The Devil's Well

Book summary

In David Musser's chilling novel, 'The Devil's Well,' Charles embarks on a treacherous journey up Night's Edge Mountain in search of self-discovery, leaving behind his love, Yuxin. After a fateful fall, an encounter with a mysterious well alters Charles, threatening his humanity. As Yuxin and a drifter named River join forces to find him, they confront the malevolent forces lurking within the mountain's depths. This haunting tale explores resilience in the face of darkness and the sinister consequences that unfold when one becomes entangled in the hunter-prey dynamic of a terrifying realm.

Excerpt from The Devil’s Well

Charles made it to the bus stop in plenty of time. He had always been the type to show up fifteen minutes before a bus, an hour before a train, and two hours before a plane. Charles had never taken a plane; he knew in his head that was what he would plan to do.

He had taken a train as part of a school trip and found its motion soothing. He loved the fact that there’d been a bar car - all the high school seniors tried their hand at not getting carded.

Charles knew this because Mr. Mathias, Charles’ computer teacher, confided in him. They were on the way to visit the Modern Science Museum a few towns over. As none of the students had ridden on a train before, Mr. Mathias came up with the money and a solid reason to take the train, rather than the bus.

“I told the train conductor that I had a lot of students with me, and some looked a lot older than their age and that he should warn the bartender,” Mr. Mathias told Charles.

All of the seniors, including Charles, tried their hand at the bar car, but he did it mostly to be part of the group.

At the train station, Charles sat and waited to board. It didn’t take long until he heard the call for the train, and everyone moved out to the tracks. Charles stood waiting for the doors to open and looked at his fellow passengers. There was the young professional sitting on a bench, his briefcase serving as a desk for his laptop on which he was typing feverishly. Remembering that he was around others, Charles switched his monologue to his internal voice, ‘Bet he has a deadline at a news outlet and has to have the story done by the time he gets off the train.’

Charles watched a family with two small children, lugging suitcases and backpacks. The children looked at the tracks in amazement, but the ever-watchful helicopter parents nudged them back.

Next on his walk down the station, he spotted an elderly couple, the woman leaning on her partner’s arm for support. They were glaring at a young man taking up more than his fair share of a bench.

A young college student caught Charles’ eye. She who knew the effect her beauty had on men. Charles didn’t hate her for this, but he hated the look he saw on her face as he limped forward, his leg giving out. That look changed from curiosity about a handsome man to pity. He looked away and had no desire to talk or even flirt with her. That pity on her face hurt.

The train’s whistle blew as Charles passed another solo traveler. He was engrossed in a paperback. ‘Bad Humans’ was all that Charles could make out of the title, and he didn’t ask because the man was wearing headphones that seemed to be of the type that cut out all noise.

As the train doors opened and the conductor yelled, “All aboard,” Charles helped a mother struggling to lift a baby stroller over the gap between the station platform and the door.

Walking down the aisle, using the seats to stabilize himself, he avoided the gaze of the college girl. Charles knew that he was a very handsome man and that his manner of speaking was professional and well beyond his years, as some would say. He owed that to his mother’s fascination with old movies.

“Mom, I didn’t know there was such a thing as a movie in color until I spent the night at John Tony’s house,” he used to joke with her, and she would laugh.

“Charlie, I may not be able to afford much, but I’m going to make sure you watch the classics.”

Some of these were not your typical classics, but to his mom, they were what a young boy needed to see, and there was a surprising amount of horror and detective movies in the mix.

‘It’s a wonder I don’t talk like Peter Falk, aka Detective Columbo.’

Charles passed by the padded seats with their head and armrests, wanting to visit the bar car. He was twenty-one and he was looking forward to the experience of having a drink on the train, even though it was too early to drink. He passed a lot of the same people he’d seen boarding once he changed directions. He assumed the bar car to be at the front of the train, but it was all the way at the back.

Going through the doors between carriages still impressed Charles. He’d loved doing that on his first trip while the train was moving. Charles figured that every move he made needed to be deliberate and that even though the train wasn’t moving, it would make sense to stay practiced.

Perhaps it was a little early for adult beverages, but he was curious to see who was back there.

To his surprise, they were serving breakfast. Charles had only his field rations to look forward to, which consisted of powdered food, eggs, potatoes, etc. He reveled in the smell of the bacon and egg sandwich a steward was delicately handing to another passenger.

The man took the sandwich and made his way to a small table. A guitar stood leaning against a seat next to the table. The man had a rugged and weathered appearance, suggesting life on the road filled with wonderful experiences and adventures.

“Want something, sugar?” the steward asked.

‘I love it in the south,’ Charles thought, remembering that a lot of people serving food in the south called people sugar, and if any of them said, ‘Bless your heart’, it wasn’t a compliment.

Smiling, he glanced at the menu and said, “Small coffee and two bacon and egg sandwiches. And can you only heat one of them? I’m going for a hike and want to heat the other one later.”

“Of course,” she answered while she poured his coffee.

“Seat taken?” Charles asked the man with the guitar, adding, “I’m Charles.”

“Not at all. I love company on my travels. Have you been traveling for long? I noticed your gait is not very steady.”

“No, just got on, headed up to Night’s Edge Mountain for the weekend, and gait, if that means my walk, I’ve had that since birth.”

“Sorry, meant no offense. I’m Jack, but my friends call me River, and before you ask, it’s because of the wrinkles between my eyes. They became very pronounced at an early age. I assume that was because of how much I squinted when I read, and the name, well, it just stuck.”

“River, nice to meet you. I assume you play. Going to be a long trip, and love to hear it.”

“I would as well,” the steward added, as she handed Charles a plate with a hot sandwich along with another wrapped in aluminum foil.

“Darlin’, under the foil is plastic wrap. Take that off, and then wrap it in the foil and lay it beside the fire, and it should last for a day or two. I don’t think this meat ever expires,” she laughed, her body jiggling at her joke.