Hello, my fellow travelers on the fireside mystery theater train of terror. Next
stop, a bucolic, mid sized mansion home to the elderly, the infirm,
and more than a few hidden secrets. This is our final story,
the Twilight episode. As we sunset our collection of Connecticut true crime nightfall on
the Nutmeg State. The story you are about to hear now, the Confession
of Amy Archer Gilligan, was taped live at the Westport Library in Westport,
Connecticut, on Friday the thirteenth of October twenty twenty three. For the last
stop on our journey through the horrors of Connecticut. We find ourselves just north
of Hartford, in the cosey town of Windsor. The year is nineteen fourteen,
and as we head down Prospect Street, we find ourselves standing in front
of a snug three story brick house a picturesque wrap around porch. This is
the Archer Home for elderly people and chronic invalids. It's selfless proprietor, Amy
Archer Gilligan, known locally as Sister Amy, is a well respected pillar of
the community, never seen without a Bible tucked under her arm. Such a
saintly and splendid woman. Let's head inside now and take a look. It
appears we may just be able to catch sister Amy in action as she tends
to one of the home's residents, one who has unexpectedly fallen ill. Sometimes
I feel like there might be something very, very wrong with me, she
sream me. No, no, no, no, no, Father David,
I did not mean to wake you. I apologize. I thought I
might come in and sit with you as these maybe your final hours before the
Good Lord calls you home. Should we be called doctor King? No no,
no, no, no no, it's not time to call doctor King
yet, absolutely not. I did bring you another glass of lemonade to wet
your whistle and help with that cough. Go on, good, that's good.
Father. Soon you'll be walking in His kingdom and you'll never have to
feel pain or sorrow. All the troubles of this world gone help me alone.
I hope I've made you comfortable. Father has been such a blessing to
have you with us, But now you need to do something for me.
I need you to hear my confession. I'm afraid I've made a mistake.
Consider this your last act in the service of God is that all right?
Will you hear my confession? This is a bit of a long story,
but I'll try to make it quick. I know you don't have long I
can see the signs. Do you recall the first day your parish brought you
to us? And I want to thank you again for taking father after his
episode. We just did not know what to do. Well. I understand
you just aren't equipped at the rectory to take care of a man in such
a stick, and thank you for your generous donation. Of course, it's
not what I would charge my typical residence. I do hope you know that.
As Jesus said, my father's house has many rooms, but I only
have six. If I could board him for free, I would, But
tending to the elderly and infirmed does come with a price, quite a price.
We thank you from the bottom of our hearts. I want you to
know that our entire paris chipped in and we've set up a special box for
additional tides that people can donate to every Sunday. He tended to our flock
for almost sixty years. We want him to be as comfortable as possible.
Of course you do, thank you, sister. I will appreciate anything you
said. So this is the common room. It's where our residents can read
or relax. Some of them paint with watercolors, play the piano. Oh,
hello, sister Amy. I was just coming in from the garden.
The sunflowers are looking very nice, yellow, very happy. Yes they are.
And this is our caretaker, Franklin Andrews. Mister Andrews. This is
sister Mary and father David. He'll be staying with us for a while.
Oh, she must be a real sister. Nice to meet you, sister,
Sister Amy. Isn't a real nun? Been married two times? Yes
she has. She's a splendid woman. And I know sisters don't get married
because they're bride's to Jesus Christ. Now I have to say this because this
is confession and need to be entirely truthful when you confess. I hated Andrews.
He was a big, simple minded oh who came to stay with us
when he realized he'd become a burden on his sister Nelly. He was never
actually hired as a caretaker. I never hire someone like him, but I
needed to give him a sense of purpose so that he would leave me alone.
I can't exactly tell you what put me off about Andrews, but my
hatred for the man was so deep, so intense, that at times it
almost felt like love. I came to look forward to seeing him tramping around
my yard, tending to his garden. The hatred would well up in me,
hot like magma and of volcano roiling, but never erupting. I was
quite proud of how composed I was in his presence. Anyway, that was
the day you met Andrews and mister Smith. Sister Amy's husbands are both dead.
