Between Two Ends Read Online Free PDF Page B

and mysterious shrubs spilled their dew on his jeans as he passed. Burrs scratched his T-shirt and he had to leap over a wicked little thorny bush.
    He nearly banged into an old well but caught himself at the last moment. He put his hands on either side of the opening and peered into the darkness of the hole. The air rising from the deep was cool and damp. “Gran’s old wishing well,” hemurmured, and the words echoed quietly back to him.
    The mouth of the well looked rather grubby, with mottled lichens covering the inside as far as he could see. Despite his somber mood he grinned, for he realized his father might have stared down the same hole some twenty years before.
    And then his frown returned. His father had said that his wish had not been granted. What did he mean? Was he alone at the time or was the girl with him? His frown deepened. Perhaps his father had wished for the girl to come back. Yeats leaned a little deeper into the well mouth. If that was the case, then the well was truly broken.
    â€œI wish I knew what was going on,” he added, more loudly than he had intended.
    The moment his words were out he felt a tremor in his fingers, a ripple that stemmed from the cool stone and rattled up through his elbows. He felt the stones shake beneath his feet. From deep below came an ominous moan. His eyes widened, but he didn’t let go of the fountain.
    The moaning grew louder. Yeats caught hisbreath when he heard a voice. It sounded like a boy.
    Yeats tightened his grip. “Stay calm. It must be my echo,” he assured himself. But the tone was different. It didn’t sound exactly like his. And there was desperation in the voice. He could have sworn he heard someone say, “I wish! I wish!”
    â€œIs anyone down there?” he asked experimentally. When there was no answer he took a deep breath. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to think through the moans and trembling stones. He had said the words
I wish
, hadn’t he? Perhaps the length or depth of the well tunnel could change the echo so that it sounded like someone else.
    And then an idea popped into his head. It was a memory of standing at the state capitol fountain. His mother had said, “Make a wish, Yeats!” He remembered throwing something into the water.
    Yeats let go of the well and dug into his pocket. He pulled out a penny. He held the coin briefly above the opening and then dropped it into the darkness. There was no splash or even so much as a tinkle. But the moan died instantly. The stonesstopped shaking. There was complete silence for a moment. A crow cried raucously from a nearby tree.
    â€œWeird,” he murmured.
    And then it happened. There was a muffled
boom
from below. Suddenly the ground began to shake so violently that Yeats was flung across the yawning mouth. His cheek scrunched against the stone. He fought blindly for a grip. His stomach dipped into the emptiness.
    There was a succession of tiny low sounds and he felt pressure against his chest. Something was coming up the well. A second later the wind struck. It hit him like a gale, ripped his hands free, and blasted him into the bushes.
    Dazed, he stared back at the well. From the wind a voice cried out, “I wish, I wish!” echoing a thousand times over. Tree branches blew straight up and leaves and twigs hurtled skyward in the volcanic debris.
    Several of the stone slabs on the well mouth shook loose from their mortar and fell with a crash into the depths. The noise and wind stopped assuddenly as it had begun. A moment later the ground stopped shaking. Yeats stood slowly. The garden was quiet again, although, he noted, there were no birds chirping. Not after such a blast.
    â€œWow,” he murmured softly. He stepped cautiously to the well and touched the cold stone with a quaking finger. Nothing happened. The well itself was now completely broken. It had gaping holes in the sides and the mouth was clogged with debris.
    He was