Stillwell: A Haunting on Long Island

by Michael Phillip Cash

  He left Molly’s unsatisfied, and the car somehow took him to Stillwell. He parked in the drive and got out and walked toward the terrace. It had gotten cold; puffs of condensation swirled around his head from his breathing. It was quiet, no sounds, darker than Hades, he thought. Purple clouds parted revealing a brilliant harvest moon, its orange light bathed the landscape so that it glowed. He stood on the terrace and looked out across the expanse of the lawn to the well. Two orbs danced above the opening. He knew it would be too long to run down there to see what was happening. He fumbled for his camera phone and tried to take a picture. They froze with the flash of his camera, dipping into the well, only to bounce up and spin toward him. They raced past him, and he felt the air stir as they grazed his cheeks. Touching his face, his fingers wet, it was damp with his own tears. He knew this was not the work of teenagers.

  ====

  “I’m glad you took the girls to dance,” his mother told him over a cup of tea they shared later that night. “You have to start living again.”

  He sighed. “Ma...I...” He was jumpy, on edge. He was afraid of what he was thinking. Fear ruled him. If anyone knew what was going through his mind, they’d take the kids away. His logical self couldn’t believe what Georgia had told him, and he considered that Molly unwittingly gave out his story.

  “I’m not saying to join eHarmony today but Paul. I know you loved Ally, we all did, but you’re a young man.”

  “I’m not interested. Would you go out with someone if something happened to Pop?”

  “God forbid.” She paused. “It’s no good to be alone.”

  He patted her hand and they sat in silence for a while. He was wrestling with so many things. Thoughts swirled in his brain. Monkey wrench, Alice in Wonderland, orbs in the night, Hannah Andrews, but Paul confided to his mom the only thing he was absolutely sure about. “Ma,” he said and looked into her brown eyes. “Veronica needs a bra.”

  His mother promised to handle that for him and asked if he had prepared her for getting her period, to which she was treated to a panicked response that threatened to wake the kids. She assured him she’d help with that too. Looking at his white face, she urged her son to get a good night’s sleep and make sure he had bicarbonate soda before bed. It was good for his digestion.

  He slid between the sheets, thinking and replaying his session with Georgia, wondering what she meant by the monkey wrench. In a way, it had been satisfying. She knew the kids’ names, remembered certain things about their relationship, and when she mentioned the lack of vegetables in their diet, he damn near shit in his pants. Molly couldn’t have known about that. What about their wedding bands? Who even knew that about them? Could the fact she quoted what was engraved on their rings be a coincidence? He fell asleep, Georgia’s reading still in his ears.

  The corridor was back. The mist was thicker, Allison’s cries more distinct. The roar of that thing, that hairy beast echoed on the stark walls. Paul was running, his shirt stuck to his back, and his shoulders bounced against the walls, slowing him. Allison was in the distance; he reached out for her. The ape-like tail grabbed his wrist. The thing pulled and dragged him. His own nails scored the walls, trying to find something to hold onto. He was being pulled downward, the walls getting closer together, until, it looked more like a tube. As he braced his shoulders against the narrowing passage, he pulled back, fighting the demon, trying to escape. Allison’s voice echoed in his head. He heard her repeating, “Monkey wrench...”

  He felt the chain being ripped from his neck. Suddenly, he awoke and felt around his soft sheets, his hand finding a broken chain and the ring under his pillow.

  chapter 7

  Saturday

  The next day dawned clear, and Paul felt anything but bright as he looked at his bleary face in the mirror. It was early. The day was overcast with the promise of rain. “Great,” Paul thought wearily anticipating a glum open house. Jesse was going to basketball practice this morning after breakfast. He got the kids up and dressed with a promise of many surprises. They left without eating, and when they pulled into the diner, they squealed with delight. He hadn’t taken them out to eat from the time Allison first got sick. She had been so nauseous that food had to be eaten where she could reach a bed and a bathroom quickly. A feast of scrambled eggs and pancakes was enjoyed. He allowed Veronica to have a very light cup of coffee. Her twin was still content with juice. He smiled at his children, enjoying the fresh-faced coloring. Jesse’s anger had slowly dissipated, Veronica seemed more at ease, and baby Stella was, well, still baby Stella.

