CAMPFIRE: The Well at the Edge of Town

Summary

Full Body Chills Episode Summary: CAMPFIRE: The Well at the Edge of Town Release Date: October 29, 2024
Host/Author: audiochuck

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Introduction

Full Body Chills presents its final episode of Season 6 with the chilling tale "The Well at the Edge of Town." Hosted by audiochuck, this episode weaves a terrifying narrative complemented by engaging interactions among the show's cast members. Crafted through immersive audio, the episode transports listeners to a haunting camping experience that unveils dark secrets lurking beneath a small New England town's tranquil facade.

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The Tale of "The Well at the Edge of Town"

Narrated by: Michael David Axtell
Duration: [01:22 – 28:04]

The episode opens with Michael David Axtell recounting a spine-tingling story centered around a group of friends camping near an old well on the outskirts of a small New England town. The protagonist, Matt, at the age of ten, becomes obsessed with uncovering the mysteries of the well, spurred by a haunting rhyme he heard during his childhood:

"Don't go to the well at the edge of town. For that's where the witch took the children to drown..."
— [07:06] Michael David Axtell

Fuelled by curiosity and youthful bravery, Matt embarks on a solitary adventure to investigate the well on a moonlit night. Despite warnings from adults and the ominous atmosphere, he ventures into the darkness, flashlight in hand. As Matt approaches the well, eerie sounds and unsettling experiences intensify his fear, leading to a traumatic encounter that leaves him scarred for life.

The narrative takes a harrowing turn when Matt revisits the well years later. This time, his discovery reveals the gruesome truth: the well was a site for child trafficking, with victims left to perish alone. The revelation demystifies the supernatural elements he once feared, grounding his nightmares in horrifying reality.

"That's what keeps me seeing a therapist. It's the malnourished, desperate hands of those still living."
— [28:19] Michael David Axtell

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Behind the Campfire: Host Interactions and Reactions

Participants: Caidman Holland, Idris Jones, Kirsten Lee, Nathan Noakes, Shy Sheree
Duration: [02:48 – 29:04]

Throughout the storytelling, the cast engages in lively banter, enhancing the immersive experience. Their interactions oscillate between humorous interjections and genuine reactions to the unfolding horror:

• Caidman Holland encourages and challenges his fellow storytellers:

  "That's the end of that."
  — [02:48] Caidman Holland

• Idris Jones injects humor amidst tension:

  "I swear, man, these bugs are like those beetles from the mummy."
  — [02:51] Idris Jones

• Nathan Noakes occasionally steers the narrative back to storytelling:

  "I've got this one."
  — [03:53] Nathan Noakes

These exchanges not only provide comic relief but also build camaraderie among the participants, making the storytelling session more engaging and relatable for listeners.

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Climax and Revelation

As Matt confronts the well, the atmosphere thickens with dread. The narrative crescendos when Matt peers into the well, encountering spectral hands reaching out from the darkness. His desperate escape marks the story's peak, leaving listeners on edge.

The story's resolution unveils the grim reality behind the well's legends. The discovery of a decomposed skull and evidence of child trafficking transforms the supernatural tale into a poignant commentary on real-world horrors lurking behind myth and fear.

"The truth is, the well at the edge of town... had been used as a drop-off point for child trafficking."
— [28:25] Michael David Axtell

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Hosts’ Reflections and Final Thoughts

Post-storytelling, the hosts reflect on the narrative's impact, blending skepticism with intrigue:

• Caidman Holland remarks on the story’s depth:

  "I didn't expect your story to be so good. Dark."
  — [28:07] Caidman Holland

• Kirsten Lee seeks assurance against the story's realism:

  "Please tell me that's not real, is it?"
  — [28:12] Kirsten Lee

• Nathan Noakes hints at additional dark tales and the blurred lines between fiction and reality:

  "The scariest stories often are. Just look it up. The Omaha Menagerie, the Claysmill Clowns or Puppy Parlor."
  — [28:16] Nathan Noakes

Their dialogue underscores the podcast’s theme: the pervasive nature of fear and the thin veil between urban legends and actual atrocities.

