Behind my house there is a well. It sits at the base of a hill covered in long brown grass. Years ago, trees grew on the hill, and the well was full of silent water. Then the water left the well, and the trees were cut down and made into fences and handles for tools.
One morning after the well had dried up and we were left alone in the house my brother tore down the rusted iron roof of the well. The air was very hot and the grass was screeching with cicadas. When he laid down the roof beside the ring of stones, I saw the mouth of the well, like something exposed in the white landscape, and I looked away.
Now a heavy lid covers the well, and from my bedroom window I watch its shadow prowl over the grass like a sundial.
Last night, after midnight, when the moon shone for the empty land behind the house, I saw him walking down to the well. In his right hand, he held something in a bag, which swung as he walked. He paused when he reached the well, and looked back at my window. I knew he could not see me there, because the side of the house was in darkness.
I saw him turn back to the well, and open it, and lay its wooden lid on the ground. I saw him reach into the bag, and empty it into the mouth of the well. He waited there, and was still.
Finally, he picked up the lid, and rested it against the stone barrier surrounding the well. Then he turned and stood for a while among the long grey grass, and stared into the shadows covering my window.
He was already sitting at the table as I came down the stairs. I could see him sitting with his back to me, plucking dry cereal from the bowl between his middle and index fingers. The paper lay open on the table. When I sat down opposite him, he did not look up.
"I think one of the cats fell into the well last night," he said.
He bit down on another flake.
"I saw the lid had come off when I came down this morning, so I went out, and when I got down there, I thought I heard something crying, so I had a look down with the torch."
He picked up his glass of milk and took a sip, wiping the back of his hand against his mouth.
"It looked like there's something stuck down there. But it wouldn't grab onto a rope, so one of us will have to go down and fetch it."
He looked at the bare table in front of me.
"You're not hungry?"
"No."
"You're right to go up now then?"
I nodded.
"Alright." He looked back to the paper, placing another flake into his mouth.
I saw a white shape resting on the black earth at the bottom of the well. It did not move as the light from my torch passed over it.
My brother began to uncoil the rope. He wrapped it once, twice around his waist and tied it off, then handed me the other end. I tried to tie a bowline around my chest, but I couldn't get the sequence right. He did not say anything as he tied it, and when he finished he stared above me, beyond the fence that marked the border of our land, into the empty distance of yellowing grass where other people lived, in other places, and other lives.
I stepped onto the rim of the well.
Looking towards the house, I saw the door was open, and I could see into the kitchen, where sunlight was shining through an open window.
I leaned back, and I felt the empty space beneath me.
I began to lower myself, one step at a time. The stones in the walls grew sparser as I descended. Half-way down I could no longer make out the wall in front of me, and I felt my feet dislodge fine showers of earth with each step. I heard small pebbles strike the stones at the bottom. The sound echoed, and I thought of the sound wheat makes when it rushes into an empty silo.
My heel met the bottom. I felt for the flashlight and turned it on.
The cat's eyes were shut. A thin trickle of blood escaped its mouth, dispersing into the damp black earth between the stones. I crouched down and rested my hand on its head. It was cold, and the damp had seeped into its fur.
I felt the rope fall down in coils, wrapping itself over my back. I looked up to see my brother leaning over the mouth of the well, shielding his eyes with one hand. He did not say anything to me.
His face disappeared from view, and I heard wood dragging over the grass. The black underside of the lid appeared and began to close around the mouth of the well.
It looked, for an instant, like a white crescent moon, and then it was dark.