I followed the overgrown path to the forgotten well at the edge of my grandma’s old property, even though the neighbors always warned me to stay away. The grass around its cracked stone rim smelled like damp earth and something sharp, unplaceable rot. When I leaned in to peek, my phone’s flashlight cut through the dark and glinted off something pale and curved at the well’s muddy bottom. I grabbed a gnarled loose branch to hook around it, my fingers shaking so bad I almost dropped the stick into the black gap. The object I pulled up was not a stone or old bottle, but a small porcelain doll, its blue eyes glued open to stare straight at me. As I set it on the ground, I heard a soft whimper coming from inside the well, so faint I thought I’d let my imagination run wild. I stepped back, my boot slipping on slick moss, and the doll’s neck twisted at an impossible angle to follow my movement. The whimper swelled into a clear whisper of my name, like someone trapped far down was trying to reach me. I ran fast, not glancing back once, and when I snuck a look over my shoulder ten minutes later, the doll sat on my porch steps, its dress smudged with unfamiliar mud. That night, I heard it scratching at my bedroom window, and I knew I’d brought home something that would never let me be alone again.

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