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Conclusion

In this gripping finale, Full Body Chills masterfully blends narrative storytelling with cast interactions to deliver a haunting exploration of childhood fears, urban legends, and the sinister truths that can lie beneath seemingly peaceful communities. "The Well at the Edge of Town" serves as a testament to the series' ability to evoke genuine fear and provoke thought, leaving listeners both terrified and contemplative.

"Full Body Chills is an Audio Chuck Production this episode was written by Caidman Holland and read by Michael David Axtell."
— [29:14] Ashley Flowers

As the season concludes, the episode leaves an indelible mark, inviting listeners to reflect on the stories that shape our fears and the dark histories that often go untold.

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Notable Quotes:

• "Don't go to the well at the edge of town. For that's where the witch took the children to drown."
  — [07:06] Michael David Axtell

• "The scariest stories often are. Just look it up. The Omaha Menagerie, the Claysmill Clowns or Puppy Parlor."
  — [28:16] Nathan Noakes

• "I didn't expect your story to be so good. Dark."
  — [28:07] Caidman Holland

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Submission and Participation:
Listeners can contribute their own frightful tales by submitting stories at Full Body Chills Podcast Submission.

Production Notes:
This episode was produced with immersive audio, enhancing the storytelling experience. For optimal enjoyment, it is recommended to listen with headphones.

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Final Thought:
"Full Body Chills" effectively closes its season with a story that blurs the lines between folklore and grim reality, leaving audiences with lingering chills and a deeper appreciation for the power of well-crafted horror narratives.

Transcript

[Ashley Flowers]

This episode is brought to you by Progressive, where drivers who save by switching save nearly $750 on average. Plus auto customers qualify for an average of 7 discounts. Quote [e-mail] to see if you could save. Progressive Casualty Insurance Company and Affiliates national averaged 12 month savings of $744 by new customers surveyed who saved with Progressive between June 2022 and May 2023. Potential savings will vary. Discounts not available in all states and situations. The holidays bring the world together, and learning a new language can help us enhance our new connections. As the most trusted language learning program for over 30 years, Rosetta Stone immerses you with an enriching experience. My husband and I both signed up together and the lessons have been great. Rosetta Stone has been the best teacher. Start learning today with Rosetta Stone's lifetime membership holiday special. Visit rosettastone.com fullbodychills for unlimited access to 25 language courses for the rest of your life. Available for a Short [e-mail] FullBodyChills this episode was produced with immersive audio. For the best experience, we kindly recommend you listen with headphones.

[Michael David Axtell]

They watched it die. The fire. The ashes twinkled like the sky. There were no more shooting stars. The weight of the cold, nothing tethered their hopes. With a flashlight, Olive weaved a needle through the trees. There, the world grew disconnected. Here, strangers, shadows seized their chance, skulking closer within arm's reach, a subtle finger. A drop of sweat drew a line down Maya's spine. Acid climbed her throat, but she swallowed the urge to scream just as Jake swallowed another fly. In the dark, he couldn't see the mist of wings, but he could feel them buzzing, biting, drinking his warmth, combing his hair like lice. He scratched, waved, and shook his head. But the little brain suckers kept coming back. For Matt, the darkness was a relief. In the shade, his hands were hidden. In the dark, he didn't have to look. Without the light to prove him wrong, Matt could pretend that he was still him.

[Caidman Holland]

And that's the end of that.

[Idris Jones]

I swear, man, these bugs are like those beetles from the mummy.

[Kirsten Lee]

So, are we calling it a night?

[Nathan Noakes]

Wait, this early?

[Caidman Holland]

Early? It's night. And your fire's dead, Matt. Not like it ever lived.

[Idris Jones]

Yeah, that sucker's off life support, huh?

[Nathan Noakes]

I thought you said we didn't need a fire. We still have a flashlight, don't we?

[Kirsten Lee]

Yeah, but only one.

[Nathan Noakes]

And you have your phones. Uh, come on. This camping trip is only once a year. Who knows what will happen between now and next year, one of us could die. Or the world could end. What if we all can't make it?

[Kirsten Lee]

Well, if everyone else wants to screw.

[Idris Jones]

It, I don't need my blood.

