Stillwell: A Haunting on Long Island (17 page)

He drew back but knew it was behind him
. Its hot breath bathed his neck, while rivulets of fear curled down his spine.

“Turn around
, Paul, and face your demon. Paul...”

“I don’t want to.”
He pleaded.

“But you must.” She shook her head. She gave his shoulder a slight push
, and he knew there was no way he could refuse her.

“I’m here to save you
,” he persisted, trying one last time, suddenly afraid to turn around.

“If you truly want to help me, you have to face the demon...
Turn, Paul.” Her voice echoed in his mind.

Slowly, he spun, his eyes tightly shut
. He could hear the rasping bellows of its breath and smell the decay of its existence. It came close, so close he felt its bared teeth against his cheek.

“Open your eyes, my love.”

He slowly opened his eyes to look at the great hairy beast. Though its shoulders were big, and it had the long arms of its monkey ancestor, the face that Paul saw reflected was not a monster. It was not simian but quite human. It was a face he knew oh so well. Staring back was his own image. Grave and wounded, sad and defeated, he looked at himself, the monster within himself.

“You have to let me go,” his wife told him gently
. He turned, tears gathering in his eyes. “You have to stop fighting. Release me. If you love me, you will let me go.” Her voice echoed in his head.

“I can’
t. I love you. I don’t want to, I don’t want to,” he whispered like a child. “I don’t want to be without you. It’s me. I am the monkey wrench!” he cried.

“
Yes, my dear, my sweet, my own. Your love is holding me back. You have to release me. I need to go.”

He
swayed, his heart breaking. Sensing his pain, Allison touched his chest, filling him with light and love. “I am right here, Paul.” Her hand caressed his chest. “I will always be right here.” The electricity pulsed through his heart.

“Our love is eternal and you will never be without me
. Release me, Paul. Remember our pledge; it’s on our rings. I will love you more than eternity.” He moved toward her, ready to take her hand and go. She slipped out of his grasp, holding up a palm to halt him. “It’s not your time now, Paul. You can’t go with me. You still have things to do. Yes, I know you want to go, but you can’t. I will be waiting for you. I will be the first face you see when we meet again. As long as there are stars in the sky, I will be waiting for you.”

C
ontentment started to replace regret as he watched the monster beside him shrink, slowly disappearing. It deflated, sinking into a smudge, leaving only a soft wisp of smoke.

“It was my time, dear heart
. I came to do what I had to do in this lifetime. You have not completed your lessons. Learn quickly, my love, but not too quickly. There are still sunrises for you to enjoy.” Soft words caressed his face as he felt Allison around him, inside and out.

“But I don’t want…”
He heard the words come out as a petulant whine.

His wife became as translucent as smoke
, and he watched her brighten once more, only to fade away. A ghostly hand gently touched his cheek, and he knew suddenly that she was gone. Perhaps forever.

Allison’
s tinkling laughter echoed in his head as he became aware of the aches that consumed his body. Gritty dirt filled his mouth; his skin screamed from a dozen raw places. He heard the incessant ring of his cell phone and realized it was lying outside the well. His sister’s cries coupled with the sound of sirens wailing in the background. He cleared his throat, unsuccessfully crying out, “Here!” It came out as a croak, and he wondered how he was going to explain all this. It was daylight, and the rain had stopped. A soggy sun lit the well. He moved his arm, but it was dead weight. Broken, maybe. It rippled with pain as he tried to pull himself up. He was one massive bruise. A glint caught his eye, and he sat up, his back against the stone well. Reaching with his good hand, he pried the gold thing embedded in the rock. It came loose with the struggle and fell to the bottom of the damp well, circling to rest in front of his knee. There was enough light now. As he inched over, he picked up the ring. It had engravings on the inside as well as the outside. He brushed years of dirt and saw the words “more than eternity” engraved on the outside. He pushed himself upright and scanned the inside of the ring. “Hannah and John Married September 1777.” He made a fist and clutched it.

A chill danced down his spine, and he watched a rope slither down the well
. “You OK, buddy? We’re coming down.”

