The night was cold, with the breeze making a whistling sound against the house. I can hear scratching on the walls and shrieks down the corridor. I crept down, holding tightly to my uncle’s hunting gun, my shirt soaked with sweat. The banging continues against the wooden doors of the house—they were trying to find me: the abominations, the nightmares, horrific spawns of the well.

I hear Aliyah screaming from the first floor like a tortured animal. “You have to get there,” I said to myself. “I have to help her. I have to save my wife.”

With my gun clenched to my chest, I rose, panting like a hungry beast. The whistling wind was growing stronger, and the house felt smaller and tighter, making me feel slightly claustrophobic.

I have to remember my targets—the way Uncle taught me. This is all my fault. If only I had listened to Meenah. Now, the horrors of the well are upon my family and me.

I kick down the wooden door and point the gun at the dark corridor. I need to get upstairs to get Aliyah; Meenah is safe with Akin, waiting for me to return with her mother.

I walked slowly down the dark passage, with only the bright moonlight from the open windows guarding me. I hold the gun tightly, sweat dripping from my forehead onto my bloodstained long-sleeve shirt. My forearms ached from my unhealed wounds from my last fight with the well.

Making my way to the stairs, I climb up, staring at the horrific display of bloodstained scratches on the walls, hoping they weren’t Aliyah’s. The banging continues—I guess it’s from the front door. The well’s influence is becoming stronger, and the sooner I escape from here, the better. The plan is simple: fight the night horrors as much as I can, rescue Aliyah, leave through the kitchen door, and escape the compound using my uncle’s old 406 from the garage.

I finally reached the first floor and stopped at the entrance of the corridor. A figure, dressed in a torn and tattered white gown, was standing in the darkness. I readied my gun and pointed it at the figure.

With tired, shaky hands, I stopped walking. The figure, facing away from me, started moving closer. I was about to pull the trigger when the moonlight from the small window at the end of the corridor leading to the balcony revealed a ring on a bloodstained finger. “Aliyah?” I called out, my voice shaking. With the body fixed, the head turned slowly—cracking bones and twitching muscles, veins stretched tight like belts from a grinding machine, eyes gray like dried cement—and it spoke: “Welcome, Ade. I’ve been waiting for you.”