The Boy and the Well

Ma sucked shit at telling bedtime stories.
 
"Once upon a time there was a leper boy and a well in a forest and he was told not to drink of it but he did and everything was bad forever, the end. Now go to sleep Novum, your studies begin at daybreak on the morrow."
 
Curious little fuck that I was, I wanted to know the *real* story, and always begged her to tell me the actual tale in its entirety. She never did. Since most of them were fantastical, she thought children's stories were a waste of time and didn't inspire true intellectual growth. I'd try then to go to Pa, but he'd just sit there and shrug his fucking shoulders. Bastard.
 
So when I was old enough, I pursued the story on my own. The actual story goes like this:
 
There was a leper boy who lived in a small, sort of run down village. He was born much weaker than his siblings, the youngest of five. Kid could barely lift a stick, and so naturally was an outcast among everyone, family included. Couldn't be expected to help around the house, fell ill multiple times each winter, sucked up more precious resources like food and water because of his condition. Eventually his family got sick of caring for him and told him if he wanted to live, he'd have to pull his own weight. Though he tried his best, he could never manage to "pull his own weight". He just couldn't keep up.
 
One day, he caught wind of a rumor that there was a magical well in the forest surrounding the town. It was told to grant anything one could want, at a cost. The townspeople urged each other not to seek out this well. This was not enough to sway the leper boy, though. He was at wits end trying to find ways to survive and contribute to his family and felt like he didn't really have much left to lose since, well, he didn't have much anyway. So he departed for the forest, searching high and low for this fabled well.
 
Days passed to no avail. Defeated, exhausted, and starving, the kid finally decided enough was enough and that he should just cut his losses and go back home. On his way back, he tripped over a massive gnarled tree root and was sent tumbling down a ledge. Upon landing at the bottom, what did he come across but none other than the well? He quickly ran to it to crank the lever and pull up a bucket of water, a task only completed through sheer determination. The boy eagerly drank the water, downing it all, then sat down and began to pray. He begged to be different. He begged for the strength to be able to look out for himself and keep himself alive. He begged for his family to be taken care of. He begged for what felt like hours, but didn't notice any changes. Fed up, he finally just went home.
 
The boy woke up the next morning to set about his daily chores, only to find that things were....different. He could *do* his chores. He could clean the barn, fetch water, milk the cows, tend the garden, and go on a market run with ease. Overjoyed with his newfound strength, he did everything he was never capable of before. His family was impressed, a miracle they said, and sat back a little and let him earn his keep. At night, however, he started to have terrors. Visions. He was sweating profusely, and burned through his clothes and bedsheets. His back was in immense pain, like something was trying to burst out of him from inside. Sure enough, a pair of demonic black wings tore through his skin, spilling blood all over the floor. One by one his teeth began to fall out, soon replaced by razor sharp fangs. He screamed in agony as this transformation took place, turning him from leper boy into hideous entity. Having heard the fuss, his family rushed to his room to tell the boy to keep it down, only to be met with a nightmare. They cowered in fear, and as the boy-demon looked upon them, he realized that drinking from the well had worked. He was different. He was strong enough to look out for himself and keep himself alive. He was able to take care of his family -- and "take care of them" he would.
 
"If you want to live, pull your own weight" he cackled.
 
And then he ate their hearts.
 
Evermore he wandered from village to village, cursed with calamity bought of desperate desire to do good. He left a path of destruction in his wake, and all quickly learned to fear the day that darkness would descend upon them, for none would escape alive -- or, at least, with their hearts in tact.