Stillwell: A Haunting on Long Island

by Michael Phillip Cash

  Stillwell

  A Haunting on Long Island

  Michael Phillip Cash

  Disclaimer

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Copyright © 2013 Michael Phillip Cash

  Published in the United States by

  Red Feather Publishing

  New York – Los Angeles – Las Vegas

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 978-1484196090

  ISBN-13: 1484196090

  DEDICATION

  To my wife Sharon

  “more than eternity”

  CONTENTS

  Acknowledgments

  Follow

  Prologue: Saturday

  Chapter 1: Sunday

  Chapter 2: Monday

  Chapter 3: Tuesday

  Chapter 4: Wednesday

  Chapter 5: Thursday

  Chapter 6: Friday

  Chapter 7: Saturday

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Special thanks to my mom, whose love of history made this book possible.

  Follow Michael on Twitter:

  @michaelpcash

  www.michaelphillipcash.com

  If you find this book enjoyable, I really hope you’ll leave a review on Amazon, Goodreads, and Barnes & Noble under Stillwell. If you have any questions or comments, please contact me directly at michaelphillipcash@gmail.com.

  Other works by Michael Phillip Cash:

  Brood X: A Firsthand Account of the Great Cicada Invasion

  prologue

  Saturday

  Paul turned from the dark window, twitching the drapes back in place. It was cold in the house; it had the dank feel of being unused. It had only been empty for a week, and yet it held a stale feeling of overripe food and decaying garbage.

  The kids would be coming home tomorrow. He had sent them to his sister’s place for the past week. It was too hard to have to worry about their schedules when he was sitting by Allison’s side. The funeral was yesterday, and he asked his sister to keep them one more day. He needed to have some time to collect himself. He’d spent the last twenty-four hours sitting in the dark, staring at nothing, his mind too numb to think.

  Lisa had taken over with the brisk efficiency of the nurse that she was trained to be. Stella was eating once again and Jesse and his twin, Veronica, were able to sleep at night. His sister’s was the safe house, and while he desperately missed his children, he couldn’t deal with their everyday drama while he stayed with Allison for her final weeks.

  He played with the chain around his neck then placed the gold band that hung from it on his lips. He closed his eyes, feeling alone. It was his wife’s wedding band and it had never left her finger from the time he had placed it there almost fifteen years ago.

  Everything happened so fast. Too fast. His mind replayed the last six months in a montage of colors flashing like an out-of-control merry-go-round. Only it wasn’t a happy ride. Well, he sighed, he had to admit that he did feel relief. It felt wrong to have this burden taken off his shoulders, but his wife didn’t have to suffer anymore. He admitted to himself that he was weary too. She had gone from bad to worse in such a short time. She had slipped into a coma. He held her skeletal hand for a solid week, watching hope die alongside his wife. His family had brought in food, but he felt no hunger. As he stayed by her side, nothing seemed important. Paul stared at her face, memorizing every curve, her deep dimple, the mole she hated above her upper lip. Every second counted, and he wouldn’t waste a minute on himself. His future yawned ahead in a great vastness of nothing that stretched endlessly before him. Alone, mute, and his thoughts jumbled in his head, he couldn’t find words to say what he needed. Did she know how happy she had made him? Did Allison understand how much she meant to him? Could she know that his heart was so numb, he felt as though he were a corpse? Though he sat caressing her hand, could his wife sense the man next to her was spent, empty? It was that burnt-out feeling like after drinking so much that the liquor loses its taste and cigarettes burn with dying fire.

  The irony was that he was the smoker, even though he had stopped when the twins were born, thirteen years ago. Allison wouldn’t have it in the house. He cheated at work, chewing gum to disguise the smell on his breath. It had always been a huge fight, and while she painted all kinds of devastating scenarios if he continued to smoke, they never expected her to be the one to fall victim to cancer.

  The twins were a rare handful for them. Married for just over a year, they were unprepared for the incessant work. He was building his reputation as a go-to guy for the McMansions that dotted Long Island’s North Shore. The pull of work and two newborns tested their marriage. Allison breast-fed until utter exhaustion—or as he liked to call it “udder” exhaustion—made her stop. She always laughed at that.

  Jesse, his son, was all brooding intensity, while Veronica, the elder twin by six minutes, was sweet, faithful, and resilient. They were golden children, kissed by sunlight, with blond hair, freckles, and odd silver eyes, like their mother. They communicated in a strange language that worked only for the two of them. A silent collusion between the twins created a special insight, and they knew exactly what the other was thinking. When words finally arrived, they could finish each other’s sentences.

  While he was happy with his family, Allison had wanted another child. Reluctantly, he agreed and was shocked at his devastation when she miscarried. His despair turned to relentless hope, and although they faced a period of secondary infertility, he pushed for seven years, and they became pregnant once again. He called her “Stella Luna,” because she was the stars and moon to him.

  With Stella, he had time to play. She was a fey child, filled with whimsy and a touch of an old soul.