Thank you, mister Andrews. A wonderful reminder, Sister Mary. Allow
me to show you father's room. Good morning, Sister Amy. I didn't
know we were receiving another guest today. Yes, mister Smith, why don't
you get acquainted? While I finished showing Sister Mary the grounds, I'll be
right back with some fresh ice cold lemonade. Oh that sounds lovely. It's
for residence only. Right this way, mister Andrews will watch father. Hello,
Smitty, this is father David. He doesn't talk because he had an
episode while he was giving communion. That's why his face is like this.
I'm not supposed to talk about how his face looks. But I don't even
think it looks that bad. It just looks like he's happy on one side
and frownie on the other. I suppose it does. Hello, Father David.
I'm Charles Smith, but my friends called miss Smitty. Smitty moved here
after mister Baldwin died. He's really good at jin rummy. Have you seen
missus Lonsberry? I thought I saw doctor King here on Friday morning. Oh
yes I did. Missus Lonsberry died and doctor King took her away. That's
why Father David came to stay with us. I hope that's okay that I
said that. Sister Amy says, I'm not supposed to talk about when people
die and then new people come and sleep in their beds. Well, dying
is a part of life. I'm sure father knows that. And here you
men are some nice ice cold, freshly squeezed lemonade for residents only. Well,
perhaps you can have half a glass just this once, mister Andrews.
Here you are, mister Smith, and for you Father, thank you.
Oh oh, how wonderful. Those are the first words he said. In
almost three weeks. I can already see him improving. I believe father will
find peace here. We will take excellent care of him. Yes we will.
Sister Amy isn't a real sister, but she is devoted to doing good.
Yes she is. That idiot did occasionally speak the truth. Father.
I am devoted to doing good. It is all I live for. But
there are times. There are times when oh more lemonade, Father, there
you go, Oh well, get a warm rag, clean you right up.
See, I am a born caretaker. There there won't be long.
Now. Feels so good to do good, doesn't it. I sometimes worry
that there's something wrong with me, because when I do good, it feels
very good, very very good. Is that all right? Father? I
should be able to exalt in my good deeds, shouldn't I? Is it
okay for me to feel this good? I don't want to tell you what
I did, but I have to. I need you to absolve me and
make me clean again. Do you remember that day in the garden I was
having a private conversation with doctor King. Yes, I believe the cause of
death was severe indigestion. Such a shame. He seemed to be doing just
fine. He was so grateful for my kind and tender care that he had
recently rewritten me into his will. What a kind man have you told the
family? Not yet, I'll send word this afternoon. Oh is Muggy out
today? Do you think I might get a glass of that lemonade I saw
in the common room. It's for residence only. Well, hello, mister
Andrews, Hello doctor King. I'm going to bring Smitty these flowers for his
room. He's been too sick for cards lately, and I think they yellow
will make him happy. Yellow is my happiest color. Yes, yes it
is. I don't think colors can be happy or sad, mister Andrews,
But I'm afraid to say that mister Smith passed away last night. Good night,
sweet Prince May. Flights of angels sing thee to thy rest. Amen.
Okay, I'm in, But but Smitty just got here. He wasn't
sick at all. He was walking in the garden with me. He was
going to teach me a magic trick. Well, these things happen with the
elderly. One day they're up and about, Then the next day they are
in shop. Decline. The Lord works in mysterious ways. Yes he does.
I suppose he does. Well, I will miss Smitty it doesn't make
any sense. When I first came here, people died once or twice a
year, But now they're coming and going one after another. It seems very
sad. I've been writing to my sister about it. Why and why would
you do that? Nellie is the smartest person I know, and I asked
her why people were dying so much, and she said she didn't know,
and that I could come home if I wanted to. But I don't want
to be a burden on Nelly. No I don't. She is concerned,
though, she's concerned, and she says she will talk to all the families
of the residence and see if she can figure it out. I have no
doubt. I'm sure she will solve the mystery of why old people at the
end of their lives die. I bet you will. Nelly is the smart
one. Why don't you take your mind off, mister Smith and take a
nice walk into town. There's a shopping list on the kitchen table. Do
not forget the arsenic But I just bought some last week, and yet we
still have rats. Yes, ma'am, and Andrews, go ahead and have
a glass of lemonade. I thought that it is for residents only, but
you have earned it. From now on. You have as much lemonade as
you let. Yes, ma'am. I don't know about you, but I'm
in the mood for a nice, ic cold glass of freshly squeezed lemonade.
