Free Stillwell: A Haunting on Long Island by Michael Phillip Cash

tripped. It was nothing.”
    “Are you sure you’re OK?”
    “Honestly, a bit embarrassed, nothing more. ” They shook, walking out into the morning sunshine.
    The back of his head hurt like the devil, throbbing with a life of its own . He swallowed two aspirin he kept in the glove compartment. Then he headed back toward town, insisting he was fine and could drive alone.
    What ’s happening, he thought. No matter how badly he didn’t want this listing, the more he kicked and screamed, the more the house was sucking him in. Paul knew it was a punch to the shoulder. He felt it. He could feel the clenched fingers as they impacted his body.
    Paul wanted to be done with Stillwell. The trick was to move it quickly, so he set up a broker open house for Friday, to be followed by a public open house the next day. Calling a caterer all while driving, he then phoned Molly to arrange for the professional photographer to do a spread for the Times and other high-end magazines. He avoided turning on the radio.                                                      
    He realized that lunch had come and gone , and while he wasn’t hungry, the overriding grief had eased a bit. The heaviness in his chest was still there but concentrating on other things relegated it to the background. His indigestion had also subsided.
    ====
    He pulled into the library, parked, and found himself limping slightly to the double doors. It was a tiny building, off the main street of town with a musty old smell. The librarian looked up when he entered. Surprisingly, it was packed with older people sitting on old mustard-colored vinyl seats, reading books and newspapers.
    “Where can I find records on the old houses in the area?” he asked.
    “How old?” She had a rusty voice to match her wrinkled face.
    “I want to research Stillwell Manor.”
    She paused, her lips pursed . “Are you a reporter?”
    “No, not at all . I’m a realtor. The house is for sale. I thought a bit of history...”
    “Just so .” Her face cleared. “I knew the Andrewses. They were lovely people.”
    “Yes . I grew up with Craig, their oldest son.”
    “You kn ow, it’s not what people think,” she whispered while leaning in close. The unpleasant odor of mothballs and mint surrounded her.
    “Excuse me, what?” he asked , confused.
    “Richard loved Maryanne . He would never have done such a horrible thing to her.” She shook her head and tsked. “They were so in love.” She placed a hand on his arm, her fingers like talons. “He would never have killed her.” Her faded blue eyes searched his.
    “I...I wanted to do some research on the family that lived there during the Revolutionary War.”
    “Oh,” she said and smiled, “you don’t need a book. I can help you. I am the local historian as well as the president of our DAR.”
    “What ?”
    “DAR, Daughters of the American Revolution. My family is distantly related to the Andrewses; we’ve been neighbors since the seventeen hundreds. My family is Newfield. You know, as in Newfield Mall.”
    “Newfield Mall?”
    “My family owned that tract of land. It was farmland and my parents sold it to developers in the fifties. I live in the original gatekeeper’s cottage. Oh, these old homes, they do have tales to tell.” She was excited now.
    “So, what do you know about Stillwell Manor?”
    “It was named for the wishing well in the rear . Have you seen it? Squire Andrews was a Loyalist; in other words, he supported the king, as did my ancestors. This whole area supported King George. The squire had a daughter, whose name was Hannah. She was beautiful. I have a portrait of her in one of the books somewhere. I’ll find it for you. But I digress. She fell in love with a local boy by the name of John. John Wendover, of the Hicksville Wendovers. They were a rebel family.”
    “Rebel family...you mean ‘patriot’? He was a patriot. This was during the American