  He stopped in at the jeweler who repaired his chain, and he felt whole as he slipped it back over his head. “Looks like someone ripped it off your neck.” The jeweler showed him twisted links he was replacing. “Sorry about your wife. I…hate to ask you, but you were supposed to pick this up a few months ago.”

  The older man brought out a pouch with a bracelet with all the kids’ names on it on small round coins. Paul’s heart twisted in his chest.

  “Sorry, I forgot. It was for Christmas. How much do I owe you?”

  The man considered him. “I hate to make you pay, but I can’t do anything because they are engraved. You know they’re specific to your family.”

  “I understand. Don’t worry about it.” Paul pulled out his charge card, paying the balance. The girls stood on tiptoes wanting to see, but he put the small bag in his jacket pocket.

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing. It’s nothing,” he murmured as they departed the store.

  He dropped Jesse at the school for practice then drove the girls to a local nail salon that he knew Allison had frequented. He got out of the car and took both their hands and took his happily skipping children for a mani pedi. The Asian ladies in the salon talked him into having one as well, so he sat with his pants rolled high between his daughters drifting pleasantly as his feet were massaged into putty.

  He was fine until he noticed that they taking the tools from a small personalized kit. It lay on the floor being used by his family. The kit had Allison’s name on it.

  Time to go again, and while his tense muscles had been pummeled while the girls got polish, he knew the hard knots were back, tying up his shoulders.

  Lisa was waiting when they got home, ready to enter science fair hell with his daughter. She started to explain the project, but Paul raised his hand to stop her. “Did I say thanks, no? Well, thank you from the bottom of my heart. And if you are so inclined for sainthood, could you help Stella with her Nevada report?”

  Lisa smiled at him and walked him to the door. “There will be a price, little brother.” She whispered as they reached the door, “You’re looking better.” Her eyes appraised him.

  “Wow. Have I got a story for you.”

  She looked at him curiously, “I’m all ears.”

  “I need about two hundred years to tell it. It’s nuts.”

  Hugging him, she said, “Well, I’m just happy you seem to be more like yourself.”

  He shuddered and wondered if everyone was blind.

  ====

  He got to Stillwell Manor early, just before the caterer. Trays of tea sandwiches were brought in. College kids in white jackets set up hors d’oeuvre trays, and a tea and coffee station was prepared in the kitchen. Georgia came early, Molly in the car behind him.

  “Nice digs.” Georgia eyed the double-floored entry. “Gives me the willies, though.” She shivered.

  Well, thought Paul, that wasn’t encouraging. He smiled and said, “Let’s get this thing going.” He looked at Molly. “Before people start arriving.”

  “I think we have a bit of company already.” Georgia’s dark eyes scanned the high ceilings as she pulled out a huge clam shell. She put it on the kitchen table and opened a plastic bag and took out a bag filled with herbs. He rolled his eyes and hoped it wouldn’t conflict with Molly’s cinnamon buns toasting in the oven.

  Georgia lit the small offering and started waving the scented smoke with her h
ands. “This place is full of it.” She turned to Paul and said, “But you knew that already.”

  Walking from room to room, the smoke formed a line like a heat-seeking missile looking for spirits.

  It took a half hour to finish the downstairs, and as they climbed the grand staircase, Georgia stopped dead in her tracks. “This isn’t going to be enough.”

  She turned to Paul, her eyes wide. “This has never happened before. It’s not going to be enough. I don’t know what to do.” As if drawn by a magnet, they climbed up the stairs and she moved unerringly to the last bedroom.

  “She’s here. Oh...She’s so sad. She’s waiting for her...Oh, oh, oh.” Georgia’s eyes filled with tears, her voice heavy with sorrow. “Nobody understands what happened, and this has made her so unhappy. I have never seen such sorrow.” Her voice was a nasal whine.

  “What?” Paul demanded. “What do you see?”

