The Endless Cry
Late one night, in a quiet village surrounded by dense woods, a loud, heart-wrenching cry shattered the silence. It was a sound that would make your blood run cold—a desperate, unending wail that seemed to come from deep within the forest. No one knew where it came from or why, but everyone feared it. The cry had been heard every night for years, and no one who dared to search for its source had ever returned.
For a long time, people in the village avoided talking about it, believing that mentioning the cry would only bring its horror closer. But one man, Jacob, a newcomer to the village, scoffed at the stories. "It’s just some wild animal," he said. "I'll find it and prove it’s nothing."
The villagers begged him not to go, warning him of the disappearances and the strange occurrences. But Jacob was stubborn and prideful, so as night fell, he grabbed his lantern and headed into the forest, following the sound of the cry.
The deeper he went, the louder the cry grew. It seemed to echo from everywhere, leading him through twisting paths, deeper than he’d ever gone before. The trees loomed over him like silent, watching figures, their branches reaching out as if trying to keep him from going further. But he kept pushing forward, determined to solve the mystery.
After what felt like hours, he finally reached a small clearing. In the center of it was an old, crumbling well, half-hidden by overgrown weeds and vines. The cry seemed to be coming from inside the well, echoing up from the darkness below. The sound was softer now, but more desperate, like someone calling for help.
Jacob leaned over the edge, holding his lantern above the opening. "Hello?" he called, his voice trembling. "Is someone down there?"
For a moment, there was silence. Then, a weak voice answered from the darkness. "Help me… I’m trapped…" The voice was thin and pitiful, barely more than a whisper, but it sounded human.
Without thinking, Jacob began lowering himself down into the well. He placed his lantern at the edge and climbed down carefully, gripping the damp stones. The further he went, the colder and darker it became. And then, as he neared the bottom, he saw something moving in the shadows—a figure, crouched against the wall.
"Who… who are you?" Jacob asked, his voice trembling.
The figure looked up, and Jacob felt his heart stop. It was a woman, or what was left of one—her skin was pale and clammy, her eyes sunken and hollow, and her mouth twisted into a wide, unnatural grin that stretched from ear to ear. The cries that had filled the night poured from her open mouth, but her eyes were cold, dead, staring blankly through him.
Before Jacob could scream, her bony, claw-like hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, her fingers icy and sharp. "You heard my cry…" she whispered, her voice now a low hiss. "And now… you will stay."
Jacob struggled, but her grip was impossibly strong. The walls of the well began to close in, as if the stones themselves were moving, trapping him. The last thing he saw was her face, inches from his own, her grin widening as she pulled him deeper into the darkness.
Back in the village, the cry continued to echo through the forest, as it had every night. And now, if you listen closely, you can hear two voices—one a woman’s, hollow and desperate, and the other a man’s, pleading and terrified—both calling out in an endless, eternal cry for help.
The Endless Cry
Late one night, in a quiet village surrounded by dense woods, a loud, heart-wrenching cry shattered the silence. It was a sound that would make your blood run cold—a desperate, unending wail that seemed to come from deep within the forest. No one knew where it came from or why, but everyone feared it. The cry had been heard every night for years, and no one who dared to search for its source had ever returned.
For a long time, people in the village avoided talking about it, believing that mentioning the cry would only bring its horror closer. But one man, Jacob, a newcomer to the village, scoffed at the stories. "It’s just some wild animal," he said. "I'll find it and prove it’s nothing."
The villagers begged him not to go, warning him of the disappearances and the strange occurrences. But Jacob was stubborn and prideful, so as night fell, he grabbed his lantern and headed into the forest, following the sound of the cry.
The deeper he went, the louder the cry grew. It seemed to echo from everywhere, leading him through twisting paths, deeper than he’d ever gone before. The trees loomed over him like silent, watching figures, their branches reaching out as if trying to keep him from going further. But he kept pushing forward, determined to solve the mystery.
After what felt like hours, he finally reached a small clearing. In the center of it was an old, crumbling well, half-hidden by overgrown weeds and vines. The cry seemed to be coming from inside the well, echoing up from the darkness below. The sound was softer now, but more desperate, like someone calling for help.
Jacob leaned over the edge, holding his lantern above the opening. "Hello?" he called, his voice trembling. "Is someone down there?"
For a moment, there was silence. Then, a weak voice answered from the darkness. "Help me… I’m trapped…" The voice was thin and pitiful, barely more than a whisper, but it sounded human.
Without thinking, Jacob began lowering himself down into the well. He placed his lantern at the edge and climbed down carefully, gripping the damp stones. The further he went, the colder and darker it became. And then, as he neared the bottom, he saw something moving in the shadows—a figure, crouched against the wall.
"Who… who are you?" Jacob asked, his voice trembling.
The figure looked up, and Jacob felt his heart stop. It was a woman, or what was left of one—her skin was pale and clammy, her eyes sunken and hollow, and her mouth twisted into a wide, unnatural grin that stretched from ear to ear. The cries that had filled the night poured from her open mouth, but her eyes were cold, dead, staring blankly through him.
Before Jacob could scream, her bony, claw-like hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, her fingers icy and sharp. "You heard my cry…" she whispered, her voice now a low hiss. "And now… you will stay."
Jacob struggled, but her grip was impossibly strong. The walls of the well began to close in, as if the stones themselves were moving, trapping him. The last thing he saw was her face, inches from his own, her grin widening as she pulled him deeper into the darkness.
Back in the village, the cry continued to echo through the forest, as it had every night. And now, if you listen closely, you can hear two voices—one a woman’s, hollow and desperate, and the other a man’s, pleading and terrified—both calling out in an endless, eternal cry for help.
