Murder Mystery (that was kinda interesting actually)

Date: 10/6/2019

I had this dream where I was a detective working on this case at an old school. There were two rooms and that’s it, in both rooms there was a well but both wells had to be sealed off cuz the water was contaminated, and both classrooms had no electricity whatsoever. They had windows and candles for light and a giant black chalkboard up front. So it was like, an OLD school. The case was basically that kids had been disappearing and, even more frighteningly, kids in the classrooms had been going into weird traumatic states. Their bodies and hearts functioned fine, but they were like dolls... no personality whatsoever. It reminded me of, in the Harry Potter series, when a dementor sucks out somebody’s soul; they were quite literally becoming soulless. And lemme tell u, a bunch of soulless children is creepy as fuck. Anyways I was the only detective assigned to the case bc I was a rookie, and bc it was supposed to be unsolvable. Out of courtesy I interviewed each of the two teachers and they both seemed equally freaked out, but what I mainly wanted to do was interview the children. My colleagues / fellow detectives laughed at me for it but I knew that, if there was a murderer here, it would make sense for it to be one (or both) of the teachers. And kids gave out surprisingly good information if you let them. So I started interviewing kids, most seemed confused but one little boy gave me chilling clues. He seemed reluctant to answer when I asked if he knew anything about the “bad stuff” that was happening, and when he said “no...” I knew he was lying. I said “Okay, well if any of your friends do let me know so I can help, okay? That’s my job right now, do you know what I’m doing?” He shook his head no and I said “I’m here to help stop all of the bad stuff, but I can only do that if I know who’s causing it.” In a whisper the boy said “if you find out who it is, will you get them in trouble?” I say, “I’ll try not to get them into too much trouble; I’ll just see if I can make them stop doing the bad stuff.” The boy looks around uncomfortably (we’re outside of the school, it’s after schools out and he’s one of the last ones to be interviewed) and then motions for me to follow him. I do so, putting my hand into my jacket and grabbing the knife in case anything happens. He leads me into the second classroom, in the back, and points to the well. I say, “is the person who’s doing all of this, are they in the well?” He nods. I ask, cautiously, “how did they get into the well? Do you know?” he doesn’t answer so I say, “anything you tell me can help save the person doing this, and all of your classmates.” He says, quietly, “Mrs. Janet put him in there for being a bad boy.” I say “Mrs. Janet, your teacher?” He says “yes. Me and him were in detention, and he was being too silly, and she was mad so she put her hands around his throat and he made funny noises, then she threw him down there and told me not to tell anyone.” He looked super uncomfortable saying all of this, and kept glancing at the door. I felt shivers run down my spine. So it was one of the teachers after all... I felt this weird victory mixed with fear and apprehension. I say, “your friend, how has he been doing all of this, and do you know why?” The boy answers “he’s mad at the teacher, I tried telling him to stop but he says he doesn’t want her to hurt anyone else so he’s gonna keep doing it until I tell. But Mrs. Janet said I couldn’t tell...” I say, “it’s alright, I’m going to stop all of this okay? How do the kids get hurt, normally?” He says, “they touch the well...” I tell the boy, “thank you,” and lock the doors and windows so we can’t be interrupted. Then I go over and place a hand on the well. I feel a jolt of surprise as the boy comes over and places his small, chubby hand next to mine. “He won’t hurt me,” the boy promises. I have no time to protest, however, because I feel a strange pulling sensation and my vision goes black and a ringing fills my ears all at once. I blink but all i see is darkness. Then I hear a long, carrying whisper... “Who are you?” I reply, “I’m a detective, and I’m here to help you.” The voice says “I’ve been down here for so long that I can’t see anything but darkness.” I feel bad for the voice as I suddenly realize it’s the second boy talking, the one Mrs. Janet killed. I say, “I’m here to tell you that you can stop. As soon as I get out of here I’m going to tell the police and all the other grownups about what Mrs. Janet did to you, and then she’ll never hurt another kid again. Okay?” The voice suddenly gets closer and I see, in just the tiniest bit of light, a corpse at the bottom of the well. It’s mostly rotted away by now, bones show through flesh suction-cupped to a tiny skeleton, and the smell of death and decay is everywhere. I nearly vomit but manage to keep it in. His eye sockets are deep and dark and his nasal cavity shows through his face, which is dark green and yet spotted with pale, squirming maggots. His tiny fingers are still somehow mostly intact, curled up like a baby’s, and tatters of once-bright clothing hang around his corpse. It’s not so much scary to me as it is sad; this was once a living, breathing boy and he had been killed by a madwoman... I gasp as I’m suddenly back in my position, back at the well with my hand resting on the rough stone. I thank the little boy (living, thank god) next to me and tell him I’ll help his friend. For now, I personally escort him home, and tell the other children they can leave as well; I say “it’s getting late” as an excuse so Mrs. Janet doesn’t know that I know. I still need solid evidence, the boy’s corpse, and if she thinks that I know about the corpse she may hide it or something. I immediately go tell law enforcement what I believe and they dig up the well the next day, find the corpse, and investigate the other little boy, who tells them the same thing. They arrest the woman and I’m proud but mostly, I’m just sad. Sad about the little dead boy who was left to protect his classmates from the real monster. The kids who had been ‘soulless’ suddenly come back to life, and I wonder if maybe the little boy in the well had really gone this time.