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"SSC3 - Fresh Death"

Fresh Death


"Welcome to your six o’clock, local news. In today’s headlines, the only surviving local well of Shrewsbury has been excavated and surprised archaeologists have removed a skeleton of a young boy from the heart of the well. We have the doctor who was the first to actually lay his eyes on the skeleton in the studio today, live, to talk to us about this extraordinary find." Squawked the News Presenter sat upon an extremely high chair that elevated her above the desk. She was a small, plump woman who neatly shuffled her papers in front of her as she introduced the guest, "Dr Rowan, please tell us of your find."

A medium built man, dressed in a neat black suit with slick brown hair opposite the news presenter began to speak, Quite nervously, "Well, when I... er we dug deeper into the well we noticed a glimpse of brilliant white at the bottom of the dormant well." He continued, getting a little more confident as he went, "We didn’t quite know what to expect as we went deeper into the core of the well. As we reached the bottom I think we all knew from that point that the white was in fact the clean, even fresh bones of a young boy."

"Fascinating Doctor, but there was something else that stood out from such cases, was there not?" the presented asked in a smooth, relaxing tone.

"Indeed. When we reached the skeleton we began to pack the bones into the boxes for re-construction, but amongst the bones I," he said this with much pride, "Found a small book. A diary. Later on, after the bones were neatly packed away we began to read the fascinating book. Its author, a young boy, not known by any name. He might have been rich as he is clearly highly educated and is able to write well, with neat hand writing."

"Intriguing, Doctor Rowan. I believe you brought some extracts from the diary today with you, please read and feel free to explain any points or interesting facts a long the way."

The doctor obediently pulled out a small, scruffy little pocket-sized book and read after clearing his throat, "It was fine day today, a fine day to go hunting with father. Before we left Mother asked for water for later cooking. I went to the well, are local supply of fresh water, with a pale. As I ran towards the well I felt as if I was the subject of someone’s most horrid inured thoughts, this unnerved me as I ran towards the well. I was lowering the empty pale deep into the heart of the well, sloshing slowly as it went. Then it happened I heard loud, heavy footsteps from behind and I was thrown violently into the well by large oily hands that slipped against my skin. I fell hard scrapping my delicate, tanned skin against the sides of the walls." The doctor was clearly enjoying this mystery; he was breathing confidently now as he continued, "I was then at the dark bottom of the well, the darkness swallowing me. Just a tiny light from the hole at the top of the well where the sunlight was allowed to enter. And this is where I lay now, as I write these words. Just a few moments after I was left at the bottom of the well a dark, tall figure appeared at the top of the well, peering in. As I was to far away to recognise the figure I couldn’t say who my attacker was. I just heard his voice laughing at me from the top of the well, echoing downward attacking my ears. I shuddered as I heard this laughter; of course what this meant was that it was no accident." The doctor’s hairs rose on his neck, making him shiver. After this pause he explained what he thought it meant, "I think what we have here is an old case of a fascinating murder. The boy portrays a clever intellect as he continues to write through the harsh times which develop in this diary."

The news presenter now also shivered in her elevated seat.

The doctor continued reading the diary, "No accident indeed. I am trapped. Trapped. I need to clear my mind and think of a way out. A long time has now passed and I have now checked every where; there is no way out, without the aid of another person’s strength and a good strong rope. A long time has passed now and nobody has come to my aid. Not my mother or Father. I’m alone, except this darkness that wraps me in the cold… And that it is the end of that day, he continues writing the next day. It is obvious now that no one is coming to my aid, for what reason I can not be sure, but I’m alone. It now occurs to me that this well contains not one drop of fresh water. Dirt, sand, stones and a few old coins, but no water. What trick is this? Surely the well was lush with water yesterday? If I am to die down here, which is now the truth I may have to face, I am determined to know who my killer is. Without water I can’t live for long, reality hits strong and burns deep inside of me. I know that I will probably go insane in this confined space, but I must know my killer. I scratch at the walls; desperation is filling me. I am in a horrid state, a beast among people. For what reason would my killer have for murdering me, I do not know. I am thirsty. I am hungry. I believe I can smell water in the walls, I lick them furiously. The carved stone work, cutting and grazing my tongue; I taste blood. I feel desperate. I call for help, aid anything a rag with vinegar, anything. No one responds or chooses to respond to my loud yells.

Another night has passed. Another. The walls stare. I stare back. Their unblinking eyes fill me with little hope. I kick and punch the walls, my delicate skin torn away from the bone. I scratch, my nails worn down. Pain across my body increases. Much pain. My hands shake a mixture of rage and hunger. I count the walls for little entertainment. There is always one, sometimes four; it’s hard to tell. Beads of sweat hit my rags of clothes. Destroyed by this harsh new environment. I wish for death now. I engrave it on the wall or walls. I WISH FOR DEATH everywhere around me. Slowly I become lost in the darkness. The smell of water once again reaches my lungs. This death is a nasty one. Living through death is wrong: it’s a cruel act. I just want a fresh death. If I could end it, I would. I am now going to curl up, sleep. Sleep. Let the darkness take me. Wrap me in warmth."

Silence filled the studio. The news presenter was shocked, as was everyone else around. They all now wished that the boy could have had a cleaner death, a fresher death.

The doctor was the first to speak again after shuffling uncomfortably in his seat, "The boy never knew his killer, an unsolved mystery. We did actually find the engravements around the skeleton. Though the body’s flesh was decomposed the small book survived remarkably well. Why no one came to his aid we could not understand, maybe a greater murder plot, we are unsure. And the other mystery, no water in the well, another we could not explain."

The news presenter finally spoke, "Thank you very much Doctor Rowan for your time and I wish you the best in solving the mysteries. If you at home wish to see the exhibit it will be displayed in the town’s museum."

