Chapter 27

Chapter 27
The next morning, I woke up feeling strangely light. The air in my room didn’t feel as heavy as it usually did, like the sadness of the past days had finally drifted away with the spirit we’d helped. For the first time in weeks, I didn’t hear wailing in my sleep.

I stretched out on my bed, staring at the ceiling and thinking about everything that had happened. We’d actually helped someone—someone who wasn’t even alive anymore. The thought made me proud, like maybe I wasn’t just a freaky banshee girl with death visions.

Downstairs, I poured myself a bowl of cereal just as my phone buzzed. It was my dad calling.

“Morning, sweetheart,”

At school, things felt… almost normal. Students were busy gossiping about the upcoming football game, the cafeteria smelled like burnt pizza again, and for a moment I almost believed the supernatural drama was behind me.

Nick was already waiting by my locker, leaning on it like he owned it. He gave me that soft half-smile that made my heart stutter.

“Hey, banshee,” he teased, offering me a coffee he’d picked up from the café down the street.

“You’re spoiling me,” I said, smiling despite the butterflies.

“That’s the plan,” he said lightly.

Across the hall, Brandon caught my eye and waved me over. He looked as though he hadn’t slept much, his blue eyes still sharp but with faint shadows underneath.

“Hey,” he said as I walked up to him. “You alright? Big day yesterday.”

“I’m good,” I replied. “We actually helped someone. Feels… weirdly good.”

“Yeah,” he said, his expression softening. “Guess saving spirits looks good on you.”

I blushed and quickly busied myself with my locker door. Great. Two gorgeous guys, both protective, both with secrets, and me stuck in the middle.

By lunch, the five of us had gathered at our usual table in the corner of the cafeteria. Sam toyed with her straw, Lisa was buried in yet another old notebook she’d borrowed from the library’s restricted archives, and Nick kept sneaking glances at me while Brandon silently munched on his sandwich.

Sam finally broke the silence. “So, we’ve had a banshee sighting, a spirit medium moment, a Hydra-water-blasting scene, and a clawed ghost in a well. Any chance Sherfield was always this weird, or is it just us?”

Lisa pushed up her glasses and replied thoughtfully, “Sherfield has always been… touched. Old Irish towns often were. This place was built on crossroads of trade, but also on old burial grounds and pagan ritual sites. I think it attracts the supernatural—like a beacon.”

“That’s comforting,” Nick muttered.

Brandon leaned forward. “Makes you wonder—how many other things are still out there?”

I felt a cold shiver at the thought. “Let’s hope not too many.”

But the peace didn’t last long.

That night, the wind outside my house howled in a way that made the shutters rattle. I curled up on the couch with a book, trying to ignore the strange prickling feeling at the back of my neck. Everything had been quiet since we’d helped the Finnegan spirit. Too quiet.

At some point, I must have dozed off because the next thing I remember was the dream—the one that started it all.

The well appeared first, its jagged stones glistening wet under a full moon. Fog curled out of its mouth like breath from a living creature. Then came the voice. Low. Raspy. Familiar.

Debt owed.

A pale, skeletal hand clawed its way up the stones, fingers curling around the rim. I could see dirt-caked nails and torn skin. It reached higher, as if trying to drag itself out.

I woke with a strangled gasp, sitting upright and clutching the blanket. My skin was clammy with sweat.

By morning, I knew I had to tell the others.

At school, the group gathered in the library during study hour. “I had the dream again,” I began, watching their faces darken. “The well, the voice… the hand. It’s trying to get out.”

Sam leaned in, her brow furrowed. “If it’s trying to climb out, it’s not at rest. We didn’t solve anything—maybe we only patched the surface problem.”

Lisa tapped her pen on her notebook. “We have to figure out what is down there. The claw we saw before—it wasn’t Eliza Finnegan. That spirit was peaceful, tethered by the box. This… feels older.”

Brandon’s jaw tightened. “Older and meaner.”

“Exactly,” Lisa said. “Something that’s been bound for decades, maybe longer. The ‘debt’ it talks about might be tied to the land itself.”

Nick crossed his arms. “Then we need more history. There’s got to be records—something that explains what’s in that well.”

We dove back into the archives after class. Dusty ledgers, old maps, even faded sketches of the early settlements of Sherfield. It was Lisa who found the first real clue—a newspaper clipping from 1894.

It told of a drought so severe that farmers blamed the local well for being cursed. They believed something had been thrown in centuries earlier as a sacrifice to end a famine. Some swore it was an animal. Others whispered it was… something worse. A villager accused of witchcraft, tied in chains and drowned.

“An old curse,” Lisa murmured. “This is bad.”

We didn’t wait. By late afternoon, we found ourselves back at the well. The air felt different there—colder, heavier.

Sam approached the edge cautiously, her fingers twitching as though drawn to the water. The surface rippled, even though there was no wind.

“I can feel it,” she whispered. “The water… it’s angry. But I think I can hold it back.”

A faint blue glow spread from her hands into the water. It was mesmerizing, like moonlight trapped under the surface. The ripples stilled for a moment, the water dark and glass-smooth.

Suddenly, a surge of water shot up from the well like a geyser, twisting and lashing at us. I stumbled back, my banshee senses screaming that something beneath was alive and furious.

Sam stood her ground, her eyes glowing brighter. She raised both arms, and the water bent mid-air, swirling around her like a living serpent.

“Stay back!” she shouted, her voice echoing unnaturally. The water responded to her like it understood. She guided it back down, forcing it to churn and spiral into the well, forming a shimmering wall that sealed the opening like a lid.

We stood frozen, watching in awe as the water hardened into an almost translucent dome. The claw that had begun to rise from the depths slammed against it, but the dome held.

Nick exhaled shakily. “That was… insane. Sam, you’re a freaking powerhouse.”

Sam’s eyes dimmed back to normal, and she wobbled slightly. Brandon caught her arm to steady her.

“I don’t know how long I can keep it like that,” she admitted. “It’s… strong. Stronger than the water. I’m just stalling it.”

Lisa crouched near the rim, her expression grim. “This thing isn’t just a restless spirit. It’s bound to the well for a reason. We need to find out why it was sacrificed—or who it was—before it breaks free.”

I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the faint outline of the claw pressing against the shimmering water barrier. The sight made my stomach twist.

Brandon stepped closer to me. “We’ll figure it out before it gets out,” he said quietly, his voice steady but his jaw tight.

For the first time that night, I realized how close we were standing—close enough that I could feel his warmth against the cold air. Nick noticed too, his jaw twitching slightly, though he didn’t say a word.

We left the well as the evening shadows stretched long across the field, the dome of water shimmering faintly behind us like a fragile shield against something that wanted out.

I glanced back one last time before we reached the road. The claw had disappeared beneath the surface again, but I couldn’t shake the feeling it was waiting, biding its time.

Sherfield wasn’t done with us yet.