All That Ends Well

It was early evening when Will joined his friend in the pub. While all his friends were gathering to watch the football on the big screen televisions, Will was more interested in the catch-up rather than the sport. He was there for a couple of pints and a laugh with his friends. The match wasn’t important; it was about the camaraderie with his close friends. 

‘Looking forward to the big match tonight, Will?’ Ian asked. 

‘Yeah, I suppose. I’m not a massive football fan. My brother’s the big sports fan in my family. I don’t care for it.’ Will admitted.

‘A few beers with the game. You can’t beat it.’

‘I’m going easy tonight. I’ve got a busy day tomorrow. I don’t want a hangover in the morning.’ Will said. 

‘It’s United, playing the final, mate. Come on the Reds! It’ll be worth feeling rough for.’ Ian said. 

Win or lose, the pubs and the streets themselves would be oceans of red later as the fans embraced the big game, all wearing their team colours with pride. 

Their friend Dave arrived, jangling his car keys as he approached their table. He grumbled about how he had struggled to get parked up, explained how he’d had to dump the car in the supermarket carpark. 

‘I’m not leaving the Jaguar parked just anywhere. I’m getting a taxi home later, so I can have a few beers with the game. I’ll get Joy to run me up for the car in the morning.’ Dave said.

By the time Dave’s wife drove him to pick his car up the next morning, Will hoped to be on his way to the subject of his latest photography project. He would be exploring the run-down old house on Barton Moss. The abandoned old house dated back over a hundred and fifty years. Will would be taking his camera to get some cool shots of the old place. His recent efforts at photography had been rather successful. Several of his photos had been picked up by the Manchester Evening News and other local newspapers. 

The next morning, while his friends were still sleeping off the alcohol from the night before, Will was heading out. He pulled off the main road and wound his way down the country roads that twisted sharp lefts and rights, up and down. Eventually, the road evened out. Standing in the middle of miles of grassy moss land, loomed the grounds of the famous manor house. The grounds were encircled by a brick wall. The wall stood just over six feet high. Black gates stood to attention at the entrance to the grounds.

Will pulled his car to a stop outside the gates at the entrance. He grabbed his camera and slung the strap around his neck. He climbed over the red brick wall. As he clambered over the wall, a memory came back to him, Will and his brother used to get up to all sorts when they were kids. There was always walls to be vaulted over, trees to be scaled. Back then life seemed to be just one massive adventure. Will sensed that climbing over the wall of the manor house, was his latest wild adventure.

When he had mentioned to his parents about checking out the old house, they had been eager to see the photographs. His mother was quite the local history expert and had given him a brief history of the house. Despite today being largely ignored and forgotten about, a century ago, the house had been quite the local landmark. The owner of the house, Lord Earlham, had vanished without a trace in the early 1930s. The house had fallen into disrepair since then. These days, nobody was actually sure who owned the house. Will’s father had mentioned that his great-grandfather had worked in the house. His relative had been a driver/mechanic for his Lordship. There were stories in the family about Lord Earlham’s strange behaviour and rumours of dabbling in the occult. 

Will walked across the grounds, wading through the long grass. He was unable to take his eyes from the rundown building. The manor house was derelict, each window either broken or boarded up. Plantlife, ivy and other foliage scaled the walls of the house, as though nature itself was trying to reclaim the house. Even in its dilapidated condition, Will could sense the grandeur the place must have had back in its prime. As he neared, he snapped away with his camera. 

The double-doors were covered with boards emblazoned with a notice that read, No Entry, trespassers will be prosecuted. While Will wasn’t sure there was anyone still around to prosecute if he did break into the house, but he refrained from forcing his way in. It was one thing jumping a wall to take some photographs, it felt like another thing to break into the house itself. He did peer in through a smashed window. The furniture was draped in white sheets. The sheet-covered dining chairs looked like Halloween ghosts.

Will snapped away, getting some really cool shots of the looming manor house, under the grey haunted skies. He crouched in the overgrown lawn, getting pictures of the place framed by the long grass. He worked his way around to the back of the house. 

Tucked away in one corner around the back was a well. There was a bucket on a rope and hanging from a beam mounted above the well. Back in the day, people would lower the bucket down to retrieve water. It looked like the kind of thing kids would throw pennies down at a theme park. The top of the well was covered with a metal grate. The grate was padlocked shut. There was something intriguing about the well. Will grabbed his Swiss Army knife and went to work on the padlock. 

He pushed and twisted several of the knife blades into the rusty padlock. He was about to give up and carry on taking photos, when there was a satisfying click and the lock opened. The grate creaked and groaned as Will lifted up.

Will peered into the well. There was nothing but blackness down there. He flicked the light on his camera. The glow illuminated the round brick tunnel of the walls, but the bottom of the well was still shrouded in darkness. He grabbed a stone and tossed it down the well. He listened closely, waiting for the splash. Silence.

