Stillwell: A Haunting on Long Island (16 page)

====

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.

====

His sister was at the table when he walked in doing a jigsaw puzzle. It was spread across the surface, a small section established. He glanced sideways, recognizing St. John’s, a historic church in Cold Spring Harbor.

“It’s a puzzle of the town.”

“Yeah, Allison bought it at the church auction last year. We never got around to doing it.”

“You don’t mind?”

“What, no. I don’t mind at all. Neither would she. You gonna crash here?”

“Do you want me to
? What did you find?”

Gently, he pushed the pieces away to make a spot at his end of the table
. “Kids?”

“All asleep
. You know it’s past ten, right?”

He ignored
her comment. “Look, it’s Hannah Andrews’s diary.”

“No shit
. The murdered girl from Stillwell?”

“The one and only
. I found it in a small crawl space over her room. You interested?”

“Sure
.” She continued with the puzzle.

“She’s a young girl here
.” He scanned the pages. “Hah, she complained about the sermon at St. John’s. Wow.”

They both looked at the incomplete picture on the table
.

“Funny. It’s like we’re all connected.”

Thunder boomed and lightening lit up the window bathing their faces in electric blue. Their eyes met and they laughed, but drew closer together. They heard the rain pummel the roof.

“Tell me about it!”
he huffed. “I’m cutting to the chase.” He flipped the pages carefully to the year of 1777. “Here.” He squinted as he started to read: “I met a boy. He’s the son of Mr. Wendover. Mr. Wendover and my father had some business to conduct. His name is John and is as swarthy as a gypsy.”

“She’s cute,” Lisa said
. “Get to the good stuff.”

“Wait,” Paul mumbled
, taking it all in. His lips moved rapidly as he read to himself. “The romance progresses. They are meeting by the wishing well, secretly. Her maid, an Irish one…” He looked at her.

“And that is significant, because...”
she said without looking up.

“Because June’s ancestor was an Irish maid in the household.”

“And you know that because?”

“June related a story about her ancestor.”

“Yeah, but I’m sure they had more than one Irish maid.”

“Could be, but only one left because she was pregnant by the boss
. Listen to this: ‘I despise my father. Brigitte is increasing. He is a beast. I know it was him. She has not told me, but I have seen her bruises. She is a dear, sweet little thing. He is an animal, a great hairy beast who takes advantage of defenseless servants. Should I tell Mama?’”

“Wow
. Now that would make a good book.”

“There’s more
: ‘My hatred grows. He has forbidden me from seeing John. I love John. I fear the worst has happened. I am increasing and my father has locked me in my room. What shall I do about my babe? John has promised that we would wed. Papa has forbidden me from seeing him. I will not be able to hide my babe much longer.’”

“Gothic. Keep going.”

“‘Brigitte has come to me.’” Paul added, “Oh, it’s terrible.” Then he continued reading: “She has overheard my father’s plotting. They are planning on putting compromising papers on John’s person. They will hang him as a traitor. My father thinks to end our romance in a heinous way. He is pure evil. I shall die if I can’t have my John. Sweet John...my own sweet love, who shall protect us. Who will protect our child? I greatly fear what my father will do. He will give away the babe. I must protect the babe. I must find a way to protect John and our child.”

“Do you think the father murdered his own daughter
?” Lisa sat back, engrossed in the diary.

“Don’t know
. She’s scribbling here, it’s hard to read. I don’t quite know what…” He read silently.

“What
! Share, Paulie. I’m totally titillated.” She hit his arm.

“She’s planning an escape
. They are going to meet by the well. The date, shit, look at the date.” His finger pointed to the date on the top of the yellowed page. It was 235 years ago, tonight.

“Wow. I just got the chills.”

“I gotta go back there.”

“
Paulie,” his sister pleaded. “It’s enough with that house. It’s late. It’s pouring.”

“Lee. I want to go
. I have to go.”

“It’
s not a haunted house. It’s haunting you. You’re searching for Allison. You have to stop this obsession. It’s possessing you.”

As if on cue, a crack of thunder shook the house.

“In more ways than you know. I think I’ll get the answers tonight. It’s too coincidental, the diary, the apparition…”

“What apparition
? Paul, this is getting too weird. Maybe, we should…” She reached for the diary.

“I’m not insane, Lisa,
I know what I’m seeing. What I am dreaming. It’s not kids; it’s Allison and she needs me. She’s communicating with me. Allison needs me. Please stay here tonight. Let me finish this.”

“I’m afraid to think what you need. Maybe some little blue
pills.” She stared at her brother, worried about him, her face pained.

“I’m not nuts
. I’m not crazy. I have to see this through,” he told her quietly.

“I’ll wait up.
” His sister held his hand. “Do what you have to do.”

“You don’t have to wait up.” He
grabbed his jacket and keys and rushed out the door.