[Caidman Holland]

Fine. But I just told a story, so it's someone else's job.

[Nathan Noakes]

That's all right. I've got this one.

[Caidman Holland]

You again?

[Nathan Noakes]

Yes, Olive. Me.

[Caidman Holland]

Great. And what does Studio Matt have in store? Another painting. You're kidding.

[Nathan Noakes]

Okay, okay. I'll think of something else.

[Caidman Holland]

How many painting stories do you have cooked up?

[Idris Jones]

Canonically, it shouldn't be more than 12.

[Shy Sheree]

Right?

[Caidman Holland]

12.

[Idris Jones]

Unless you count spin offs.

[Nathan Noakes]

All right, all right. I said I would do something else. Okay? Just give me a minute.

[Michael David Axtell]

Matt backtracked his thoughts, his fears, gathering twigs of inspiration. While nature was full of storms and wet wood, his mind was primed to kindle the plains of imagination, permitting excavation. What was he afraid of? He noticed his hands, the callus around his middle finger, the ridge upon his fist. A wrinkle, a scar, a memory tripped his line of thought. And suddenly he's back, staring at himself. The lame light slathered every surface with coffee stains. In the bathroom mirror, there he stood, eyes locked with a stranger. His face was framed within a fading wet smudge, his skin glowing raw from the recent shower, his hair flayed wild. And his eyes. His eyes held irises ranging with autumn cliffs.

[Ashley Flowers]

He trailed them one by one, following.

[Michael David Axtell]

Circles round and round, tramping his gaze in an endless spiral. He knew dissociation, depersonalization, biid and body dysmorphia. These terms were chiseled into his search history. But what he didn't know, what he sought to understand, was whether his eyes were once green.

[Caidman Holland]

Are you falling asleep?

[David Flowers]

What?

[Nathan Noakes]

No, I'm not falling asleep.

[Caidman Holland]

You sure? Cause it looked like your eyes were closed.

[Nathan Noakes]

Hey, I'm supposed to hold the flashlight, remember?

[Caidman Holland]

Well, that depends. Are you telling a story?

[Idris Jones]

Hey, can we get this along? Sooner or later my skin's gonna come off.

[Nathan Noakes]

I've got one. Okay, now give me the light.

[Caidman Holland]

Okay. Catch.

[Nathan Noakes]

All right. Stop me if you've heard this one. The well at the edge of town.

[Idris Jones]

The well at the edge of town?

[Kirsten Lee]

I don't think so, no.

[Nathan Noakes]

Well, then, gather round and listen.

[Shy Sheree]