“No
.” He stood slowly. “I’m fine. I didn’t see the well and stumbled in. I can get up on my own.” He held onto the rope then straightened his arm with a groan. It appeared to work, bruised not broken, after all. He put one foot in front of the other, gripped the rope, and heaved himself up and out of the musty well, his newly awakened muscles screaming in protest.

“I was so worried
. I kept calling and calling your phone.” His sister brushed at the bruise on his forehead. “What happened? Oh my God, Paulie. I was so scared. What did you do to yourself?” His sister lovingly checked him for damage.

“Later
. I want to go home. I’ll tell you later.” His voice sounded rusty to his own ears.

“Do you think we should go to the hospital? They want to call
the paramedics.”

“I’m fine.”
He stretched. “A bit bruised. Nothing much. Let’s get out of here.”

An officer approached him
. “Was it those kids? Did they push you in? I’ll have their hides for this.”

“No
. Really. I stumbled in.” 

The officer eyed him
.

“One day I’m gonna nail those little bastards.”

“I’m sure you will.” Paul smiled.

His
kids ran to him. They had been corralled by the police on the terrace. Crouching, he gathered them to his chest and kissed their heads. The twins, satisfied he was well, started walking toward their car. Stella held onto his leg. He disengaged her and bent low.

“I’m
OK, honey. Let’s go home.”

“Mommy?”
She cocked her head.

“Mommy is fine
. Really fine.”

Stella smiled sweetly
, and when they turned to leave, she pulled him back from the departing people. She tugged his arm and pointed, “Daddy, look!”

The sky was bright with
the promise of a new day. He held Stella’s hand as two ghostly specters materialized and met face to face. They hovered over the Stillwell wishing well. Hannah and her John stood together, hands clasped like a bride and groom. They turned slowly, their faces peaceful, happy. Hannah touched the slight swell of pregnancy at her waist. She looked up and smiled at Paul then raised her hand and gently waved farewell. Stella waved back. As they turned to the other direction, they floated hand in hand, vanishing into the horizon.

Paul looked down
at the ring clasps in his hand, his thoughts on Allison, his children, and love. He considered what people do for love, honor, sacrifice. Closing his hand into a fist, he whispered Allison’s last words to him. “As long as there are stars in the sky.” He knew for sure she would be waiting for him.

Stella tugged on his hand and he bent painfully to be face to face with her
. “Where is Mommy now? Right now?”

He pointed to his chest and then touched hers
. “As long as there are stars in the sky, Mommy is right here with us. She will always be with us.”

He picked her up and
took his older children’s hands to live the life they had chosen. To fulfill the dreams of the ages, to complete his job, so that he could reach for the stars someday and be reunited with his Allison.

Stillwell was sold for $20.2 million, an astounding price, considering its reputation
. It was lovingly refurbished to all its former glory. Parties, once again, graced its halls and grounds and the Stillwell wishing well was filled with many shiny new coins with happy wishes. Paul never saw Craig or Melissa Andrews again. He heard they sold their house with another agent and divorced shortly after that. Molly continued to be his partner but took another job in the evenings as an assistant to Georgia Oaken. The ghosts of Hannah and John were never seen again.

Paul kept the diary
. He felt as though it was a part of him. His house had become peaceful, the ache in his heart healed. He knew now that he felt her love and that though he couldn’t see her, she surrounded him, enjoying his small victories at survival.

The summer day dawned bright and clear
. They had packed a picnic basket and were planning a day at the shore. The car was filled with happy children, as well as a couple of guests. Ellie Marcus and her son had started joining them more and more as they ventured out in the summer.

He pulled into
the gravel driveway of St John’s Church. It was high on a hill overlooking a beautiful pond that surrounded it like a green bowl.

“What are we doing here?”
Jesse grumbled. “It’s not Sunday and this is not our church.”

“You’re righ
t. I have to look something up.” He held out a bag of old bread. “Go feed the ducks in the pond around back.” Jesse grabbed the bag, but Paul held it just out of his reach. “No pushing, or shoving, and you two,” he said and looked at Jesse and his older twin, “watch the younger ones by the water.”