“But I will
,” she told the empty room.

=====

The road was dark. Light pooled only around areas that had lampposts, the road of ribbon of silver, wet and slick. He careened onto 25A; it was empty, not even the cops were out. In the dark distance, the rain made it hard to see. Squinting, he made out a shape, which was a lump, crawling into the middle of the road. His wipers brushed furiously at the downpour and the road lit up as its void was fractured with a jagged bolt of lightening. The lump rose to its feet, holding out both arms to stop him. He swerved, but as he bypassed, he felt a hard thump hit the car. He glanced back, and searched, but could see nothing but stygian darkness.  He slowed, feeling his nerves raw, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckled hands. Not more than five feet, it rose up again, now closer to the middle of the hood of his car. It was the beast. Out in the open. He pressed the gas, hoping to hit it. He wanted to see its ugly, hairy face when it died. Adrenaline rushed thought his body, he sat up, his face a snarl of rage. He wanted to kill. The engine groaned as he put the gas pedal to the floor, and he heard a resounding crunch as the car drove over the thing. “Come meet me, face to face, you mother fucker!” he screamed at the monster. He turned in his seat and lost control for a minute as the car skidded into an embankment. He got out holding a bloody nose, the rain plastering his shirt to his body, running back to see if it was dead. He jogged ten feet, sloshing though puddles and saw nothing. He searched for a landmark to see where it went down, and couldn’t find anything. He looked at his car lying sideways, walked another twenty feet, and saw there was nothing there. His breath came in short pants as he ran back to his car. He ran his hand along the front fender and felt for signs of an impact. There was none. No blood, no hair, no dent. What was happening to him?

He saw though the gloom that he was at the base of the Stillwell driveway. Grabbing the key and his phone, he approached the entrance, lightening flashing and the smell of ozone heavy in the night air.

He pressed on, running up the driveway in the pitch black to Stillwell, the house a dark silhouette in the night sky. It was silent as he opened the front door. His feet echoed in the stark hallways. Taking the steps two at a time, he launched himself upstairs, leaving a trail of water. He positioned himself near the window, gazing out at the well. The orbs were back, dancing around the stone structure.

“Show yourself to me!” he urged
. “How does this tie in to Ally?” He felt a tug on his shoulder, and as he turned, a beastly arm swung forward and hit his chin. It tasted salty with blood. It was back! A huge foot stomped his gut, and he rolled impotently on the floor. A well of anger surged within him and he jumped, smacking down the demon, its tail whipping around in a wild frenzy. They rolled on the floor toward the doorway. His knuckles split as he pummeled the hard hairy back of the thing. “Ow, ow, ow.” He shook his bruised hand. It hurt like a mother. He kicked the beast hard, satisfied with the hiss of pain. He used the wall to steady himself and rose and scrambled out of the room, a hot breath of hell on his back. The stairs rose up to meet him as the monster landed on his back. They tumbled down together in a bizarre primal dance. He escaped to run out of the house, but for a reason he couldn’t explain, he ran to the well instead of the safety of 25A.

The well was lit with an unexplainable incandescence
. Paul raced toward the shining beacon while slipping on wet grass. Hot breath heated his shoulder, the dank smell of rot enveloping him. His fingers bit into the solid cobblestone of the well. He leaped onto its wall and reached for the orbs, wanting to grab them. Touch them. He could feel them glide upon the hairs of his arms. Like static electricity, it didn’t hurt, but crackled with energy. Their heat enveloped him. Reaching forward, he held out an arm, his balance precarious. The cobblestones were slick with water. A solid thunk to his back sent him reeling downward, his head banging into the hard wall of the dark cavern. Lights flashed behind his eyes; he saw a figure in the distance. He reached out, but the floor rushed up to him and then the air left his body as he hit the bottom of the well.

It was so silent it hurt. Time seemed suspended and he didn’t know if it was minutes or hours later
. He felt lighter than air and rose slowly upward. Enveloped in peace, he glanced back to see himself lying on the bottom of the well. He was dry, the rain had stopped. Oh, he thought, so this is death. Music came to him, soft whispers of sound, not quite singing, but a peaceful chanting. A light pricked the darkness, growing larger and larger as he moved toward it. A woman dressed in white had her back to him, tendrils of blonde hair swaying around her graceful body. She was surrounded in a white light, so bright it should have hurt his eyes, but strangely it didn’t. As he reached out, he noticed his hand showed no sign of his fight; his knuckles weren’t bruised or bleeding. “Allison,” he whispered, happy and relieved to feel her presence. She held out a translucent hand and turned her palm up to stop him. She floated in one spot. “What...”

“I love you
, Paul.” Her voice was like music.

He swallowed the lump that lodged in his throat
. Her voice continued, “I love you, but you must do something first.” He heard her loud and clear, though her lips never moved. “You must deal with the demon first.”