Don't go to the well at the edge of town. For that's where the witch took the children to drown. If you visit there on a moonlit night. You're sure to have a bone chilling frightening. And if you peek into that dank, dark hole the dead children there will steal your soul. Growing up in A small New England town. There wasn't a kid who didn't know that rhyme. The funny thing is, to this very day, I have no idea where it originated. I heard it first on the playground during elementary school. My friend Bobby, the one who shared it with me, said he heard it from his older brother. His older brother says he heard it from a friend and the friend from a friend. But the few kids who spread the rhyme all said the same thing. They heard it from someone, another kid, a sibling, but never an adult. It made me wonder who came up with it and how did it spread if none of the parents ever spoke of it. But it comes as no surprise. The town I grew up in is old. And when I mean old, I mean old enough that it had its own Salem witch trials. I don't think it was on any level near what the actual trials were. But there was at least one victim. Hannah Andrews was burned at the stake for the disappearance of three children. It was rumored she'd kidnapped them in the dead of night and drowned them in. Where else? The well at the edge of town. Looking back on it, I could see why the grownups never disputed or confirmed the superstitious nature of the rhyme. There was indeed an old well on the outskirts of town and kids tended to be careless and stupid. A parent would much rather want their child to fear and avoid the well rather than investigate. But what a lot of parents forget is the bravery that naivety and ignorance bring with it. That was me in a nutshell at 10 years old, brave, bright eyed and completely oblivious to the dangers of the real world. It's hard to blame my younger self for this, as the small town life really is a smokescreen. There was no real crime to speak of. Everyone knew everyone. Nobody even felt the need to lock their doors or cars at night. It was the perfect breeding ground for a 10 year old hopped up on piss and vinegar to head out with a head full of adventure. I'm not sure what sparked my interest. Maybe the well being out of town spurred an urge to go exploring. Or maybe the fact that none of the other kids seemed curious made me feel special and unique. In any case, I started my investigation as a 10 year old. It was nigh impossible to do any sort of historical research on the site. I asked my teacher, but all she would say was that it was dangerous and told me to stay away. When I asked the local librarian, well, I got the same response. The Internet was still new in those days, so online access was limited. My only real resource were books. After days scouring through the library unassisted. The only info I could find on the well was its location, but that was all I needed. It seemed the well wasn't exactly on the edge of town, but a couple miles outside of it. The next thing I did was plan my trip. Turns out living near the center of town didn't help me at all. And that to reach the site I would have to track a total of 12 miles. Luckily I had a bike, but that meant getting to and from the well wouldn't be a simple 10 minute trip subverting parental intervention. I needed a wider window of time. That's where Bobby had me covered, making sure it would be on a night of the full moon and on a weekend. I told my parents that Bobby invited me for a sleepover. Wouldn't you know it, his house was only a 5 minute bike ride away and my backpack could carry everything I would need. In truth, my backpack didn't have anything needed for a sleepover, but everything I thought was needed for a spooky late night adventure. I had my flashlight with backup batteries, my cross made of two sticks and twine just in case I needed to fight off ghosts, my first aid kit, my pocket knife, my worst case survival guide, and various snacks and drinks. It was absolutely everything I could need for the challenges ahead. I said goodbye to my parents at around 6:30 in the evening and began pedaling. Over the last week I had put my route to memory by studying a few maps. I could hardly contain my excitement. It was a warm late spring day and the nights had lost their chill, so I wasn't concerned about my T shirt and shorts being too thin. My mind was focused on the prize ahead and nothing was going to stop me. I still had to be careful though. I wasn't worried about my folks calling up Bobby's parents or anything, but I had to be cautious with where I rode my bike. If one of the other adults saw me speeding around at night when I should be in bed, they would have ratted me out in an instant. So to avoid the greatest grounding of my life, I rode as fast as I could, taking every possible back street. Even though I was only 10, I was a very athletic kid. So I managed to reach the eastern edge of town while there was still light. Now all I needed to do was follow the road for a while and then I would be there in no time. I ran into a bit of a snag however. The road wasn't as deserted as I thought it would be. Sure it wasn't Rush hour, but there were enough cars to call me out. I decided the next best thing was to walk my bike through the woods. It was going to take a lot longer than initially planned, but at least I would have some cover from the few eyes coming down the road. But dragging my bike through all the underbrush would have been a pain, so instead I hid it behind some bushes near the now entering sign and began the trek on foot. After night fell, I learned how quickly the forest changes hues. In a manner of minutes, the trees went from magically lit by the evening sun, too eerily caught in sinister shadows. I never lost sight of the road, as there were just enough headlights to guide me. But everything else was pitch black, and the silence that surrounded me, broken only by the twigs under my feet, pressured me to run at every passing sound. I tried for the longest time to brave it out and not use my flashlight, but I quickly convinced myself that the road was less busy and clicked it on. Still just as brave, but twice as exposed, I continued following parallel to the road until I found it, an old dirt path that cut through the trees. I was pretty sure this was the trail I needed to follow, so that's what I did. Soon the dim light of civilization was fading away, leaving but the beam of my torch to steer me on. I had thought that the full moon would help to illuminate the way, but the sky was covered in clouds. Not that it would have mattered. The thick tree canopy held like the dense roof of a cave. Up to that point, I had never experienced such darkness before. And for once, I began to doubt. