Stillwell: A Haunting on Long Island (13 page)

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 doing 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 k
icked 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 re
alize 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

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 c
alled 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 cle
aning 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.

The heavy limb was weighing him, and for a second, he felt his feet lift off
, and he thought he might topple in. Another centimeter and he would have tipped into the well. He heaved himself back onto the wet grass then fell on his ass. Throwing away the branch, he retreated, the glow of whatever was buried in the well winking in his memory.

====

They met at the next stop, a sad and somber affair. Both spouses were there, the hostility so present, the tension in the air could be cut with a knife. Molly’s false joviality stood out like a peacock among the pigeons, and he almost told her to shut up already. She was as uncomfortable as he. It was never easy to handle a divorce sale. The house reeked of the bitter root of failure, the oppressive air of anger. Mr. Stevens, a local lawyer, stood by the large picture windows facing a rolling lawn. Mrs. Stevens, who insisted everyone call her “Mariah,” sat defeated on a brown velvet love seat, her face forlorn.

Every so often he caught her staring at the indifferent back of her impeccably dressed husband
. When he delivered the sad news that they would be “underwater” and get less than what they owed on the mortgage, the husband shrugged coldly, and the wife bit back a sob.

Contracts signed, he vowed to get as much as he could and he meant it
. This house had no specters, but it didn’t relieve the sadness he felt inside its rooms.

Molly and he left the house and walked toward their cars
. “You want pizza tonight?”

“No time
. I have a ton of things to do.”

“You’re coming, right” she asked nervously.

“I said I would. I have to get the girls for dance class. We have to start a report and I want to be home to feed them. Is eight o’clock OK?”

“I’ll feed Georgia
. When you get there, you get there. Ciao.” She waved her long fingernails at him and dashed off to her convertible.

====

Paul made it home in time to get a nice pot of pasta going. As he chopped vegetables, he wondered if Allison was laughing her cosmic ass off. Using frozen gravy his mom left, he paused remembering how he explained what gravy was to his wife.

“It’s red, Paul
. It’s a sauce.” She pointed to the fusilli on her plate covered with her mother-in-law’s delicious sauce.

Smiling, he brushed an eyelash from her peach
-tinted, freckled cheek. “Gravy. We call it gravy.”

“Gravy is brown and you put it on potatoes.”

“Only in your Waspy home. This here is some genuine gravy by Arlene Russo.”

Laughing, they dug into their pasta dinner.

Lost in thought, he was startled as the first of his brood bustled through the door.

“Stella Luna, go wash and let’s get homework out of the way fast!” he ordered.

She ran through the room, dropping her schoolbag at his feet and grabbing a cookie before she rushed away. He tripped over her backpack, cursed, and called after her.

“I’ll be right back,” she
hollered back, and he heard the bathroom door slam.

The twins sauntered in, faces wind kissed and talking in that strange kind of singular conversation only they had
. They each took a spot at the table, and Paul explained how the rest of the evening was going to proceed.

“We are doing homework first.”

“Oh Dad,” Jesse interrupted him. “It’s the weekend. Mom gave us Friday evenings off.”

“Yeah, but we are kind of behind.”

“Have a little faith in us, Dad. We will get to the work, I promise. We need a break too.”

“But Stella’s got the Nevada report, you have
the science fair, and I don’t even remember what Jesse has to do.”

“Aunt Lisa is coming tomorrow
. She can help with the science report, and we’ll both help Stella with Nevada.”

“I did that report six years ago
. I know exactly what to do,” Jesse offered.

Well
, that was easy, Paul thought. “In any case, we have one hour and then I have a surprise for the girls.”

“What is it?” Roni nibbled on the cut
-up carrots he placed on the table. He had taken the cookies and put them back into the cabinet.

Veronica went to a blackboard in the corner of the kitchen
. “Let’s put our assignments up here, and...”

Jesse finished the statement.
“Next to it, report where you are up to. I’ll put Stella’s work up, so you’ll know what has to be done.”

Paul was impressed with their ingenuity
. They were bright kids.

Stella returned to the kitchen and Paul gave them the bag from the dance store
. “Go get ready.” He smiled at them then he turned to his son. “While they’re in class, we’ll go get haircuts. How’s that?”

“Sounds good
. My hair’s getting pretty long.”

====

They pulled up to a dance studio in the strip mall. He eyed the line of restaurants and noticed it was flanked by a pizzeria, deli, and take-out Chinese. Well, he thought, next week we go international. No more cooking on Friday nights.

He s
ent Jesse to the barber at the corner and told him to get in line and he would be there shortly. He needed to fill out paperwork for the girls. The front room was empty, and he listened to the excited chatter of his daughters as they hung up the black-and-pink nylon bags he had purchased. Stella was a plump little fairy, round and dimpled in her pink tights and black leotard. Alarmed, he noticed budding breasts on his older daughter to go with her willowy figure. He didn’t like that, no sir, he didn’t like that at all.

The room started to fill with overweight momm
ies holding bags for rambunctious, as well as noisy, little girls. The room became animated as his daughters reacquainted themselves with children he didn’t know. He thought he was familiar with most of their friends, but it appeared there was a whole world of things he didn’t know about his children. A tiny elf-like woman approached him. Black hair pulled back in a tight bun, her dancer duck-like walk had an elegance and he blushed when she caught him staring at her slim calves. Holding out a small hand, she smiled and said, “Mr. Russo...”

“Please
, call me Paul.”

“Thanks, I’m Ellie Marcus
. I own Gotta Dance. I’m so sorry about your wife. She was a great mom.”

“And a great wife too, thanks
.”

“I knew her from LH Wagner,” she referred to Stella’s elementary school
. “My son is in the same second grade class as your daughter. Mrs. Lustig. They both have Mrs. Lustig.”

“Oh. Right
.”