Fresh Death


"Welcome to your six o’clock, local news. In today’s headlines, the only surviving local well of Shrewsbury has been excavated and surprised archaeologists have removed a skeleton of a young boy from the heart of the well. We have the doctor who was the first to actually lay his eyes on the skeleton in the studio today, live, to talk to us about this extraordinary find." Squawked the News Presenter sat upon an extremely high chair that elevated her above the desk. She was a small, plump woman who neatly shuffled her papers in front of her as she introduced the guest, "Dr Rowan, please tell us of your find."

A medium built man, dressed in a neat black suit with slick brown hair opposite the news presenter began to speak, Quite nervously, "Well, when I... er we dug deeper into the well we noticed a glimpse of brilliant white at the bottom of the dormant well." He continued, getting a little more confident as he went, "We didn’t quite know what to expect as we went deeper into the core of the well. As we reached the bottom I think we all knew from that point that the white was in fact the clean, even fresh bones of a young boy."

"Fascinating Doctor, but there was something else that stood out from such cases, was there not?" the presented asked in a smooth, relaxing tone.

"Indeed. When we reached the skeleton we began to pack the bones into the boxes for re-construction, but amongst the bones I," he said this with much pride, "Found a small book. A diary. Later on, after the bones were neatly packed away we began to read the fascinating book. Its author, a young boy, not known by any name. He might have been rich as he is clearly highly educated and is able to write well, with neat hand writing."

"Intriguing, Doctor Rowan. I believe you brought some extracts from the diary today with you, please read and feel free to explain any points or interesting facts a long the way."

The doctor obediently pulled out a small, scruffy little pocket-sized book and read after clearing his throat, "It was fine day today, a fine day to go hunting with father. Before we left Mother asked for water for later cooking. I went to the well, are local supply of fresh water, with a pale. As I ran towards the well I felt as if I was the subject of someone’s most horrid inured thoughts, this unnerved me as I ran towards the well. I was lowering the empty pale deep into the heart of the well, sloshing slowly as it went. Then it happened I heard loud, heavy footsteps from behind and I was thrown violently into the well by large oily hands that slipped against my skin. I fell hard scrapping my delicate, tanned skin against the sides of the walls." The doctor was clearly enjoying this mystery; he was breathing confidently now as he continued, "I was then at the dark bottom of the well, the darkness swallowing me. Just a tiny light from the hole at the top of the well where the sunlight was allowed to enter. And this is where I lay now, as I write these words. Just a few moments after I was left at the bottom of the well a dark, tall figure appeared at the top of the well, peering in. As I was to far away to recognise the figure I couldn’t say who my attacker was. I just heard his voice laughing at me from the top of the well, echoing downward attacking my ears. I shuddered as I heard this laughter; of course what this meant was that it was no accident." The doctor’s hairs rose on his neck, making him shiver. After this pause he explained what he thought it meant, "I think what we have here is an old case of a fascinating murder. The boy portrays a clever intellect as he continues to write through the harsh times which develop in this diary."

The news presenter now also shivered in her elevated seat.

The doctor continued reading the diary, "No accident indeed. I am trapped. Trapped. I need to clear my mind and think of a way out. A long time has now passed and I have now checked every where; there is no way out, without the aid of another person’s strength and a good strong rope. A long time has passed now and nobody has come to my aid. Not my mother or Father. I’m alone, except this darkness that wraps me in the cold… And that it is the end of that day, he continues writing the next day. It is obvious now that no one is coming to my aid, for what reason I can not be sure, but I’m alone. It now occurs to me that this well contains not one drop of fresh water. Dirt, sand, stones and a few old coins, but no water. What trick is this? Surely the well was lush with water yesterday? If I am to die down here, which is now the truth I may have to face, I am determined to know who my killer is. Without water I can’t live for long, reality hits strong and burns deep inside of me. I know that I will probably go insane in this confined space, but I must know my killer. I scratch at the walls; desperation is filling me. I am in a horrid state, a beast among people. For what reason would my killer have for murdering me, I do not know. I am thirsty. I am hungry. I believe I can smell water in the walls, I lick them furiously. The carved stone work, cutting and grazing my tongue; I taste blood. I feel desperate. I call for help, aid anything a rag with vinegar, anything. No one responds or chooses to respond to my loud yells.

Another night has passed. Another. The walls stare. I stare back. Their unblinking eyes fill me with little hope. I kick and punch the walls, my delicate skin torn away from the bone. I scratch, my nails worn down. Pain across my body increases. Much pain. My hands shake a mixture of rage and hunger. I count the walls for little entertainment. There is always one, sometimes four; it’s hard to tell. Beads of sweat hit my rags of clothes. Destroyed by this harsh new environment. I wish for death now. I engrave it on the wall or walls. I WISH FOR DEATH everywhere around me. Slowly I become lost in the darkness. The smell of water once again reaches my lungs. This death is a nasty one. Living through death is wrong: it’s a cruel act. I just want a fresh death. If I could end it, I would. I am now going to curl up, sleep. Sleep. Let the darkness take me. Wrap me in warmth."

Silence filled the studio. The news presenter was shocked, as was everyone else around. They all now wished that the boy could have had a cleaner death, a fresher death.

The doctor was the first to speak again after shuffling uncomfortably in his seat, "The boy never knew his killer, an unsolved mystery. We did actually find the engravements around the skeleton. Though the body’s flesh was decomposed the small book survived remarkably well. Why no one came to his aid we could not understand, maybe a greater murder plot, we are unsure. And the other mystery, no water in the well, another we could not explain."

The news presenter finally spoke, "Thank you very much Doctor Rowan for your time and I wish you the best in solving the mysteries. If you at home wish to see the exhibit it will be displayed in the town’s museum."