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. Maybe I could just tell everyone that I had made it to the well, and if I turned back now, no one would ever know. These thoughts plagued my mind as I seemed to walk for miles and miles down this old dirt road. I was so close to turning back when the edge of my light let go of the trees and vanished into an open field. This was it, the location of the well. And now that I was here, no way was I turning back. But as soon as I entered the clearing, I stopped. My blood went cold and my feet froze to the ground right as something met my ears. There was no wind, and the nighttime noises had almost entirely disappeared. But faintly, ever so faintly, I swore I heard someone singing. I couldn't make out any words, but changes in pitch, however soft they were, came through to me. My legs began to shake involuntarily, and my heart was pounding. Every instinctual alarm bell in my Head was going off and screaming at me to run, but I couldn't. Some part of me was overriding it all, insisting that I keep moving forward. I hadn't even seen the well yet, and maybe the singing was some campers off further in the forest. Yeah, that had to be it. What else could it have been? Step by agonizing step, I continued into the clearing, shining my flashlight in every direction, desperately looking for the well so I could say that I saw it turn around and get out of there. Yet with each step, the singing was getting louder. Well, louder isn't exactly the right word. More clear and defined. I still couldn't make out any words, but then again, my mind was on panic Mode. Finally, about 30 yards into the clearing, my flashlight struck the infamous well. During the daytime, and I can confirm this, the well wouldn't have looked like anything special. It was just an old stone cylinder raised about 3ft off the ground, with a wooden well head and winch long since rotted away. But to me at that time, seeing it seemingly creep out of the darkness, it looked to me like a portal to hell. Worst of all, what truly reinforced that fear was that I could hear the singing coming from inside. And then I did. A stupid move, as a stupid kid in a stupid situation does. I mean, there was singing here, and only people sing, so there must be people in there, right? Hello? I called out timidly, not knowing what to expect. The singing abruptly stopped, and the shaking that had been in my legs graduated to the rest of my body. I stood there in the silence and shadows, nearly blind, trembling from head to toe. The clouds must have moved as moonlight abruptly flooded the clearing. More of the rhyme was coming true by the moment, But I was so close to being the only kid to have visited the well. All I needed to do now was look. Just a quick peek down. How hard would that be? Maybe the singing was just air down in the well, bouncing off the walls or something. What else could it have been? Each step closer threatened to throw me off balance. I didn't want to do this anymore. I didn't want to be here. But something inside me kept pushing. Was it the well's curse? Was it the drowned children coaxing me to look? Whatever the reason, I couldn't stop. I was only a few feet from the well now, and I noticed a heavy iron grate shielding the top. A barrier preventing me from falling into that abyss and barring whatever lay below from coming out to grab me. Finally, I made it to the edge of the well in the sky. The Great silver eye was glaring. I stowed my flashlight. The last thing I wanted to do was to go poking into the gloom and disturb whatever may be down there. I took a few deep breaths, clenched my fists, and ever so slowly, inch by inch, leaned over the wall and over the well. The moonlight reached maybe five to six feet down. In the colorless glow, the stones appeared ancient and deformed. Lower than that, there was nothing. Darkness formed a perfect ring, but for all intents and purposes, it was just an old well. The longer I stared, the more I began to admonish myself. The terror that gripped my heart gradually lessened. I decided then and there that I would wipe away my fear altogether by administering one last test. One last stupid test. I called out again. Hello. Wails and screams responded to my call, and a dozen or so hands reached out of the dark, all of them pale and bony, all of them reaching up to me, reaching up to grab me and drag me down, to steal my soul and have me spend eternity with them, to be another pair of hands reaching out of the dark, another scream to join that choir of the damned. I responded to their shrieks with one of my own, and I ran. I don't have much memory of the journey back. I know from a couple of scrapes and cuts. I discovered in the morning that I must have fallen down a few times. I know I must have had some semblance of sanity as my bike was back in the garage and my parents were surprised to see me, which means I carefully and quietly snuck back in. I wish I could remember any of that, but all I could see were those hands clawing out of blackness, and all I could hear were those cries, desperate and frail. Needless to say, I was traumatized. I never told a single other person about my experience, and instead of the young, brave jock I thought I would grow into, I became the gloomy goth kid with a fashion for horror. Maybe I was always chasing something scarier, something to replace that night so that I could forget. But I never would. I wish I could say I never went back there. I wish I had never gone there in the first place. But my mother always says that if wishes were horses, beggars would ride. The summer after graduation, before I left the state and went off to college, I went back to the well one last time. This time though, I went during the day, and this time I drove. My car parking at the edge of the clearing and seeing the well so clearly in the distance was an unexpected sight. There was no singing as I approached, and even though the Child in me fought to run. I was resolved to face my demons. Getting closer, I realized something was different. Someone had removed the grate. The metal shield had been pulled off and now laid across the grass like a deer. Caught off guard, I looked around, watching the woods for any sign of life. No one else was around. And so, cautiously, I approached the well's edge. I peered in, hoping to see anything to combat my childhood nightmare. At first, there was nothing. The sun was overhead, shining so bright as not to leave a single stone unexposed. The well itself wasn't that deep, maybe 10ft total. There was zero water inside, and by the bits of moss growing at the bottom, I'd wager it's been dry for quite a while. As I scanned the hole for anything, a glint suddenly caught my eye. Focusing, I noticed amidst the gravel and weeds, some kind of trash. Containers, wrappers, a plastic bottle. And then something else. The reflective object roped between litter. It tethered to the wall and ended in a dozen or so rusty metal manacles. And then I spotted the claw marks. They rode the wall, the highest reaching five feet, the same height I had seen those hands eight years ago. What's more, within the gravel was a tiny patch of white, the bone around an empty eye socket staring back up at me. Police were called, I was questioned and released, and the whole town went up in a flurry. Details weren't released until after I had left for college, but I made my parents tell me everything over the phone, even though they were vexed to talk about it. As it turns out, what I found was a partially decomposed skull. The skull of a child, but not a child from the 1600s. No, it was a bit more recent than that. The truth is, the well at the edge of town, the well we all knew from local lore, had been used as a drop off point for child trafficking. That is, until about two years ago, when the ring had been discovered and exposed. But apparently, sometimes the children would be left alone for so long before pickup that some would die, never leaving their places of holding. That's what keeps me up at night. That's what keeps me seeing a therapist. Not the ghostly hands of long dead children wailing for my soul. It's the malnourished, desperate hands of those still living. The children reaching up and crying, pleading with me in mingled fear to take them out of the well. To save them. And I just ran.

