"The Midnight Bargain"

The town of Alder’s Glen had a Halloween tradition, one unlike any other. Every October 31st, at exactly midnight, townsfolk gathered at the old stone well in the center of town square, each carrying a single candle. The well was ancient, rumored to have been there long before the town itself, and no one truly knew how deep it went. Some claimed it reached down to the heart of the Earth itself.

This Halloween was a particularly foggy one, the mist rolling through the streets like ghostly fingers. Maeve, a newcomer to Alder’s Glen, followed her neighbors to the square, her candle flickering in her hand. She’d only moved to town a few weeks ago, but the townspeople had invited her to join them, with that strange, polite insistence. “It’s important,” they’d said, their smiles never reaching their eyes. “Everyone must come.”

As the clock struck midnight, the crowd fell silent, and the fog thickened until it felt like they were trapped in a cloud. The mayor, a tall man with weary eyes, approached the well and placed his candle on the stone rim. “Tonight,” he intoned, his voice echoing in the stillness, “we remember those we have lost. And we keep the bargain.”

Maeve glanced around, confused. “What bargain?” she whispered to the woman next to her, but the woman only shook her head, eyes fixed on the well.

One by one, the townsfolk stepped forward, whispering names into the darkness and setting their candles down. Maeve felt a chill prickle down her spine as the whispers filled the air—a strange, sing-song rhythm of names, some old, some recent, blending together into something haunting.

Finally, it was Maeve’s turn. Feeling the weight of a hundred stares, she approached the well, her candle casting an eerie glow over the ancient stones. She hesitated, unsure of what to say. She had no one to remember here, no family or friends in Alder’s Glen. But something—perhaps the mist, or the thick silence—compelled her to speak.

The words left her lips unbidden: “For the forgotten.”

As soon as she spoke, the air grew icy, and the ground trembled beneath her feet. Maeve gasped, her candle flickering wildly as something began to stir within the well. The fog swirled and twisted, forming shapes that looked almost human—shadowy figures emerging from the depths.

The townsfolk didn’t flinch, their faces grim. Maeve stumbled back, eyes wide, as the figures circled the well, their eyes hollow, gazing out at the townspeople with an aching hunger. She realized, with a sickening twist in her stomach, that they were looking for someone.

“Welcome, Maeve,” the mayor murmured beside her, his voice low. “Every year, a new soul must join them. That’s the bargain.”

Maeve tried to scream, but the shadows surrounded her, pulling her closer to the well’s edge. As her candle flickered and went out, the fog swallowed her last breath, and the townspeople turned away, each face unreadable, their candles still burning.

By morning, the well was silent, and the mist had cleared. But if you were to look closely, just at the edge of the well, you’d see a new shadow, barely visible—a reminder of the bargain kept. And every year, the whispers would continue, one name added to the endless list, keeping Alder’s Glen safe… for another Halloween.