The Wells of Hell
“The trees and the evergreen bushes were so thick down here that it was almost dark, and there was a musty smell of decaying vegetation and mould. We were panting, and confused, but we didn’t stop to talk. Instead, we ran on again, through the tangles of briar, and at last we came to a hollow, almost completely surrounded by thickets, where Sheriff Wilkes and two of his deputies were standing. They looked white-faced and frightened, and Sheriff Wilkes was frantically trying to contact his cars through his pocket radio.
‘What’s happening? Is anybody hurt?’ I asked him.
He shook his radio. ‘Damn thing. Must have busted when I fell over.’ One of the deputies, the long-nosed one called Martino, said: ‘It got Huntley. We came down here and the goddamned creature came out of the bushes and got ahold of his arm, dragged him back in there. It happened so quick we didn’t hardly see it.
Fired a couple of shots, but that didn’t seem to do nothing.’ Carter tucked his radio back into his pants pocket.
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