[Nathan Noakes]

So, wow.

[Caidman Holland]

I didn't expect your story to be so good. Dark.

[Kirsten Lee]

Please tell me that's not real, is it?

[Nathan Noakes]

The scariest stories often are. Just look it up. The Omaha Menagerie, the Claysmill Clowns or Puppy Parlor.

[Idris Jones]

Yeah, I like my targeted ads as they are. I'll pass.

[Caidman Holland]

How do you even know this stuff?

[Nathan Noakes]

You listen to true crime, don't you? I stay informed in other ways.

[Caidman Holland]

You mean Reddit or other ways?

[Shy Sheree]

He means Reddit?

[Nathan Noakes]

Hey, isn't Reddit where you heard about the light stalker?

[Caidman Holland]

It's the light taker. And that was Tik Tok. Totally different.

[Nathan Noakes]

Right, because a shadowy bat monster is way more realistic than whatever I just said earlier.

[Idris Jones]

I saw a bat flying around the camp. Maybe it was the light taker.

[Caidman Holland]

Wait, really?

[Nathan Noakes]

If we're lucky, it'll take you first.

[Ashley Flowers]

Full Body Chills is an Audio Chuck Production this episode was written by Caidman Holland and read by Michael David Axtell. Intro Outro written by David Flowers and read by Ashley Flowers, Idris Jones, Kirsten Lee, Nathan Noakes and Shy Sheree.

[Michael David Axtell]

So what do you think, Chuck? Do you approve?

[David Flowers]

Netcredit is here to say yes because you're more than a credit score. Apply in minutes and get a decision as soon as the same day. Loans offered by Netcredit or lending partners, banks and service by Netcredit Applications subject.

[Shy Sheree]

To review and approval.

[David Flowers]

Learn [e-mail] partners. Net Credit Credit to the people.

[Caidman Holland]

This lasagna was so cheesy. My plate was filled with saucy slices. Then a flimsy store brand plate. No, no, no, no. Ruined it.

[Ashley Flowers]

Next time get Dixie Ultra plates three times stronger than the leading store brand 10 inch paper plate. Dixie, make it right.