In the strange surroundings, it felt like he was in a horror film or a spooky short story or something. He tried again, throwing another stone down the well. He leaned over, listening to hear the rock hit the bottom. Again silence. How deep was this well? He spotted a larger stone, the size of a house-brick. He grabbed the brick and turned to throw it down the well. 

That was when it happened. He lost his balance and fell forward into the mouth of the well. With his camera falling ahead of him, Will fell down the well. Falling, falling, tumbling. He called out, he cried out, as he fell. 

Everything went black. 

‘Looking forward to the big match tonight, Will?’ Ian asked.

‘What? Yes, whatever.’ Will said, looking around in confusion. How had he got to the pub with his friend? What had happened? He could recall the spooky old house, and the well round the back, and falling down and down. 

‘A few beers with the game. You can’t beat it.’ Ian said. 

‘Have we not already done this?’ Will asked. ‘We’ve had this very conversation.’

‘It’s United, playing the final, mate. Up the Blues! It’ll be worth feeling rough for.’

Something wasn’t right. This was the night before once again. And Will could have sworn United played in red.

‘Are United not the Reds?’ He asked.

‘Are you having a laugh? City are the Reds. Better dead than red, that’s what the United fans say.’

Will said nothing. 

At that moment, Dave arrived complaining about the car parking. He jangled his car keys and explained how he’d had to park the Jaguar in the supermarket carpark. This was so strange. How had he gone from falling down the well, to the night before? Had he dreamed it? Imagined it? Maybe this was a dream.

The next day, still puzzled as to exactly what was going on, Will busied himself around the house. He mopped and hoovered the floor, tidied up the loft and set aside things to take to the tip. 

Early that afternoon, his brother Neil called him, suggesting they meet up for a few beers that evening. 

‘That,’ Will said, ‘sounds like a great idea. A few beers might help sort my head out.’

The beer flowed wonderfully. Neil was on good form. They discussed film and TV, music and books, and laughed and joked around. 

‘Did you see the United game the other night? The Blues were on fire.’ Neil said.

‘You know me, I don’t really do football. And didn’t United used to be the reds? Did they change recently?’ Will asked.

‘That proves how little you know about football. United are the Blues, always have been.’ Neil replied.

Will took a long swig of his beer and changed the subject. 

They were a few pints in, and Will was feeling the effects of the alcohol. The world seemed to sway around him as though it was everyone else, rather than him, that was drunk.

‘I bought a record the other day. This classic blues album on original vinyl from the 1960s. The guy looks like a serial killer. They should definitely check the dude’s basement for bodies, that’s all I’m saying.’ Neil said. 

He pulled out his mobile phone and found a photo of the album cover. 

‘Check this out!’ Neil said, showing Will the picture as he laughed hysterically.

Neil grabbed him in a headlock, holding the phone next right to his face to compare him to the picture.

‘Actually, he’s the spitting image of you!’ Neil laughed.

Will wriggled out of Neil’s grip and straightened his collar. His brother had gone too far. 

‘So, you’re saying I look like a murderer? Real nice, mate.’ Will said.

‘Hey, relax, man. I was just having a laugh. It’s just banter.’

‘Banter? Really? If I made a crack about when your ex-girlfriend left you last year, would that be just banter?’ Will snapped.

Neil gave him a glare that that said he’d crossed a line. Angry words followed, before the brothers stormed out of the pub and headed away into the night in different directions. 

As he drifted off to sleep that evening, Will vowed to phone his brother the next morning. He would apologise and patch things up. Maybe they could go for a full English breakfast somewhere. Will had been drinking on an empty stomach and had over-reacted to what his brother had said. Usually, the jibe wouldn’t bother him so much He would have taken it as a joke, as it was intended. But right then, Will hadn’t really been in the mood. Maybe it was the stress of the strange well playing on his mind. Things hadn’t really seemed right since then.

Just after nine o’clock the next morning, Will dialled his brother’s mobile number. After ringing a couple of times, an automatic voice told him to leave a message. Will tried to keep his voice chirpy as he asked his brother to call him back, adding that it had been a mad night.

For the next few hours, Will checked his phone every few moments, hoping for a reply or a missed call alert, from his brother. Nothing. Eventually, Will sent his brother a text message. Again, he mentioned that it had been a crazy evening but always good to catch up. He ended the message asking how he was feeling today. He hoped that having asked a direct question, his brother would respond.

By early afternoon, after radio silence from Neil, he decided to call round and speak to his brother face to face. They would sort it out. It was easy to ignore a text or a call. Surely his brother wouldn’t ignore him knocking on his front door.

