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Once upon a time the spring, being deep within the forest, must have been hard to find and perhaps that is why it has been edged with the stones. The stones are red on the whole with the occasional stone a pale shade of ochre. It is to be presumed that the red is due to iron and of course this place was once fabled for its waters. Perhaps that is why everyone in the village is in such Good Health. The water travels down partially cobbled conduits until it reaches the pumping station, a wonder of Victorian engineering with levers and cogs and wheels. There are also many wells - some, including mine, which is I believe very old, are made from the red stones - and some, which are newer, are brick.

Sometimes I climb inside my well, when the water levels are low and run my hand over the stones. In places they are smooth but there are also grooves and jagged edges suggestive of something scrabbling up the sides, creating their own foot or claw holds in order to climb out. This is why I am in the well, I need to check the grooves to see if they have changed since I was last in there because it is known that something is different and we have all been charged with looking to see what that might be.

The birds were the first to alert us to the potential of a new danger. To begin with, they were circling above us in a way that might suggest their escaping from a storm at sea. But we are not near the coast and this type of behaviour would not be expected from sparrows and finches and blackbirds. Then, sadly, many of them died and were to be found lying on the street. They are not all dead, but the ones that are left are torn between staying and leaving and sing a different song in the morning that may be a warning or might be a lament.

It is quite dark inside the well but I did not bring a torch in order that my fingers would be more sensitive to the surface and therefore better able to see if the grooves have got bigger or have appeared in a different place. However, I do wish now I had put one in my pocket in order that I could perhaps get a better look beneath me. There is a sound I have not heard before. It is not particularly alarming, as sounds go, and is reminiscent of the sea as might be heard inside a shell — but, as I have already mentioned, we are a long way from the sea. Normally, the well is mostly silent, other than The Hum. This new noise is nothing like The Hum. There are metal bars inside the well, these serve as both hand-holds and foot rests and are what I am using to descend and ascend. Whatever it is that makes the grooves is, we can only suppose, a manner of creature not suited to climbing in the conventional way.

Jo Austen