The mysterious well ( A Halloween kind of read)

It loomed in the moors, by the sacred baobab tree, enshrouded by creeping evil vines emanating a gruesome odour. Built of ancient darkened rocks hewed from the lost realms of the forgotten people of Urth. A creeping darkness, stories recounted, resided there. The voices of those it swallowed, whispering in each passing wind extending its tendrils to grasp whoever fell for its charm and mysteries. No one dared to venture around it at night. Even in daylight, they took different paths avoiding the cursed environs like a deadly plague. 
   What was the story of this well? only Anon, could say for sure for his, was the only encounter known to man, of the horror that nested within the walls of the endless pit.

Anon sat in his front yard, a woebegone cottage in an outlandish village, furbishing his brown boots. He donned hackneyed habiliment and a haggard beard hung from his chin.
  He was considered a pauper. He never got married and was beheld as the village failure and jest. He was a writer. He authored quite a few failed books that no one ever read. Anon, had zeal and enthusiasm. Still, all he wanted was an idea that no one had. A humongous idea that will get him the respect and status he so much longed and deserved. Maybe, the world will no longer view him in antipathy and spit when he passed by the marketplace.

He needed the story of his life. Anon, heard stories of a strange well in the gloomy moors, from a mage, he once encountered in one of his fruitless voyages in search of inspiration in distant lands.
  The old mage told of the gifts and wishes granted at the wells beckon. The mage, further recounted, informing Anon, all he needed to do was stand naked in front of the mysterious well, toss one large gold coin, a log of hair from the back of his head, the fingernail from his right index finger, and the fingernail from his left wee toe, a full calabash of ash and a pint of wine to appease summoned spirit. The dweller of the well, the secret whisperer and giver of knowledge and wisdom, was how he named it.

 No one knew how or why it came to be, or what its name was. Surely, this was hypnotic and enchanting to his desperation. The only chance for success he had, was to get to where the spirit rested, and for it, to whisper the next big idea to his longing ears. it was either that or imminent suicide.
  To the wilderness, he rode on a grey horse as it galloped on the stony, narrow path, heading moor-ward. It was a three-day journey but was worth it. He prepared for it with bread, cheese, cured meat, poached eggs, and a water-skin to keep him hydrated.
Anon, arrived the moors exhausted, a few hours before dark and made camp there while awaiting midnight where he would incant and present his weird demands.
He calculated the timing extremely well. It was indeed a full moon. 
   At exactly 11:11 before  midnight, when the bright moonlight streamed into the deepest recesses of the well, Anon took of his clothes, strolled towards the well, and commenced.
"Oh spirits of wisdom," He stated
"Humble Anon of Ilar beckons on the goodwill of the charitable river of the all knowing to stream to my senses, the all true source of writing, so, I can write the biggest book ever written. One that for eternity, will never be forgotten. A book so knowledgeable, it would grace the esteemed libraries of the wealthy elites and tug under the arms of youthful scholars." He wished, tossing the coin, hair  and nails into the bottomless well."Heed my wish and grant it now." He completed, poring the pint of red wine and taking a deep breath.
  Thick darkened smoke rose from within the pitch dark well, morphing into a figure, hooded and rickety. As the creature came to full view, Anon could see the bared fangs and extended cranky talons, as the figure swept towards him in the blink of an eye, as if he walked on air itself.
Stumbling and rummaging for his sword, his efforts fell into futility. He was already in the creatures grasp like a fly caught in a spiders web with no hope of escape. His strained face dripped with sweat. He quivered in the clutches of a bizarre creature.
  The hood fell off the creature, and its features came to full disclosure. Anon screamed in fright, shutting his eyes and struggling to get away from the imminent nightmare.He was in shock of the hellish flames he had gazed at. Then, the creature gaped its mouth brandishing its elongated teeth and growling a sound that tore into Anon's soul like a thousand talons had ripped his flesh. Anon's head fell limp as he collapsed in the creatures arms.
His head throbbed considerably. Anon clutched it groaning and furrowing his forehead as the sharp pain dies down.Gazing around, he found himself in a shack made of twigs and straw. A huge fire was lit from a dark corner and by it, sat a hooded fellow."Crap," Anon jumped his heartbeat rising."Don't be afraid , you are not dead ... yet.? The quirky voice resonated without the figure leaving or turning his head from the position from were it sad warming its hands by the bright lit fire.
 Anon knelt gaping his eyes at the creature. He though his life was ended when he was met with the gruesome sight."I...." He stammered. "Who am I?" The Creature interrupted.
"Yes," Anon nodded swallowing hard."Who are you? I thought you killed me." He muttered rising from his kneeling position and eyeing the room searching for and escape route.
"There is nowhere to run, Anon." The creature hissed stretching its shoulders and rising as anon cowered to a corner his knees knocked together and shaking
"If I wanted to kill you,forswear, you will be dead as we speak." it stood towering above all else, almost reaching the thatched roof.
"Here," Croaked the creature handing a metal bowl of hot tea."You and I have a lot of talking to do." It rasped keeping its head low and the hood covering its face.