Hoping Neil would answer the door, Will knocked and waiting. After a long moment, his brother opened the door. Rather than usher him in for a cup of tea as usual, Neil held the door close, treating Will as though he was a door-to-door salesman trying his luck.

When Will asked how he was doing, Neil simply shrugged, yeah, fine. Will said he was sorry that he had over-reacted. He explained how he had been going through some really weird stuff. 

‘You called me some awful names, mate. And what you said about Tina was out of order.’ Neil said.

‘I’m sorry, mate. We were both so drunk.’

Neil said nothing.

‘We’ll have to get together again soon.’ Will said.

‘We’ll see.’ His brother muttered before closing the door. 

 As he drove home, Will was on the verge of tears. He would do anything to patch things up. An idea occurred to him. Going down the well had taken him back in time. Would it work again? Could it work? Last time he’d fallen down the well, he’d emerged at the evening before. Would it happen again? It had to be worth the risk. Rather than head back home, Will headed for the manor house. He didn’t know what would happen, if it would work, but he had to try. Whatever was going on was weird enough, without adding family fallings out. 

He crossed the grounds and headed for the well. He took a deep breath, as though he was preparing to dive into the deep ocean. And pushing himself off the edge and into the well. Again, falling, falling, into the blackness.

Will found himself in the pub once more. 

‘Looking forward to the big match tonight, Will?’ Ian asked. 

‘Yeah, I suppose. I’m not a massive football fan. My brother’s the big sports fan, I don’t care for it.’ Will said, in keeping with what he’d said previously.

‘It’s the Blues in the final. This is a big deal, mate.’ 

Will was relieved that the well had worked once more. He was back. He could fix things with Neil. His friend Dave arrived at the table, removing a plastic helmet.

‘What’s with the helmet?’ Will asked. ‘Have you taken up skateboarding or something?’

‘It’s my cycling helmet. I always wear it when I’m on the bike.’

‘You’re not a cyclist. A petrol head like you? You hate cyclists.’ Will said.

‘You’re getting me mixed up with someone else. I’m big into cycling. Joy and I went to watch the start of the Tour De France last year, if you remember?’

Will simply nodded. This was just so strange. He was certain that his friend held a disgust for cyclists. When the city centre had revamped the road lay-out to incorporate new cycle lanes, his friend had started a petition. Dave had previously had such a hatred of cyclists. He would shout out the car window, as he was driving by them. And yet now, he was quite the cycling enthusiast. 

Something occurred to him. As with the United changing team colours, maybe going back changed some random thing slightly. Perhaps every time he went back something, a minor detail, changed. 

The following afternoon, Will pottered at home, doing jobs that he’d been putting off. Once again, he cleared out his loft. As previously, his brother suggested meeting up for a few beers. Will knew what potentially could happen. It could be the same as last time. They would get too drunk, Will would take his brother’s joke the wrong way, he would over-react and would argue. Not this time. 

‘Fancy going to see a film, instead? There’s that new Marvel film everyone’s raving about.’ Will said. 

Will felt better as they sat in the dark hush of the cinema. They sipped paper cups of fizzy cola and munched on bags of chocolate. The film was fantastic, bonkers over the top action with a great finale that left the story open for a sequel. 

As they entered the carpark, each heading in the direction of their cars, Neil hugged him. Will patted his brother on the back, grateful that this time, they had parted on better terms. Neil was his brother and the person he was closest to in the world. 

Will arrived at the office around nine o’clock on Monday morning as usual. Just after eleven o’clock, his manager poked his head around his office door. He waved a hand at Will, calling out that he wanted a quick word. Will’s heart sank. A quick word sounded innocent enough, but it was usually code for a dressing down. If Dave wanted to speak to you, then it was big. He wouldn’t pull you into his office to congratulate you on a job well done. It was serious. There had been former colleagues who hadn’t returned to their desks after the infamous ‘quick word’.

Dave told Will to take a seat. Once he was sitting across the desk from him, Dave cleared his throat.

‘I’m sure you’ve heard that Jane is retiring. She’s been office supervisor for almost a decade. She will be sorely missed, a tough act to follow.’

Will nodded. Jane had been a tyrant, the office equivalent of a fascist dictator. When word went round that she was retiring at the end of the month, Will and his colleagues had breathed a sigh of relief. 

‘We’d like to offer you the position. The directors and I think you’ll do well. It could be the making of you. What do you say?’ Dave asked.

Will was stunned. He had been overlooked by the office management for years. He had worked as hard as he could for years, and been taken for granted. So, to be suddenly offered a massive promotion came as quite a shock. 

‘Thank you for the opportunity. This is really unexpected.’ Will said. 

‘So, you’ll take the job?’ Dave said, smiling, holding out his hand, like a television entrepreneur about to seal a massive deal. 

‘Can I think about it?’ Will asked. 

