Next morning was beautiful; sunny and warm. I got up
about ten, had breakfast, shaved with pleasure, jumped
into my dirty boots, and went to the porch, smoking.
It was warm. Yesterday rain wet my garden enough, and
I was glad that I did not have to water it.
I closed my eyes, enjoying the sunshine, thinking how
better to spend this free day.
The Sheriff's Jeep screeched his tires next to my
house, driving away my dreamy meditation.
"Let's go!" The voice of my friend-agriculturist
sounded from behind the fence. The gates opened and
Ivan Il'ich appeared, shining with excitement. His
boots were clean now, and as polished as a mirror and
his clothes were emitting the tender aroma of French
cologne.
"Let's go!" he repeated, slightly dancing with
ardency. "It's started!"
"Let's go!" I reacted in a moment, tossing away the
cigarette and getting into the vehicle. "What's
started? Where are we going?"
The Jeep sped toward the forest.
"To the glade, to the well," explained the
agriculturist, sitting in the back seat next to me. "I
reported it this morning. Today they are doing some
investigating."
"They believed you? I didn't expect it."
"They did believe me, but not just because of my
report. That man was some important figure, first of
all. Second, the rescuer that was in the well, said
something to the authorities. I don't know exactly
what. But they were riled up!"
The Jeep veered from the road, and making its way
between poultry farm and potato fields, stopped
finally at the glade.
Real excitement was reigned here. I easily recognized
rescue and police vehicles from yesterday. Also here
were two other cars with lights on their roofs, and
some people, my first impression was that they were
some government officials, were walking around with
significant looks.
Ivan Il'ich was immediately led to them.
He was talking as usual, very emotionally, swinging
his arms, and one of these officials was making some
notes into his book, nodding with a serious
appearance.
After my friend and his escort struggled into the
bushes, as Ivan Il'ich explained where he was and what
he had seen.
Nobody paid attention to me, so I caught the moment,
and went to the well.
The well seemed like a well. I've seen a hundred
wells. Very old for sure. Not less than hundred years.
The fence around the opening was built with old
massive blocks, stuck together because of the way of
the building, no adhesive had been used.
Some stones of the fence were crushed with age, and
moss-covered.
Honest, I hesitated to approach it. Yesterday's
stories scared me, arousing into my soul some foggy
foreboding.
However, I tossed away these stupid thoughts, and
carefully leaning onto the fence, I looked down into
the hole. The dark cobblestone shaft went deep into
the blackness as deep as an eye could see.
Suddenly a feeling like an electric charge struck me.
I clearly recalled my night dreams or rather, my
nightmare.
A tarantula. Huge wolf-spider, with brownish hair.
He's afraid of the sunlight and always hides in its
hole. The hole is usually very small, about a
penny-size, round and vertical like a shaft. It seems
impossible how such a monster could toss itself
through such a small opening.
But if an unlucky grasshopper or beetle would get
close here goes a quick catch, and next the victim is
deep under the ground and a bloody feast has begun.
A deep instinctive horror captured me for a moment. I
recalled the words of my friend: 'It was something
adroit, gray-colored or brownish. Hairy. It seized his
back and pulled him down into the well...'
I stepped back, stumbled over something and collapsed
onto the grass.
Falling gave back my wits. My God! What thoughts!
I quickly walked away, into the shadows of the trees,
barely forcing myself not to run.
I was shaken. I sat on the grass and smoked.
Someone drew close and sat next to me.
"It's hot today." I heard an unknown voice. Yet I
recognize that person. It was the same rescuer that
was in the well yesterday. A very young guy, about
nineteen, wearing a khaki jacket. He held a strange
device, it looked as a gas-mask. "It's an
oxygen-mask," he explained and sighed. "They will tell
me to go in again. I'd rather go anywhere but this
place."
"Isn't there air?"
"Maybe so. But it's a rule."
"And what is on the bottom?" I asked as my insides
went cold.
