Stillwell: A Haunting on Long Island

by Michael Phillip Cash

  Craig arrived twenty minutes late. “The LIE was a parking lot. I hate the commute. How you been?”

  “You know. Sucks.”

  “Yep. You were together a long time. How is it going with my sale? I presume this is why you called.”

  “Actually no. Two things.” They were interrupted by the waitress who got Craig’s order of whiskey straight.

  Paul reached into his pocket. “I was at the house, and well, I was in the library. I noticed a book was hanging off the shelf. I shouldn’t have looked in it, but I did and this was inside. I thought you’d want to read it.”

  Craig took the letter and read it, his face emotionless. “Well, well, well, this all fits. I got the autopsy reports today. My mom was far gone with advanced Alzheimer’s. They never said a thing.” He paused. “They were always a private pair.”

  Paul didn’t like him; he was clinical about the whole thing. “Yeah. I’m still sorry. But trust me, as sordid as the shooting was, watching what they did to Allison was horrible.”

  “You would have still done the treatments?” Craig asked.

  “When you get the diagnosis, you’re willing to do anything. Then the options narrow until you are suffering so much, you just want it to end.” Paul never looked up from the table.

  “I’m sorry about Ally. She was an amazing woman. You said there was something else.”

  “Would you be offended if I did a psychic cleaning of the house?”

  A deep rumble of laughter erupted from Craig’s chest, causing the women to glance at them. Craig appraised a leggy blonde and smiled. She smiled back and Paul knew his friend would not be leaving alone tonight. Craig raised his glass, motioned to the bartender to fill hers, and gave his attention back to Paul.

  “You believe all that ghost bullshit?”

  “Some strange things have happened. But, really, the house has a reputation. I can say we’ve done a cleansing and it should help with the sale.” He added as an afterthought, “You wife seems to believe.”

  “Huh. The only one possessed is Melissa. She’s a she wolf. Ever hear of a succubus? No, I can see that you haven’t. A succubus is a demon that sucks the life out of men when they sleep. I stopped sleeping with Melissa many years ago.”

  This was too much information for Paul. Craig continued, “As long as you get rid of the eyesore, I don’t care what you do.”

  He sat stunned, not knowing if he was talking about the house or his wife. “I thought you guys were happy.”

  “Were is the operative word, here, Paul. Marriage isn’t made for our lifetimes. Back when people had shorter life spans, the love lasted. It’s easy to love someone for ten years. Twenty…tough. Thirty…fucking impossible.”

  Paul gestured to the letter that Craig had left on the table. “It looks like it lasted for your parents.”

  “An aberration, I assure you.” Craig dismissed his parents’ long marriage and apparent love for each other, as well as their final sacrifice.

  Pensively he wondered if he had the chance, would Allison’s and his love had lasted? He was sure it would have. He felt attached to her, as if an invisible cord connected them, tied them to each other forever. She was a part of his very soul, like they had been joined at birth. Every time he saw her, it felt like he belonged, like he was coming home. She was as much a part of him as his arm, his heart. She was the other half of his soul. A great wave of loss washed over him, and the bleakness of life without Allison stretched before him. Craig’s abrasive voice brought him back.

  “I think we outgrew each other. Time for something new and improved.” Craig smirked. “She is as unhappy as I am.” He shrugged. “Matter of time. How much?”

  “How much what?” Paul choked on the last of his beer. He thought he was asking him how much time was left for him to stay with his wife.

  “How much is the psychic cleaner going to cost me?”

  “I haven’t asked yet. Can’t be more than a few dollars.”

  “Send me the bill. Gotta go.” He slid out and walked over to join the woman at the bar.