The smiled faded from Dave’s face, the offered handshake withdrawn. Dave fidgeted with the stack of papers the desk in front of him.

‘Sure, sure. You have a think about it and let me know.’ Dave said, his tone flat. 

His manager turned away and started typing on his computer keyboard. That was it, the meeting was over. Will awkwardly got to his feet and shuffled out of the office. 

Later that afternoon, word went round the office that Paul had been appointed Jane’s replacement. Will sighed. He had clearly blown his chances when he’d asked Dave if he could think about it. As his colleague was congratulated on his promotion, Will wondered if Dave might have been right in offering Will the job. The promotion could have been the making of him. He had never been particularly ambitious, but that didn’t mean he shouldn’t try now. He could have started with his office ambitions right there and then. But Will had scuppered his chances. What had he been thinking? When someone like Dave offered you a promotion, you replied, thank you very much, I won’t let you down. What you didn’t do, was ask if you could think about it. 

The more he thought about it, the worse he felt. This might have been his big chance, his fresh start. 

It was on the drive home that the idea come to him. If he went down the well once more, he would go back, back to before he had turned the job down. If he went back to a point in time before the job offer, he would be ready, he wouldn’t be caught off guard. He would be prepared and could thank Dave accordingly. He could even turn up to work wearing a suit, rathe than his usual faded polo shirt. However it was happening, whatever it was that was going on, if he went down the well, he would be sent back. 

Yes, he knew then what he had to do. He turned the car around and headed to the house on Barton Moss. As he headed out across the wilds of the moss, he told himself this would be the last time. If anything went wrong after that, he’d just get on with it. This would be one last time. 

As he marched across the grounds of the house, he wondered if he would he be transported back to the same moment as previously. Maybe he would he go back just 24 hours from now. Unsure quite what would happen next, Will climbed over the edge of the well and pushed himself off.

Will was in the pub with his friend one more. Maybe once you went down the well, you were connected to a certain point in time to be taken back to. Will tried not to dwell on that too much. He had no idea what was happening, or what he was doing, never mind how it all worked.

‘Looking forward to the match tonight, Will?’ Ian asked. 

‘Not really, mate. My brother’s the big sports fan in my family. I don’t care for it.’

Ian looked at him in confusion.

‘You don’t have a brother.’ Ian said.

‘Yes, I do.’ 

‘Will, I’ve known you and your family for years. You’re an only child.’ Ian said.

‘That’s not right.’ Will said.

‘If you have a brother, then what’s his name?’

As hard as Will thought, he couldn’t recall the name of his supposed brother. He did have a sibling, didn’t he? He thought he did. Maybe he was getting mixed up. The more he thought about it, his friend may have been right. Perhaps Will was an only child. Maybe he was getting confused. Things had been bizarre recently. The whole world seemed fuzzy, as though he’d just woke from a strange dream. Will could have sworn he had a sibling. Did he have a brother? Or was his mind playing tricks on him? Was his fuzzy head making him think that one of his close friends was a blood relative? 

The next morning, Will climbed in his car. He headed to Barton Moss manor. Things were not right with the world as it was. He had to go back to the well. He sensed that the answer to the puzzle lay back at the house, at the well. He now knew why there had been the padlocked grate over the well. It hadn’t been to protect visitors from falling to their deaths. It had been to protect them for whatever strange forces were lurking in the dark depths at the bottom of the well.

He sensed that going down the well again would set things right. He knew that going down the well one final time would reset things. If he went down once more, it would restore the world to its factory settings, and all would be well and as it should be. He couldn’t say how or why he knew this, but he was sure that would be the case. He would be transported back, and everything would be as it had been before his initial trip. Maybe whatever was down there could sense when you had finally learned your lesson. 

He pulled off the main road and headed down the winding country road. The mansion house should be coming up on his left any moment now. He slowed down looking for the turning, looking out for the redbrick wall that lined the grounds. He slowed right down, driving at a walking pace. There was no sign of the house nor the perimeter wall. There was nothing as far as the horizon. He pulled over and climbed out of the car. He called his dad on his mobile phone.

‘I’m out on Twelvetrees Road, looking for the mansion house. I’m struggling finding it. Any ideas how far down the road it is?’ Will asked.

‘What mansion house?’

‘Barton Moss Manor.’ Will insisted.

‘I’ve never heard of it.’

‘You know, the big house, out on the Moss? We spoke about me coming here.’

‘There’s nothing up there but fields. You might find a small farm-house, if you’re lucky.’ His dad said. 

‘Thanks, dad. Sorry to be a pain.’ Will said.

‘Don’t worry about it. You’re still my favourite child.’ his dad said with a chuckle. ‘Mind you, you’re my only child.’ 

Will said nothing. He stared off into the miles of grassy moss-land looking for a house that did not exist.

By Chris Platt

From: United Kingdom