  “What’s happening now?” Molly asked.

  “She won’t hurt you. She’s waiting and she won’t leave until she gets what she wants.”

  “Well, that don’t sound too good. If she didn’t get it in two hundred forty years, chances are it’s not gonna happen. Can you tell her?” Molly snorted.

  “She knows, but it doesn’t matter. There’s a monkey wrench.”

  “Stop saying that!” Paul yelled.

  “I can’t help it. I say what they are telling me.”

  “There is nothing I can do about that damn monkey wrench.” He was shouting now, clearly at the end of his rope. “I think we’ve had enough of this nonsense.”

  Georgia looked at him, her face serene. “Hannah says you’ll get all your answers when you look up.”

  “Look up? Where? Where? I don’t understand.”

  “You will.” Georgia blew out the smoldering sage and left the house.

  “That was a crock of shit.”

  “Well, I believe,” Molly said.

  Minutes later Melissa and Craig came by. “Did your psychic exorcise the house?” Craig asked blandly.

  Paul shrugged and Melissa laughed. “I didn’t know you became a spiritualist.”

  “I’m not.” Suddenly he was tired of Melissa and Craig and their house of drama. He wanted to be done with this venture.

  “What’s your lowest number?”

  “20.8 and they can have it lock, stock, and barrel.”

  It was a good price. Paul vowed to work his ass off to get rid of it. He glanced out in the yard and saw a flash of light over the well. “Did you see that?” he asked Craig.

  “What?”

  “A flash of light.”

  “I thought you had the house cleaned of its spirits,” Craig said.

  “Maybe they left the house and are waiting for you to leave so they can come back,” Melissa said. “Let’s get out of here. I’ve had enough of this place.”

  They left much to Paul’s relief. It was always easier to show a home without its owners. He glanced around and said loudly, “Even the dead ones.”

  As the morning progressed, crowds of people arrived. Many were curious about the house and wanted to see what it looked like inside. Others were interested in seeing if they could make a steal. They had over a hundred leads by the time they removed the signs by two o’clock. Paul locked up and both he and Molly were happy to quit the place an hour later. He did have one interested party. They made a first-time bid of 19.8 million, and he knew he could probably get them up. They were Wall Street money, buckets of it. A young couple, who was talking architects already, was in love with its “charm.” He could tell them a thing or two about the charm. It would be an amazing coup, a huge payoff for both him and Molly that would put his finances back where they used to be. His chest swelled with the thought that with everything that had occurred, he hadn’t lost his ability to sell. It was after five and he wanted to get out of the place.

  ====

  Heading home, he stopped to pick up pizzas for the kids and walked into a kitchen where papers were strewn all over the table, books lay open on the counter, and a beaker let off steam by the sink. It was pandemonium; somehow it felt good.

  “What’s going on in here?” He put the pizza on a chair, the only bare surface.

  “Let me see your nails, Paul. The girls tell me you got a mani pedi today,” his sister teased him. “Takes a real man to sit through that,” she whispered into his ear with a chuckle.

  “I appreciate that, sis. I brought pizza.”

  “Great. I’m starved.”

  Together, they helped the kids get everything organized and put away to finish by tomorrow. They ate while the television blared, the lights were overly bright, and the kitchen had an overall festive feeling. He cleaned up the paper plates then let the kids watch one last program before bed. He was sitting in comfortable silence with his sister in the kitchen. Fingering the chain around his neck, he started to relate his evening with Georgia.

  “Sounds unreal. I mean she did know some good stuff. The twins, the kids’ names. Your ring. It’s a lot,” his sister offered, her large hands wrapped around a mug of tea.

  “One side of me wants to believe so badly, but there’s this other side. You know, like the scientific...logical side. It’s hard to suspend belief.”

  “But Paul...She knew so much. June’s name. What’s the monkey wrench about? What was she talking about?”

  He turned his head not answering.

  “Paulie. What’s up with the monkey business?”

  “I...I’ve been having dreams.” He kept his voice low. “Since the funeral. Jesse had the same dream. It’s like she’s being held captive by this ape thing,” he added in a whisper, “a demon.”

