Growing up in a small ruralish town in the Deep South we had a leeway when it came to our free time during summer break. By the late nineties our parents were fully aware of kidnappers and the general ne’er do-wells that could destroy our peaceful, sleepy existence. But still, they gave us free reign of the woods and fields around our house and neighborhood.
As a young boy I took full advantage of exploring and playing in every secret nook and cranny of my world. On the other side of the woods my friends and I had “discovered” a hug e old barn that was home to more than a few goats that didn’t appreciate being discovered, nor did they appreciate our attempts to be caught. The old man who owned said goats put up with us since he knew all of our parents and we weren’t really causing any harm. But let me tell you, I got caught in more than one electric fence running from an unappreciative goat.
One day during one of our goat exploration missions we made a legitimate discovery that was nothing at all we were prepared for. The biggest goat and a couple of his compatriots were chasing the invading forces (us) out of their land when we turned and went a different way. Maybe in an attempt to confuse or trick them, to this day I’m not sure why, we took a left into an area of the woods we had not explored as thoroughly. It, being on the other side of the goats, was only mildly charted by our explorations. As we hopped the old wooden fence on the tree line we stopped to asses our situation. With the native forces unhappily held at bay we had little option but to explore this area until we could sneak back across hostile territory.
Walking into the woods we felt comfortable. These were our woods. They were home. Nothing could hurt us here, we were the masters of our domain.
On the hunt for the perfect walking stick, there was never one that was good enough, we made our way deeper into the trees. One by one we would find the perfect stick, and one by one it would fail our sword fight test. The sword fight test was paramount in walking stick assessment, and every good explorer had a good walking stick. The trees grew closer as we continued. The green light split intermittently with shafts of bright sunshine lit our expedition. Not even lunch time and we were making more discoveries than Lewis and Clarke. Dead trees that housed strange bugs and fungi. Tiny streams that needed bridges and dams built. We were explorers, engineers, naturalists, playing at all manner of great world building men. Until we crested the hill.
As we reached the top of a hill we realized we’d very slowly been circling around the goat farm. We could probably just tighten the circle and be back at home for a late lunch. We decided that was the best course of action and I led the way down the hill. We had to stay alert because this was uncharted territory, there was no telling what secrets were out there. “Constant vigilance Mr. Potter.” Through the trees I spotted a dark shape almost like a house, but much too small. As we got closer we realized that’s exactly what it was. A tiny little shack in the side of a hill. DEFINITELY worthy of exploring.
Let me say, exploration isn’t all fun and games. You have to be methodical and we knew what we were doing. So, we circled the shack and realized it only had walls on three sides. The roof slanted up from the back, but had fallen in towards the middle. It was about two 10 year old boys long by one and a half boys wide. The front side was facing downhill and had a little wooden fence with a gate in the middle but otherwise open. The wood was all rotted and moss covered. It was perfect. We needed a home base. A fort. A secret hideout. This checked all the boxes. But… Inside the shed there was a brick structure. Of course I had to investigate. I picked my way through the thorns and broken wood to the bricks. It was a big cylinder with a wooden beam across it that looked like it was probably hanging from the ceiling at one point. The hole in the roof was directly above the bricks. This was definitely a well. We had found our own secret well, this day couldn’t get any better.
As I called my friends over we all started the inspection. The bricks were very expertly stacked but there wasn’t any mortar. We found the wood that used to hold the cross beam. We decided to remove the wood beam from the well, so we could get a better look. There was an old piece of rope tied to it dangling in the well, but it was broken and only about half a boy long. Once the wood was moved the sound started. Like blowing over the top of the biggest deepest bottle you can imagine, but somehow sharp. It ebbed and flowed. Grow louder then softer. Deeper then higher. Never moving fast though.
We made our way out of the well house and decided to talk everything over. The air was still. With the sound coming from the well as our soundtrack we decided to keep at it. Returning to the well our first course of action was to learn its depth. I dropped a rock over the side. No sound other than the noise. Maybe there wasn’t water? So we took one of the bricks and dropped it, hoping to hear a thud or a splash. As soon as the brick started it’s descent the noise grew louder. Without a thud or a splash the noise kept growing louder. And kept growing louder. And louder. It felt like my ears were going to explode. I felt something wet on my left earlobe. With a finger I realized it was blood. As our eyes all met we knew what we had to do.