Voices in the Water

When Eleanor Jessop inherited the crumbling house on the edge of town, she thought the worst she'd face would be loneliness and repairs. But in the overgrown yard, beneath a ring of moss-darkened stones, she found the old well. And the well was not empty. Something moved below its surface; whispering in voices that were not voices, writing in ink that bled without hands. Something ancient and hungry was pressing against the thin skin between worlds, and Eleanor had been chosen to unseal it. Dragged into a realm of flesh and bone where rules were written in blood and broken bodies sang for eternity; Eleanor was given a choice: obey the entity's command to write its story… or be consumed by it. But every refusal, every wound, every jagged error she carved into the page chipped away at the cathedral of horrors until the cracks bled. To fight back meant embracing madness. To win meant defying a mouth that swallowed worlds. But Eleanor is no scribe. And she will not give them her story. A tale of suffocating dread and defiance written in blood, this is a descent into the darkest kind of silence; one that waits, one that watches, one that does not end when the last page closes.