The Pendulum’s Bargain

The summer I turned sixteen, my cousin Mira came to stay with us in our creaky farmhouse on the edge of the salt flats. The house had been in my family for generations, and every room smelled of dust and old wood. We were bored, as teenagers are, with nothing but the wind and the dry grass for company. One evening, while rummaging through the attic, I found a tarnished silver locket on a long chain. It wasn’t mine, and it didn’t fit any of the family photos we had. Mira, who was always fascinated by the macabre, suggested we try to contact the dead using it as a pendulum. I was skeptical, but the boredom was overwhelming, so I agreed.

We started in the kitchen, sitting across from each other at the worn oak table. I held the chain between my thumb and forefinger, letting the locket dangle just above the surface. Mira asked simple questions: ‘Is anyone here? Do you want to talk?’ The locket hung still, swaying gently with my breathing. We laughed, thinking it was nonsense. But then, after nearly an hour, the locket began to move in a slow, deliberate circle. I felt a cold chill run down my spine, but Mira’s eyes lit up. We asked if it was a spirit, and the locket swung clockwise, a clear yes. We asked its name, and it spelled out letters by swinging to different points we designated. It said its name was Elara.

Excitement got the better of us. The pendulum method felt too slow, so Mira suggested we close our eyes and visualize messages. I was never good at it—I saw nothing but darkness. Mira, however, had a gift. She described a young woman in a long dress, standing by the window, pointing outside. Elara seemed eager to communicate, and we spent hours asking questions. She said she had lived on this land a century ago, that she had died near the old well. Then she offered to show us something ‘easier,’ as she put it. Before I could object, Mira’s eyes flew open, and she grabbed my wrist. ‘She wants to use me,’ she said, her voice trembling. ‘She’s going to take my hand and write.’

I watched in horror as Mira’s arm lifted on its own, her fingers twitching. She scribbled on a scrap of paper with a pencil, her handwriting turning jagged and unnatural. When she finished, she looked at me, terrified. The note read: ‘Meet me at the well at midnight. Bring the locket. Come alone.’ I tore the note to shreds, but Mira insisted we follow. I was scared, but I couldn’t let her go alone. At midnight, we crept to the gaping stone well at the edge of the property. The wind whistled, and the moon cast long shadows. I held the locket, and as we peered into the blackness below, I felt a pull, as if the locket was dragging me toward the edge. Mira screamed, and I yanked back, stumbling. The locket slipped from my fingers and fell into the well, and as it clattered against the stones, we heard a woman’s laugh echo from below.

We ran back to the house, locking every door. We didn’t sleep that night. The next morning, I told my parents we had seen a fox, but the fear in our eyes must have betrayed something. They never asked, though. Mira left a week later. I try to forget, but sometimes, in the dead of night, I swear I see a woman in white standing by the well, holding a silver locket, waiting. And I know, deep in my bones, that she’s not done with us. The bargain was made the moment we picked up that locket, and she will come to collect.