  Brown-haired and brown-eyed, she was the image of his older sister. Shut out of the twin’s world, he made sure she never felt alone. When she turned two, her soulful brown eyes induced him to give up smoking once and for all. God, he wished he had a cigarette. Right now.

  The house screamed with silence, its heavy pall smothering any sense of light. It closed over him. The acid ache in his gut he’d been experiencing since she got sick made its presence known. Padding to the kitchen, he went in search of milk to put out the fire. After he opened the refrigerator door, he stood for a minute staring at the empty shelves. He smelled the open carton of milk and recoiled at the odor. He never remembered buying it and could only guess how old it was. Well, the milk was plainly spoiled, as was the cheese. They had to be at least a month old. Maybe he should just eat the yogurt, let it kill him, and the kids would be done with mourning. Two for the price of one, he thought as he slammed the door. He’d have to go food shopping at some point. Yep, the kids were coming home tomorrow.

  Paul slid on to the counter stool, holding his head in both hands. His skull ached as though there were a thousand hammers pounding behind his eyes. It pulsed with such intensity; he pressed his fingers against his eyeballs until all he saw was an iridescent halo. He sighed deeply and stretched backwards cracking his jaw as he yawned.

  Dizziness assailed him and he gripped the granite counter with wet palms. “God,” he thought, “am I going to faint?”

  Sweat dotted his forehead and he shivered involuntarily as a gray mist enveloped him, chilling him to the bone.


  Out of the corner of his eye, he sensed a shadow dancing around him. He felt paralyzed and couldn't move.

  Suddenly nauseous, he rested his unstable forehead against the counter and said “I gotta get some sleep.”

  chapter 1

  Sunday

  The early light of morning invaded the room, chasing the demons of darkness. Paul lay still, his eyes watching the shafts of sunlight piercing the holes of his shade. He didn’t want to move, didn’t want to get up. His bed felt safe. He rolled over, covering his head with the blanket, wanting to bury himself and pretend this day had never come. He couldn’t believe his new reality.

  It happened with the suddenness of a lightning strike. Life rolled by with the efficiency of the railroad, making milestones in everyday events. Then one day, they noticed a new pattern. There were headaches: premenstrual, postmenstrual, hormonal, and stress related. Oh, there was a sensible reason for all the signs leading up to the big kahuna. Numbness in her fingers—well, he told her she was exercising too much. Maybe it was that damn chiropractor she had started seeing. Carpal tunnel syndrome seemed like an easy excuse. They never thought of a brain tumor. Hah. She was thirty-four. Who got brain tumors at thirty-four?

  Hopeful, they entered the cancer treatment center hand in hand, planning on battling this thing together. First came all the tests: CAT scans, PET scans, MRIs; every day there was a new test to see what the next step should be. Paul had never heard of any of these types of tests. He never thought it would become a part of his daily lexicon. He became adept at record keeping. The fancy leather-bound calendar the kids had presented to him for his birthday began to fill with appointment after appointment, and he became the one to keep everything straight. Allison had always run the show; he worked, and she was the planner. But she had retreated, shocked by the diagnosis. She curled inward, making him the point person. The ringmaster. Two-hour-long commutes to the best doctors in the city, waiting rooms filled with hopeful candidates, stories swapped of miracles, and science fiction-like treatments. Paul wrapped his boundless energy into keeping Allison’s spirits up. Rallying her, he promised they would do whatever they had to do to overcome this obstacle.

  It all seemed unreal to them when they got the first results. Mute with shock, they received the news in total disbelief. But the wormhole of cancer beckoned, sucking them in relentlessly. Now that he had lived in that universe, he knew the difference between a PET scan and a CAT scan. He could give a lecture on what to do if there was a fever or how to guard against infection.

  Constipation became a conversation starter. Blood counts, iron deficiencies, and steroids—they were all part of his vocabulary. He learned about white blood cell counts and all the dangers that could incite a setback. He knew what Reiki could do or the power of music at a bedside. He spoke to anyone who could help them and shared his own information as well. His entire existence was dedicated to helping his wife in any way he could. Certainly surgery could have worked. He remembered grasping at straws. Root it out, cut it away, dangerous, of course, but with lasers a sure thing. Only minor lateral damage, the doctors thought, nothing they couldn’t handle. But after a long twelve-hour day of surgery and waiting, it was still there on the next scan. A small dot, resistant. Chemo and radiation would handle that. It worked for that actress, yes, that one. She wore a head scarf at the Oscars. Hell, Michael Douglas had throat cancer, and a year later, was starring in movies again. He was making late night appearances on the talk show circuit while he was in treatment. See, cancer doesn’t have to interrupt your life. If it worked for them, then it would work for Allison. Why not, she never even smoked.

  Only it didn’t work, and Paul and Allison and everyone who loved them fell into the rabbit hole of despair. They tumbled down, down, down where nothing makes anything feel better. How do you tell your mother you will not outlive her? How do you prepare your children? You won’t be there for prom, graduations, or weddings? Lastly, how do you share with your partner, your best friend, that he will be alone for the rest of his life? Paul the husband and father had disappeared and he became a person running on autopilot, going from one hope to the next, trying anything for a cure, until he realized he had to change his tactics to be satisfied that he’d brought her an ounce of peace. He read every book to ease Allison’s travail, but it was all for nothing.