“
Gotcha.” Jesse grabbed the bag, shouting, “Wait until you see how they all fight over the bread.”

The kids scrambled out of the car.

“A church, Paul?” Ellie looked up at him, her eyes bright. They had just started sleeping together. She twined her fingers through his. Ellie waited patiently for him, investing time, listening until one day he noticed her, really noticed her. It was a sweet courtship, and while Ellie knew his first love was Allison, she was more than willing to be his second. He had a rare well of deep commitment that made everything worthwhile. There seemed to be room in the universe for second chances and for that Ellie was grateful.

“
I’ve been meaning to check this out.” She followed him into the dark interior of the three-hundred-year-old church. Tombs of the longtime residents of the town lined the walls. He stood in front of the Andrewses’ pew and walked around it to come to a tomb against the wall. It was Hannah’s grave. Elaborate, it was decorated by a guilty father perhaps. He touched her name gently and was momentarily startled when somebody behind him cleared his throat.

“You’
re interested in Hannah Andrews?” the rector asked.

“My wife’
s family is related.”

“
He married her here, you know,” the clergyman announced.

“What?”
Ellie gasped. “Hannah Andrews was married?”

“
Follow me.” The rector took them into the back room where rows of leather-bound books lined the walls. They heard the children’s giggles though the walls and smiled.

The rector’
s fingers danced down the rows of books and rested on a cracked column. “Aha, let me see...” He opened it and scanned the pages. “Here it is.” He pointed an ink-stained finger at two names and a date. “‘Hannah Andrews married John Wendover,’ secretly, I may add,” he said and looked up at them conspiratorially, “‘on September 25, 1777.’ Here is John’s death. He was hung, as a traitor October first. She threw herself into the well, October second.”

“
They said her lover threw her into the well, because he couldn’t have her.”

The rector shook his head
. “Her father told everyone that, because as a suicide, she would not have been allowed to be buried.”

Paul continued, “
On hallowed ground. Church rules. People who kill themselves can’t be buried on church land. Do you know where John is?”

“
However rich and powerful Geoffrey Andrews was, he was no match for the Wendovers. John Wendover has been in the tomb with her for years.”

Paul reached into h
is pocket and pulled out Hannah’s ring. In his other pocket, he had her diary. Handing it to the clergyman, he said, “I think these belong here.”

The rector smiled and took the objects
. “I believe they’ve been waiting for them.” He placed them on the top of the tomb.

The wind sighed through the church
, raising goose bumps. The sun peeked through the stained glass windows, leaving their faces filled with wonder.

Long Island was mostly pro
-England or Loyalist during the Revolutionary War. After the Battle of Brooklyn, troops were quartered and stayed throughout most of the conflict. Historical plaques dot the island, naming places that became famous for housing high-ranking people involved in the war.

             
Stillwell Manor is a figment of my imagination as is the library, and many of the streets mentioned in the book.

             
St. John’s Church is a beautiful white clapboard church in Cold Spring Harbor on Long Island.  It sits atop a hill as described and has many tombs from the locals from the 1800s.

While the island stayed loyal to King George, the Townsend
family of Oyster Bay became patriotic. Though their home, Raynham House, served as headquarters for the British army, the family remained ardent rebels. It is rumored that Lt. Col. John Graves Simcoe fell madly in love with the daughter of the house, Sally Townsend. In fact, the first known Valentine in America was found among her effects when she died a spinster at eighty-two.

It was also reported that Sally intercepted a message from Major John Andre regarding Benedict Arnold’s surrender of West Point
. Through her brother, they managed to get the message to General George Washington, causing Andre’s capture. It is said that both the ghosts of Sally Townsend, as well as John Andre, haunt the house. But that’s another story.

Another note about p
sychics. While Georgia Oaken is not a real person, the “session” is based on one I recently attended. Though the names and circumstances were different, the session ran similarly and was an enlightening experience.