seriously messing up my plans, and it was all just a joke to her, wasn’t it? “I don’t wanna have to babysit you in the magic world. Just make it easier and don’t follow me, okay?”

Sara rolled her eyes, which wasn’t an answer. I ignored it and continued lowering the rope. After another minute, the rope was fully lowered. I didn’t hear a splash from the bottom of the well, which was normal. When a bucket was hung on the end of the well, it filled with water without a sound. Just another thing to tell me the legend was true. Everyone knows portals don’t convey sounds from the other side!

I heaved myself up slightly onto the wall of the well, sitting on the edge. Sara was watching me expectantly, raising an eyebrow when I met her gaze. I looked up at the sky of this world one last time before I swung my legs around to inside the well. I grabbed the rope, held onto it tight, and pushed off from the well and down into the depths.

I hissed through my teeth as I slid down. The rope was smooth and hard to keep a grip on as I tried to control my descent, but I tried. It was dark, I could hardly see my hands grabbing the rope right in front of my face. But as the light from above faded away, something new began to glow from below me. The blue-tinted light reminded me of pictures taken underwater, or through water, the way the light played on the stone walls around me. Before long, there was no more light coming from above me. It was all the blue light now. I looked down, and there was a faint blue light coming from below me.

After a good minute of a controlled descent, my feet started to tingle. I had reached the light, and my feet were starting to touch it. It was like they had fallen asleep, and the pins and needles feeling had yet to begin. As I descended, the feeling traveled up my body, and it intensified. It wasn’t an unpleasant sensation, though. I looked down when it reached my waist, and I could no longer see anything from there down. I kept descending. The light seemed to get brighter as it got closer to my head until I had to close my eyes and rely on being able to feel the spiraling texture of the rope to climb down it. Then, the tingling sensation passed over my head, and I passed out, feeling my grip on the rope fail as my mind went blank.

Tamar Adelsohn is a sophomore. She loves to read, draw, and spend time with animals like her three cats. Her biggest passion, though, is writing.