  Paul pulled out of the bar, feeling jumpy and unhappy. It was not yet eight o’clock, but it was pitch black. Something nagged at the back of his mind, so he drove to Stillwell and parked in the driveway. Walking around the back, he used a flashlight to find his way to the well. He felt drawn to the place, as if a presence was calling him there. The air was still, not a sound to break the velvet darkness of the night. He pointed the flashlight into the well and peered down. It was deep, dry, and cloaked in shadows. The walls were made of cobblestone, with flecks of mica reflecting moonlight back at him. The light bathed the darkness and he stopped. There was something in the wall, but it was close to the bottom. He couldn’t make out what it was, but it shined back at him. Frustrated, he glanced up to the bedroom window and saw the curtain shift, but not before a pale face stared down at him. He couldn’t make out the features, but it was there. He rubbed his eyes, blinked really hard, and looked again. The face was still there. It pulled the curtain shut and moved back, never taking its eyes off him.

  Allison’s ring felt heavy around his neck, weighing him down.

  He went to the house in the back facing the well and opened the door.

  “Hello?” he shouted. Just then, he heard footsteps running in the hallway upstairs. “Hello?!”

  He swung around to the front hall and looked upstairs. The footsteps continued. He walked slowly upstairs shining his phone flashlight into the darkness of the house.

  “Hannah?” He quivered as he reached the top of the staircase.

  A faint voice whispered back from the bedroom behind him, “Still-well.”

  He swiftly turned around shining the light in the room. It was bare; the curtains were swaying. There was no one there. He crept into the room, shining his light in every corner.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  A light caught his eye. It was emanating from the backyard by the well. He approached the window and realized this was the room where he saw the something from the well. He looked at the well, and in full form, practically glowing in the dark, was a white figure looking back up at him. It was about five feet tall with transparent legs and torso. Hovering in midair, it held out supple arms and pointed down the well. The apparition looked back up at Paul, its eyes bleak empty pools of despair. He backed away from the window. “No, no, no…” He heard a heart-wrenching howl, watching stupefied as it flew up to the window, reaching for him.

  He screamed as loud as he could, jetting out of the house like a star quarterback. He stumbled back to his car. “Why is this happening?” he screamed. He looked at the house, still in the night. No light, no sign of any ghostly apparitions. His head hurt, a sob escaped his mouth, and he knew he was insane.

  ====

  He sat slumped in the car and reached for his phone but couldn’t bring himself to call anyone. He felt alone, a speck of wounded humanity, a dot on the backside of life. His breath escaped, as a light shined into the car.

  He saw a black leather knuckle tap his window. Giddy with relief he lowered it to stare into the eyes of a local cop.

  “License and registration—hey.” The cop looked at his face. “You’re Paul Russo. I recognize you from the realtor signs.”

  “Um…yes. I’m really glad to see you.”

  “I’ll bet. The ghost scare you?”

  “What?”

  “Oh, we get reports all the time. Caught a few kids here last fall. Scared the shit outta me.” He laughed. He watched Paul’s white face. “It’s just kids. No such things as ghosts, Mr. Russo.”

  “I know. I was checking on the house.”

  “Yeah. They do the same thing down at the Randle estate as well as Bingham House.” He leaned against the door, confiding. “It’s the kids of one of the wealthiest families in the area. We’re supposed to scare ‘em off. We were warned not to take them in. Politics. Fucking rich bastards.”

  “I know what you mean. So, they’ve been doin
g this for a while?”

  “Years.”

  “Whew. Thought I was going nuts.”

  “Ha. Just a couple of brats.”

  “Thanks. Well, I got to get home.” He started the car, but his hands still shook.

  The officer patted the roof. “Drive safe.”

  He arrived home. He was exhausted as he saw his parents out. The kids were sleeping the sleep of the just; he checked on each one of them. Jesse’s covers were on the floor, Veronica was wrapped in her mother’s shawl, and lastly he unplugged Stella’s thumb from her pouting lips. It was Thursday. He rubbed both eyes with the heels of his hands. Sleep called to him, but he had to fill out forms for the open house they were having tomorrow. It was the brokers’ open house to introduce the Stillwell house. He had a meeting with a couple that was divorcing to price out their home, the first day of dance—a surprise for the girls—and finally Friday night was Molly’s psychic party. On top of that, Saturday morning was the first game of basketball for Jesse, and he knew they had to get a report on the state of Nevada done before Monday. Stella had a reading assignment, and lastly, he had to start a science project with Roni. He hadn’t done a science project in over twenty years. He didn’t know where to begin.