  Tears pooled in Paul’s eyes, and he let them slide down in self-pity. His chest ached with hollow despair. He wanted to hold her. He needed her to stroke his head, like she did when she miscarried, and make him feel his misery was not alone. His missed her with every fiber of his being and didn’t want to talk to anyone, anymore, ever again. He had never known a time without Allison; she was his better half. Alone, how was he going to live without her?

  He became aware of noise first. The sun had sunk low over the rooftops, and he realized it was four in the afternoon, not four in the morning. He must have fallen asleep after all. Feet pounded on the steps and he heard all three of his kids scramble upstairs to his bedroom. They burst in and leaped on the bed. His sister Lisa stood with her arms crossed in the doorway. She was older than him by four years and short and stocky with a double chin she hated. They shared the same brown hair and dark chocolate eyes, but in some cosmic joke, he got the long lashes to go with it.

  “I bought you groceries.” She walked in and sat on the edge of the bed. She smiled gently. “I fed your monsters before we came, but they’ll want snacks. Aunt Lou sent lasagna. It’s in the freezer.” Lisa resisted the urge to brush the tangle of hair from her brother’s eyes. It was long and unkempt; there had been no time for him to take care of himself these last few weeks. His suit had hung on his large frame at the funeral. He looked abandoned and neglected, and she thought ruefully, he must have lost fifteen pounds. Looking down at the new spare tire decorating her waist, she mused that grief worked on people differently.

  Veronica lay flat, her twin brother Jesse dangling off the edge of the other side of the king-sized bed. Paul assumed the lump under the covers was Stella.

  “I have to be at work by six,” she said. “Did you eat anything today? You gotta eat, Paulie.” She looked at the wedding band on a chain, lying across his bare chest. She knew it was engraved on the outside but couldn’t remember the words. On the inside, they both had their initials and the date of their wedding. Paul always joked that he’d never forget it that way. Yeah right, Lisa laughed to herself. Her brother worshipped his wife. Paul and Allison had the unique experience of love at first sight, if one could believe in that sort of thing. Added to that, it was when they were toddlers. She thought, how’s that for fate? Well, look what fate did to them now. She looked at her brother’s gaunt face and sighed. “Fate sucks.”

  “What?” Paul made a sour face. “What?”

  Lisa stood. “Come on, I’ll make you eggs.” She was living proof that food made everything feel better.

  He lay back down. “I’m not hungry.”

  As if it had a mind of its own, his stomach gurgled loudly and this set off the children with peals of laughter. It sounded strange in the house, and he fought the urge to yell at them to be quiet.

  They didn’t have to be quiet. No one was sick here anymore. They could be loud and silly, and he knew he had to get out of bed.

  “Out, everybody out,” he shouted playfully. “Give me five minutes. Would you mind making me coffee?”

  Veronica jumped out of the bed, her silver eyes wide in her face, so like her mother’s. His breath caught in his chest for a moment. “I’ll make you coffee, Daddy,” she offered. “Aunt Lisa showed me how to use the machine.”

  “Great.” It came out gravelly; his voice sounded unused. “Yeah, that would be great.”

  The kids got up, and Stella poked her brown-haired head out of the covers. She slid onto the floor and picked up the dust ruffle to peer under the bed.

  “What are you doing?” Jesse yanked her sloppy pigtail.

  “Leave your sister alone,” Lisa snapped.


  “I heard something.” Stella’s wide brown eyes looked at them. “Didn’t you hear it?” she asked again in a shocked whisper.

  They all stood mutely looking at each other, and Jesse jumped onto the bed and screamed, “Stella’s hearing things. Do you see dead people too?”

  Paul grabbed his son and shook him hard. “Stop that.”

  Jesse’s stubborn lip stuck out. He was angry; his resentment simmered under his freckled skin. He had Allison’s fair skin.

  Paul said, “Don’t do that.”

  “Why? You gonna go back and hide under the covers?” his son snapped back.

  Rage roiled in Paul and he held himself so rigid, he thought he might crack. A warm hand touched his muscled arm, soothing him. “Leave it, Paul. He’s tired. The kids have had a rough day. Jesse, apologize. Jesse,” she hissed, “now!”

  “Sorry,” he mumbled, his eyes shiny with unshed tears. Paul pulled him close and ruffled his blond curls.

  “Go get out some food and let’s eat.” He sighed as they filed out of the room, thinking how he was going to manage raising the children without his wife.

  ====

  The kitchen smelled of eggs and cheese, and as much as Paul loved omelets, he had no appetite. They were all seated at the table. Ripped packages of snack foods, open containers of artificial dips, and brightly colored sugar candies were strewn all over the counter. At the very least, he thought, his newly planted wife would be rolling in her grave.