Amongst the sunflower fields in the small French village of Bertric-Buree stands a 15^th century converted farm building. There is nothing out of the ordinary about this charming property, now owned by a wealthy English family from London. However, there is one feature worth noting (as the estate agent mentioned when the Johnson family viewed the property prior to purchase); it has a well.

The 40 ft deep well has not been used for many years but has solid stonewalls, a roof and three access points from which water could be drawn. For the sake of safety the Johnson family had the three access points covered by a wooden safety screen to stop the children exploring the dark depths during hide and seek games. The original winding mechanism was still operational but the bucket and rope had fallen into a state of decay.

John Johnson was a self-made millionaire, a good father to his two sons and a supportive and loving husband to his younger wife Bernice. They had been married for eighteen years and were delighted when their first son was born after they had been espoused for two years. Peter, an attractive boy was doing well at school and had just sat his GCSEs during that June and Damian, four years younger was the opposite to Peter. Damian was introvert, moody, short and rather tubby. He disliked sports and had very few friends. His parents loved him the same but found his behaviour challenging in the extreme.

The Johnson family arrived at the house just before dusk on Thursday 11^th July. The journey had been a long and tiring one and Bernice was looking forward to a good shower and a long sleep, as she had driven the French stretch of the journey. John Johnson now had the challenging task of unloading the car and waking his son Damian, who had slept for most of the journey.

"Damian, wake up, we’re here!" whispered John as he gently shook him. Damian stirred, opened his eyes and prepared to leave the rear seat of the Jaguar.

Damian asked, as he rubbed his eyes, "Where are we, dad?"

"At the farmhouse, son. We’re going to be here for four weeks," replied John. Damian undid his seatbelt and climbed out of the car, almost in slow motion.

Peter and Bernice Johnson were carrying the last of the bags over the front lawn. They had switched on the electricity, water and opened the windows wide to clear the scent of a ‘closed holiday home.’ Bernice was wondering how long it would take for the hot water tank to fill up. Damian started to explore the garden and sat in his usual place, on the wooden seat by the well.

At half past nine John and Bernice were enjoying a drink of local red wine on the west terrace. They were beginning to unwind after the tiring journey.

Bernice asked John, "Where’s Damian?"

"The last time I saw him he was sitting in his favourite spot in the garden," John answered, almost relieved that he hadn’t seen his youngest son for nearly an hour. Bernice decided to fetch him inside as it was getting late. She stood, drank the last of her wine, hoping that John would fill it in her absence and walked up the long garden to the well.

Bernice found Damian trying to peer down the well through the wooden guardrail. He appeared to be listening to something she could not hear. Rather than disturb him she decided to watch him for a few minutes, perhaps to gauge the mood he was in as it was nearly his bedtime. Sleeping had always been a problem for Damian. Until the age of four he had slept in their bed as he feared the dark and suffered from nightmares. He was a light sleeper only requiring four hours per night and this had always been a problem for the rest of the family.

"What are you doing, Damian?" asked Bernice who was slightly concerned from his lack of movement for the past ten minutes. Damian did not answer but continued to listen to the apparent silence emanating from the well.

"Damian, I am talking to you!" She was beginning to get annoyed at his silent repertoire. She walked towards him and took him gently by the arm. Damian was startled by this touch of concern and became startled and agitated almost as though he had been jolted out of a hypnotic trance.

"Mum, don’t do that!" Damian shouted as he pulled his arm out of her loose clasp.

"Sorry, darling but I thought it was time to get ready for bed. Come on," Bernice requested in a gentle voice, the tone Damian best responded to from her experience. He complied and they walked into the dimly lit house together. Bernice returned to the terrace and started to sip her second glass of the evening. It had been a very long day.

John woke in the middle of the night and went into the kitchen for another glass of water. Although he was tired the heat of the night made sleep difficult and he considered installing air conditioning in the bedroom as a result of this temporary discomfort. As he stood near the sink he felt a draught of cool air disturb the hairs of his legs. He turned to locate its source and saw the patio windows wide open and insects flying around the centre light. He was cross that Bernice had not locked the doors when she was the last to go to bed but he wanted to have a look around to make sure all was ok. He found Peter fast asleep lying on top of the bed and Damian’s room empty. John turned and walked outside to find Damian.

The boy stood by the well next to his dad’s toolbox. He had removed the safety mesh and was looking down the well with his feet almost off the ground.

"I will try my best. What you ask for may be difficult to find…" Damian said to the well. "I will bring you the knife tomorrow when I have located it."

John stood in disbelief but continued to watch in case his son slipped to his death in the lonely well. Damian picked up the screwdriver and replaced the wooden safety screen and walked inside the house. His father followed at a respectable distance, locked the door and hid the key. Silence returned to the farmhouse.

Breakfast was rather a quiet affair as everyone was absorbed in his or her own, private thoughts. The family decided that they were going to spend the day lounging by the pool in the strong sunlight. Like German tourists they positioned four sun loungers in the shade of the garden and took their positions.

By mid-morning, following a good, refreshing swim, three of the four sun loungers were occupied. The three occupants were fast asleep in the cooling shade; the fourth member of the family had left the shed door open and was digging in the field adjacent to the house. Damian was searching for something in the fallow field and digging a series of systematic, exploratory excavations in the hard, sun-baked earth.

