My name is Yuki, and I’m 16 years old. I live in a small village in Japan, surrounded by rice fields and mountains. Our village is quiet, with old houses and narrow paths. Everyone knows each other, and life is peaceful. But there’s one place nobody talks about—the old well behind the shrine. People say it’s haunted. Last summer, I learned why, and now I can’t forget what happened. Let me tell you my story, but be warned: it’s scary.
The well is hidden in the forest near the village shrine. It’s very old, made of stone, with moss growing on it. A wooden cover sits on top, tied with a thick rope. When I was a child, my grandmother told me never to go near it. “Bad things happen there,” she said. “A spirit lives in the well, and it’s angry.” I didn’t believe in ghosts then, so I laughed. But her face was serious, and she made me promise to stay away.
Last summer, my friends and I were bored. It was hot, and we wanted an adventure. My friend Ken, who loves scary stories, said, “Let’s go to the old well!” His sister Aiko and our friend Taro agreed. I didn’t want to go, but they called me a coward. “It’s just a well, Yuki,” Ken said. “There’s no ghost.” I remembered my grandmother’s warning, but I didn’t want to look scared, so I went with them.
We walked through the forest in the afternoon. The trees were tall, and the air was cool. Birds sang, but as we got closer to the well, the forest became quiet. Too quiet. My stomach felt heavy, like something was wrong. Aiko noticed it too. “It’s strange,” she whispered. “Where are the birds?” Ken laughed and said, “You’re all scared of nothing!” But even he looked nervous.
When we reached the well, it looked older than I expected. The stone was dark and wet, like it was crying. The rope around the cover was old and frayed. Taro touched the stone and said, “It’s cold!” Ken, trying to be brave, climbed onto the edge of the well and looked inside. “It’s just dark,” he said. “I can’t see anything.” He picked up a small rock and threw it into the well. We waited for the sound of it hitting water, but there was nothing. Just silence.
“Let’s go back,” I said. My heart was beating fast. Aiko nodded, but Ken said, “Not yet! Let’s open the cover!” Taro agreed, and they started pulling the rope. I shouted, “Stop! We shouldn’t do this!” But they didn’t listen. The rope broke, and the wooden cover fell to the ground. A cold wind came from the well, and I felt a chill on my neck. The air smelled strange, like wet earth and something old.
We all froze. Then, we heard it—a soft sound from the well. It was like a whisper, but not words we could understand. It was low and sad, like someone crying far away. Aiko grabbed my arm. “What’s that?” she whispered. Ken’s face was pale. “It’s just the wind,” he said, but his voice was shaking. The whisper grew louder, and I thought I heard my name. “Yuki…” It was a woman’s voice, cold and slow.
“Let’s go!” Taro shouted. We turned to run, but my legs felt heavy, like something was holding me. I looked back at the well, and my heart stopped. A hand was on the edge—a pale, thin hand with long fingers. It moved slowly, like it was pulling something up. I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t move. Aiko pulled my arm, and we ran through the forest, not looking back. The whispers followed us, echoing in the trees.
When we reached the village, we were out of breath. Ken said, “That was nothing. Just our imagination.” But his hands were shaking. Aiko was crying, and Taro looked scared. I told them, “We shouldn’t have gone there. Something’s wrong with that well.” We promised never to talk about it, but I couldn’t forget that hand or the voice saying my name.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. My room was dark, and the wind outside sounded like whispers. Around midnight, I heard a soft tap at my window. I thought it was a branch, but when I looked, nothing was there. My heart raced. I closed my curtains and hid under my blanket. Then, I heard it again—my name, whispered outside. “Yuki…” It was the same voice from the well. I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe. The tapping stopped, but I stayed awake until morning.
The next day, I told my grandmother what happened. Her face turned white. “You broke the rope?” she asked. I nodded, and she looked angry and scared. “That well is dangerous,” she said. “Long ago, a woman named Hana lived in our village. She was kind, but her husband was cruel. One night, he pushed her into the well, and she died. Her spirit stayed there, angry and sad. The rope and cover keep her inside. Now, you’ve let her out.”
I felt cold. “What do we do?” I asked. My grandmother said, “We must fix the well. But you must never go back. Hana’s spirit is looking for someone to take her place.” She called the village priest, and they went to the well with a new rope and cover. I stayed home, too scared to go near it again.
For a few days, everything was quiet. I thought it was over. But one night, Ken called me. His voice was strange. “Yuki, I had a dream,” he said. “A woman was in my room. She was pale, with wet hair. She said, ‘Come to the well.’” I told him to stay away, but he sounded confused, like he wasn’t himself. The next morning, Ken was gone. His parents said he left the house at night and didn’t come back.
The village searched for him. They found his shoes near the well. The new cover was on, but the rope was loose. Nobody wanted to look inside. Aiko, Taro, and I didn’t say anything, but we knew. Ken went back to the well, and something took him. The priest did a ceremony to calm Hana’s spirit, but I don’t think it worked. At night, I still hear whispers sometimes, and I’m afraid to look out my window.
Now, I stay away from the forest. I don’t go near the shrine or the well. My grandmother says Hana’s spirit is still there, waiting for someone else. I tell my friends to never go to the well, but some don’t listen. They think it’s just a story. I know it’s real. I saw the hand. I heard the voice. And Ken is gone.
The well is still there, hidden in the forest. If you visit my village, you might see it. But don’t touch the rope. Don’t look inside. And if you hear your name whispered at night, don’t answer. Just run.