  He kicked off his shoes and stared at the TV, thoughts running like squirrels through his head. How was he going to get everything done and still make a living? He thought back to his panicked escape from Stillwell. Man, was he was relieved. It was only kids. They were clever; he had to give them that. But that didn’t explain the hairy friend who visited him nightly in his sleep. His thoughts called out to him as fatigue consumed him.

  He didn’t realize he had dozed off until the dream came. It wasn’t fair. He was so tired and wasn’t even in bed, but it still came. He was standing in his childhood home. It was a split-level in Long island. The house was fully furnished. He walked upstairs to his old bedroom. Allison used to come over and they played with his toys in there.

  The room was spotless. His bed was perfectly made, and Candy Land was tucked away on his shelf along with all the other games they played together. He had model homes he used to love to build and displayed them on his dresser. Legos were piled on a shelf. He’d have to fix that, he thought to himself. They belonged in a box. In Paul’s well-ordered world, everything belonged in a box. He walked over and marveled at the small homes. Each was fully decorated with tiny furniture. These were girls’ toys, which didn’t belong here. This meant Allison was nearby. He smiled but then smelled something awful. Almost rotten. He heard it before he actually saw it hunched on his bed, on all fours. He caught a glimpse of something dark, foul, and hairy. It clawed his comforter, and cotton batting floated around the room. He felt lifted as though he was being propelled to the heavens. Allison floated into his view. She was young, dressed as Alice in Wonderland, her blonde pigtails neatly at her sides.

  “Allison.” He reached out to her.

  She started falling. He tried to follow her but was held back. His shirt was taut against his body, the thing at his back, holding him. He grabbed at the air, trying to turn to swat the ape, but he couldn’t. Vile laughter filled the silence.

  “Allison, what is happening?” He heard his own boyhood scream as he watched her being sucked into a tunnel.

  He started gliding to her, rancid breath moistly blowing on his cheek. Chills ran down his neck. Turning, he tried to see the hairy face, but his eyes were glued shut. His stomach shot acid up his throat. His heart beat frantically against the walls of his chest; it felt like a trapped butterfly. The monster’s sibilant growl filled the void. “Mine” it repeated until Paul covered his ears to drown out all sound except for his own sobs.

  He jumped up to an empty room, the television screen flashing the test sign. It was cold. Shivering, he walked to his bed, his eyes watchful and wary. He stripped and threw himself on the bed, tired, but afraid to sleep. “Ally,” he whispered. “I wish I could help you.”

  chapter 6

  Friday

  Morning came with relentless rain. An autumn chill made him put the heat on in the house, and he wondered briefly when he had to order oil. Did it come by itself, or did Allison order the tanks to be filled? He just didn’t know. His mother had graciously made lunches, which pleased both him and the children. They left cheerfully with all kinds of sweet surprises in their brown paper bags.

  No cleaning woman today, so he did a quick load of laundry and enjoyed the convenience and wonder of grocery home delivery. As he walked the aisles of his cyber store, he realized he better learn to shop with a list, because the bill was astronomical.

  He knew he bought too much but arranged the delivery on the day when the cleaning woman could put it away. Let her deal with the mess.

  He called Molly, and they organized who was getting what. She placed an order for mini-cobblers at the local inn that had authentic colonial-style cakes. He had suggested they serve tea, since it was a Loyalist house; however, his patriotic friend wouldn’t have it.

  The brokers’ open house was scheduled for ten o’clock. He had arranged for bouquets to be delivered to put in several rooms of the house.

  “Did you get the brochures from the printer?” he asked.

  “They’re in my backseat. The photo’s been fixed and our friend is missing from the pictures.”

  “Yeah, right. I still say it’s a trick of light or something.”