  Lisa crossed herself. “Stop. What are you talking about? It’s just your grief. Have you talked to anybody?”

  “Who am I gonna talk to? You make me feel like a mental patient. Who am I gonna tell a demon has Allison? They’re gonna take my kids away.”

  “You should talk to a shrink. This is too much. You have to talk to someone before you have a breakdown. You should take Jesse.”

  He shook his head. “He’s better. It only happened a few times for him. He hasn’t complained in a few days.”

  “He does seem happier.”

  He nodded, relieved. “I have to wait this thing out. I know the answers are right in front of me. It’s as though there’s this strange triangle involving Stillwell, Hannah, Allison, and myself.”

  “That’s a rectangle.”

  He looked up at her in question.

  “You said triangle; that would involve three parties, but you included the house.”

  “Thank you, Euclid. The scales have fallen from my eyes.”

  She laughed. “That’s my brother. See, it’s just the strain, Paul. It’s the strain of losing Allison. She was the center of your life.”

  “She still is,” he said quietly.

  She started to respond, but his cell rang. It was Molly.

  “Hi, Mol. What’s the matter?”

  “I forgot to close this root cellar door,” she told him. “It’s too dark for me...”

  “Hold on.” He turned to his sister. “I have to go back to Stillwell. Do you mind staying with the kids for an hour?”

  “It’s so dark and it’s raining, Paulie, leave it for tomorrow.”

  “Can’t. If an animal crawls in, I’ll have to pay for the damage. I gotta go. Can you stay?”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “No, I want to go. Will you watch the kids?”

  She shrugged. “Sure.”

  “I got it, Molly. No, no, it’s OK. I don’t mind. No, I’m not afraid!” This was said louder than he intended and his kids glanced back at him.

  He grabbed his jacket and told them, “Get ready for bed. I’ll be back soon.”

  Stella ran to the large window in the front of the house calling forlornly after him with her face pressed up against the rain specked, living room window, calling, “Daaaaaddy…”

  ====


  It was pitch black outside. The roads covered with rain slicked leaves. He let himself in, scrambled to the basement, and turned on every light he could find. Sure enough the door was open, but he didn’t hear the scurry of small feet. He closed the door and raced up the stairs, happy to be done.

  As he entered the center hall, ready to leave, he saw an orb dance on the steps. He approached it then held out his hand and watched as the orb caressed him, filling him with both peace and warmth. It danced up and down his arm, his hairs standing up. He felt it beckon him, pull him up the stairs, so he climbed carefully, feeling the tug of the light. The orb floated above him, touching his cheek, leading him to the bedroom. It caressed his face—it was light as a feather—and shined brightly in his eyes, and he saw himself reflected there. The door opened easily; a faint outline stood by the window. She turned, her face flaring with light, her eyes pleading. Pointing down, Hannah urged to him to go to the well. Her ghostly eyes looked upward and his own eyes followed. There was a small door built into the ceiling. It was old, not hinged, almost a cutout that had replaced a hole. “Yeah, just a bunch of kids,” he told the apparition. He dragged a chair just below the opening. He used his fingers and tried to pry it open, but it wouldn’t budge. He looked down and saw knitting needles in a basket in the corner near the fireplace. Then he used the bone needle as a tool and chipped at the spot until it gave way with an avalanche of dust raining down on him.

  He used the chair to lift himself up, his arms straining as his fingers searched the opening. He went into the attic. His fingers came in contact with the frayed binding of a book. With a satisfied sigh, his fingers inched toward it. It slipped through his sweaty hands then came to rest on the floor. He jumped down, staring at the faded fabric of the cover. He looked up at the window, but his ghostly companion had left. He picked it up and opened it, shining the light of his cell phone on the yellowed pages. The ink had turned brown with age, the pages brittle in his fingers. Gingerly, he leafed through the book. It was a journal, written 235 years ago. It was the private diary of Hannah Andrews. Excited with his find, he put it under his jacket protectively and left for his home.