Peter woke and went to get a drink from the kitchen. He realised that his younger brother was not with the family but was not duly concerned as he viewed any time away from his demonic sibling to be an additional bonus. He returned to his seat as Damian came into view. He didn’t want Damian to see him. Peter watched as Damian walked into the house carrying something under his dirty t-shirt. Damian went straight to his bedroom and shut the door. Peter went back to sleep in the heat of the late morning sun.

After a lunch of French bread, meats, salad and pate John and Bernice Johnson drove into Riberac to purchase some provisions. Peter was left in charge of his younger brother and the former lay in the shade of the terrace playing his game boy and listening to CDs using his headphones. Damian walked up the garden carrying a toolbox but out of view from his brother.

"I’ve got what you wanted," Damian spoke to the cool waters of the well. He removed a bronze dagger from a linen holdall and dropped it into the well. Two seconds later there was a splash of water and the voice of a man came from the bowels of the earth,

"You have done well, Damian. I now require something else from you!"

Pierre Gardin was the local village idiot. He spent his days riding his moped in varying stages of inebriation. He used to top up his alcoholic content by stealing garden produce from other local villages and trading it for Pernod in the Bertric-Buree bar. During the afternoons he would sleep by the roadside until his body craved another shot of alcohol. His routine never changed from season to season.

John was driving his wife back from Riberac along the mile-long farm track to the house.

"Isn’t that Damian?" commented Bernice.

"Yes it is. Where’s he off to, I wonder?" replied John. The car slowed and stopped alongside their youngest child.

"Hi, mum, dad. I’m just going to the bakers to get some sweets. Is that ok?" asked Damian with a curious smile on his face.

"I guess so. But don’t be too long," replied his mother, who never doubted his motive. The car finished its journey and the shopping was unloaded and the sun loungers reoccupied.

Damian returned sucking a lollipop and hid a carrier bag behind the well under the pile of tinder dry logs. Fluid was leaking from the bag. He spent the rest of the afternoon with the family worshiping the later afternoon French sun.

The following morning a solitary carrier bag blew across the field in the gathering wind; in its wake a swarm of flies. This event went unnoticed by the Johnson household. Damian was still asleep as the rest of the family gathered for a late breakfast. This was rather unusual but the family members were glad of the peace and lack of tension that usually accompanied Damian. A police car drawing up outside the house disturbed their breakfast. John Johnson walked up the lawn to discover what they wanted. The family watched with interest from the terrace.

Nearly quarter an hour later John returned looking rather puzzled after he watched the police car return to the village.

"What was that all about, John?" asked Bernice.

"Apparently they found the body of Pierre Gardin with his heart cut out up the lane this morning. A farmer setting up the irrigation equipment found his blood-soaked body in the ditch," informed John with a wavering voice.

"How disgusting," commented Peter who wanted to know more about this grizzly incident. The family left the breakfast table, uncleared, to view the murder scene.

When they returned Bernice asked her husband,

"Why did you leave your tool box out all night?" John thought about this but was fairly confident that he had put it away before supper. He picked it up and thought no more about it.

Damian surfaced from his room,

"Morning everyone, what a lovely day!" The family were disquieted by his unexpected cheerfulness but went along with it. No mention was made of the demise of Pierre Cardin, as it would surely give Damian nightmares. They continued their daily chores undisturbed by the numerous cars and vans parked up the farm track and the hive of activity from the media.

Bernice couldn’t sleep. She finally took a sleeping tablet that she found in the medicine cabinet, a prescription from two years ago when Damian’s sleeping disorder was at its greatest. Her body became heavy and she felt like she was going to sink into the mattress itself.

Her dream was vivid and had the clarity of a highly polished diamond. She stood at the well listening to a man’s voice coming from the murky depths. The voice explained that he was Claude Bonet a 25-year-old vagrant who was murdered twenty years previously. His body was disposed of in the well. Bernice continued to listen to the voice frozen in fear. She felt her feet begin to leave the ground. Her head became light and her thoughts foggy, yet she was mesmerised by this distant, haunting voice. She had to say something to bring her back to partial reality,

"Who murdered you?

"A local man. He will trouble me no longer, " replied Claude. Bernice felt his force lessen. Her feet resumed their safe foundation on the cool grass and the word ‘longer, longer, longer’ echoed from the cool depths of the well.

Bernice woke lying on the floor covered in sweat. John was still asleep oblivious to her spectral plight. She got up and opened the patio doors the sunlight and heat snapped her out of her drug-induced sleep. The spectres of the night vanished she washed and prepared the continental breakfast.

From that day onwards Damian was a changed boy, his personality more like that of his elder brother. No longer was he haunted by dreams, nor did he hear any more voices, which had haunted his formative years. His family noticed the change but could not offer any explanation for it. They were just grateful to have the son they had wished for.

The Johnson family owned the house for another two years before selling it on to a Stock Broker. The Murdoch family installed an ingenious system to use the well water to supply the swimming pool, which provided great savings on their water bill. The water in the swimming pool was cool and refreshing but the pool engineer could not explain why it was always cloudy. I think Damian could possibly provide the answer to this conundrum.

 Steven Longman-Marshall

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