"It's horrible," replied the guy very seriously. "This
is why I'm afraid of going down there. Some feeling of
dread. You know a man fell down yesterday, yet I
didn't find his body. But all around is blood-stained;
the bottom and the walls as well. Blood, so much
blood, and a pile of bones. I can't imagine why. I'd
rather give my money to someone else instead of me
going down there."
"Why do you need to go again?" I asked.
"I dunno what the heck for, they said, look for clues.
But nothing's there! Only dirt, and karst."
"What?"
"Karst, I said. Like in caves sometimes. The shaft has
been mined through the limestone, and the walls are
with cracks, chinks, gaps. The water was coming
through them in the past."
"Big gaps?"
"No, even a child wouldn't fit... See, they call me.
Have to go."
The man took up his device, and plodded towards his
co-workers, who were taking the equipment out of the
vehicle. I followed.
Now here is the last, and the most dramatic part of my
story.
The man, that I was talking with had an oxygen-mask
and a strong light on his helmet, had been tied to a
cable going through a block, and he started his way
down.
Besides this major rope, held by four hefty men, there
was a line, like scuba divers use. If the man down
tugs the line it's a signal to lift him out.
The chief of the rescuers, a gloomy gray-haired man
held the other end of the line.
Meter-by-meter the cord went out until it stopped,
showing the mark "twenty-eight".
The rescuers recklessly lied down on the grass, but
uneasy with my foggy foreboding, I went close to the
well again. Awfully deep, I saw a tiny spark, like a
small star, the light on the helmet of the guy. It was
all that I could see.
Suddenly the line showed a tug.
"Lift!" told the chief. The hefty men lazily got up,
and held the rope. The line showed another tug, and
another, and again, it trembled as if convulses.
"Pull! Pull! Hurry up! What the hell?" The line had
been torn out from his hands.
The light down below dashed from side-to-side and went
out. At the same time an awful scream sounded from
below.
"He's out of mask!" The gray-haired rescuer blanched.
"Pull! Hey! Someone help us!"
Everybody around; me, Ivan Il'ich, even the
authorities grabbed the rope.
When I was a boy, we often caught tarantulas. You take
a small piece of plasticine, and put in into a
tarantula's hole with a string. The spider takes it as
a bait. At this moment you should quickly pull it out,
and then you have the tarantula! Here it stays, the
fat hairy monster, used to dark and now stunned with
sunlight.
We pulled, pulled, pulled...
The rope went up with a few meters per second. Now I
was sure what I would see.
The horrible blood-stained face of the guy rose above
the edge. He jumped over the well's fence and ran
away.
I jerked to follow him, and clashed into Ivan Il'ich.
My friend stood still motionless as a stone, staring
toward the well with his eyes wide open.
"My God!" he whispered. "Just look at that!"
I spun. Huge brownish rats were leaping out of the
well. They were as big as beavers. The sunlight
blinded them. The disgusting creatures with blind
tearing eyes bunched next to the well showing their
fangs. A second later they all rushed back down.
***
In the evening Ivan Il'ich, as usual, visited me. We
were drinking and having talk.
"What a day!" said my friend, dropping down the next
portion of hooch. "No wonder, the guy got so scared.
What disgusting creatures live in the world! Probably
they are mutants, as they are capable of running on
vertical walls. I heard they rushed out dozens from
every gap. Thank God, he's alive! He could have been
eaten up like that cow. Do you know if he's badly
injured?"
"Nothing serious. Just three scratches. He got them
during his way up. Our doctor took care of him. It's
her lucky day!"
"You know, Vasily Andreevich, I'll go to the mayor
tomorrow. We have to cement that damned well. Someone
could get hurt again. Pour me some more, please. Thank
you. And could you honestly tell me what you had been
thinking of that matter before?"
"I feel ashamed to say." I smiled shamefully. "But I
was thinking it was a giant tarantula. And you?"
"I though it was a devil," the agriculturist replied
very seriously.


(C) *** JES 2000*** Yuri Shymanovsky
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