  “Okaaaay,” Molly answered. “We’ll see what Georgia has to say about that.”

  ====

  He drove down 25A and placed signs strategically where people would see them. By the time he got to the house, Molly was inside the kitchen, warming apple turnovers.

  “I smell cinnamon, and what is that, cloves? Where’s the vanilla?”

  “Colonial, Paul. We go with what was available three hundred years ago.”

  “Have you been upstairs yet?” he asked her, and she understood exactly what he was talking about.

  “No, and I’m not going up there alone.”

  “I’m surprised at you. I met a cop here yesterday; he told me the kids play tricks at night. It’s just kids, Molly. Nothing more than some nasty tricks. Like on Halloween.”

  “I don’t like this place. I wish we could have done the cleansing before the open house.”

  “It’s just the brokers’ open. We’ll do it before the weekend before the buyers come. We just didn’t have enough time this week.”

  “There should always be enough time for a cleansing.” She took a bite out of a steaming pastry. “Yum. Try one. These are delicious.”

  He beckoned her to the steps and she followed him up the stairs. “This place is plain spooky. No pun intended. I want it gone before Halloween. I am not coming here on October thirty-first.”

  “I’ll get it sold,” he said a bit too confidently. They walked toward the last bedroom.

  “That’s the room?” she asked.

  He shook his head.

  “I don’t like it here.” She backed away. “There is an overwhelming sadness. I want to go downstairs. I don’t like it here.”

  He took her hand. “Come on. I’m with you.” He opened the door, her hand in his. The door swung open slowly, and they both shivered involuntarily. “It’s nothing. Come on.”

  Hand in hand, they entered the room. The air felt thick, and they both noticed the fragile draperies move. “There is no fucking breeze in here. I am totally freaked out.”

  “Molly, do you see anything? I don’t.” He pointed to the empty room. “It’s all imagination. It has to be.”

  In the distance a door slammed and they both jumped. Their eyes met and they rushed out of the room, laughing nervously all the way downstairs.

  ====

  They had a few curious realtors, but overall it was a dismal showing. The rain might have kept people away, but Paul was more than a little nervous he would have trouble selling the house.

  After cleaning up the kitchen, he heard Molly shout, “Paul, come here
, you’ve got to see this!” He put down the trash and walked into the main hall.

  “Were the flowers fresh?”

  “I got them this morning at Bliss, why?”

  She moved away so he could see his floral arrangement. This morning he had placed a large glass vase filled with hydrangeas, Gerber daisies, and roses in vibrant shades of purple, pinks, and yellow. Before him was a wilted display, the flowers dried and dying.

  “That’s strange.” He ran into the other rooms. All of the fresh bouquets he had purchased were brown and dead.

  “This place gives me the creeps. Let’s get out of here.”

  “You go ahead. I’ll finish cleaning up.”

  “Leave with me. I don’t like the feel of this place.”

  “Just your imagination, Molly. I’ll meet you at the Stevens place. We have to give them an eval of what their house is worth.”

  “See you in...”

  “Forty-five.”

  She left, and he finished tidying up the house. He dumped the flowers and locked the door. He walked around the back then went to the wishing well, wondering if he could make out what he saw the other night.

  The sky had cleared, but it still threatened rain. Trees wept with moisture, and soon, his expensive Italian loafers were soaked. Allison would kill him if she saw them. He smiled at that.

  The well had two weeping willows draping over it dramatically. He noticed it was quiet; he couldn’t hear any birds chirping. He leaned over and peered down the deep hole. Dank moisture met his face. It was humid with the odor of wet moss. Standing on his toes, he squinted in the darkness. There toward the bottom a shiny thing flickered at him. It wasn’t copper but gold in color. Embedded in the wall, he couldn’t tell if it was a coin, but it appeared smooth and circular. It was too far to reach, so he looked around for something. He spied a branch nearby and picked it up and extended his arm into the well. He reached and stretched farther. He leaned completely over the well, feet planted in the ground.