Wishing Well

Wishing Well

The trees whisked by quickly in their nakedness, the leaves crackling under his heavy steps. A few common birds were frightened away by his fast approach, as well as the occasional rabbit. Autumn isn’t the worst season to choose for a morning jog, thought Jack. The lack of leaves meant a better vision of the paths ahead, the temperature was a bit chilly (run in the afternoon next time, you idiot… not at sunrise, Jack told himself) but more or less comfortable, and the scenery wasn’t all that bad, either.

A familiar sound almost intruded Jack’s exercise; the dreadful sound of his phone ringing caught him by surprise, but, finally, didn’t prevent him from continuing his course. He had brought two things on his morning run; a bottle of water, which was already three-quarters empty, and his phone. He now detested himself for bringing it along, but remembered reasoning that he needed it in case of an emergency.

The ringing continued, but Jack didn’t answer. His jog in the forest did wonders to clear his mind, as a colleague suggested it would, and to answer his phone would mean to let all the troubles back in, and that wasn’t a very enticing thought. So he kept running, making the most of his hour of freedom.

It rang again, and Jack knew he would have to answer it, that maybe it was an actual emergency. He looked ahead, and about 200 feet away he could see a small stone well, and decided it would do for a pit stop. By the time he reached the well, the caller was attempting to reach him for the third time, and on the second ring, Jack was finally able to pull his phone out of his pocket, and a nickel along with it.

“This is Jack,” he said, setting the nickel on one of round stones bordering the well. He panted slightly; it had been a few years since he'd ventured for a morning jog.

“Jack! Where the hell were you? I've been spendin' the last half hour tryin' to reach you!' said the voice. Jack recognized the caller as Corlick, his boss. Well, more of a boss slash buddy. You know, the kind of thing that never actually works. “Listen, I got a call from Hadings (the man) and I'm 'fraid it ain't good. Only reason I'm callin' is 'cause I think you deserve to hear it from me first rather then get the news by the ambush Hadings has ready for you once you reach the Chronicler. An' it's not just you, either. Murk, Hunter, and Figgins, too. Times ain't all that great, you know? Internet swallowing up more then half the business and all... Things keep going like this and pretty soon I'll be out of a job as well.”

“And he's going to tell us this when? This morning?”

“First thing he'll do once you come in.” Corlick knew what was coming. “The higher powers forced him to choose four...”

“I'm guessing Thunder Bill helped him narrow down his choices. Damn horse missed the last turn, too, or I'd be in the Bahamas by now.” Jack knew he made a mistake. He used his lunch hour to go to the tracks, as usual, but when he came back he realized his lunch hour lasted two and a half hours, actually. He was in it deep.

“I'm sorry, Jack... wish there was something I could say.”

“I'll lose her, Hank... Wendy,” Jack said, his voice trembling slightly. “Almost did last month when she caught me at the tracks, and last week she figured out I was betting online... things didn't look good, Cor. She threatened to leave, said if I wasn't damn-near perfect from now on, she'd leave without looking back. I believed her, too. It's done, now... she'll leave without hesitating."

“Try to reason with her, Jack... you never know.” Hank didn't quite know how to react, so he thought reassurance was the best way to go. “Listen, I have to let you go, Jack. The Devil's on his way over. Oh, and Jack... try to act surprised when you get fired, otherwise it's my ass.” And with that, the call ended.

Jack knew the dark was coming. No job, no wife, a crappy apartment on the wrong side of town... he knew that liquor would soon be his best friend if he didn't get a grip soon. He stood a few more minutes in front of the well, gathering his strength for the jog home. It was not until seconds before he left did he remember the nickel he placed on the stone just minutes earlier.

If only life was as easy as fairy tales. Wishes came from many sources in fables: wells, genies, wizards, gods. It was either toss the coin in the well or lose it in the washing machine back home. What the hell, Jack thought, and came up with a wish before ridding himself of the nickel.

“I wish all my stinking misery could end. That I could finally be free of my problems for once!” And the coin hit the water with a loud plunk before sinking to the bottom.

Jack turned around to jog home, and the last thing he saw was a figure standing in front of him. He was clothed in all black, and not ordinary clothes. Robes, cloaks, heavy boots... the kind of clothes you merely read about nowadays. His dark hood hid his face, but Jack could feel the deep chill coming from his mouth when he drew what could only be described as a breath. The figure held a large weapon of some sorts, an axe... no, a scythe, in his hands, and was raising it up as high as he could.

“Done,” said the shadow in what was barely a whisper. And down went the scythe.

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