Mm. Such a wholesome beverage. Not a dark intent in sight? Or
is there? Find out after a few words from our sponsors. Now back
to the confession of Amy Archer Gilligan. Father, father, are you still
with me? Oh? There you are, Stay with me just a little
longer. We are almost there. So I had told Andrews in no uncertain
terms not to bother his sister with letters about my business affairs. I had
given him multiple warnings that people outside of our residents did not need to know
about the personal, family, business and private deaths of their loved ones.
You can see how he was being very disrespectful and spreading rumors. Families that
bring their most beloved patriarchs and matriarchs to stay with me do not want their
familial tragedies blasted off in letters to go God knows who, and God knows
where Andrew's but the work I'm doing here at risk, so for the greater
good, I did what I had to do. Father, you have to
believe me that it was an absolute last resort. And of course then my
worst nightmare came true. I do not know if it was God smiting me
or Lucifer testing me, but when Nellie Pierce darkened my doorstep, I knew
I was being punished. Missus Pierce. I am so sorry for your loss.
Murderer Franklin was in the prime of his life. He wrote to me
every week. He told me he was gardening and taking a four mile walk
to town every other days. Come in. I know the death of mister
Andrews was very sudden and it must be quite distressing. Your doctor, if
he is a real doctor, said Gastric Ulcers, I demand to see his
body. Unfortunately, he was already sent to the burial plot specified in his
will. Yes, his will, And how did you get a copy of
that? Why would he change it? So suddenly? My brother did not
have much, and he told me he'd just giving you another loan. What
do you need? Another loan for proper care for the elderly comes with price?
Oh? Is that what you're doing? Caring for the elderly? What
else could I possibly be doing? Don't play the saint with me, sister.
My brother was an idiot, I'll give you that, but even he
could tell that you are murdering people in playing sight. How dare you?
I am doing the Lord's work. And your brother was delusional. He was
sad about losing his friend, and he created this fantasy that I am responsible
for the deaths of people already dying. Not Franklin, He wasn't dying.
And you aren't running a residence for the elderly and firm. You are running
some kind of murder factory. I am not. You look flushed. May
offer you a glass of lemonade. You may not. I am going to
the police and the press, and I won't sleep until I prove that you
killed my brother. I am going to rip that sweet old lady mask right
off your face and show everyone exactly what you are, a cold blooded killer.
And of course she's not wrong, and the broad sends Nellie Pierce is
the smart one, indeed, but she doesn't understand, and no one will
believe her. I must leave her up to God. I know what I
am doing is not the sin you see, father, When I was a
child, I had a dog with beautiful yellow fur goldie. She was my
love, my constant companion, until one day she went away, just disappeared.
I thought maybe a coyote had got her, or she'd drowned in the
stream. But then months later I heard crying sounds coming from inside the barn,
and there she was. She'd been running with strays and had given birth
to six tiny little puppies, with the seventh on the way. That something
was wrong. She was whining and bleeding, and I could see the pain
in her eyes. The light was getting weaker and weaker, like your eyes
are now, Father, and I knew that she was asking, begging for
me to send her home to God. It was a mercy, and I
wept, But I also felt good. I felt clean and righteous. I
had found my purpose, an angel on earth, meant to faery dying souls
to the Kingdom of God. I felt the light of the Lord radiate through
me. So when I did the same to her litter of puppies, I
thought I would keep feeling that beautiful light. I was surprised when I didn't.
It felt good, but not righteous. I felt off. It was
exactly the same feeling I felt when I poisoned to my husband's I told myself
that it was necessary in order to continue my good work. The insurance money
from mister Gilligan allowed for a renovation crucial to keeping my doors open. But
if I am being completely honest, he drank too much and was too rough
with me, and I wanted him to die. Mister Archer was much sweeter
in temperament, but I also desperately desired a soaking tub in my private bath.
So you see, I was sending them to God for selfish reasons.
I know that helping Goldie pass on was clearly the Lord working through me,
and when it's right, it is such an honor to do his will to
send a member of his block home. Father, you are almost there,
and I am finally ready to give my full confession. I did murder Franklin
Andrews, not because I hated him, which I absolutely fully did, but
because he was compromising my good work. But I see now that it was
selfish. It was a sin. I was being prideful and protective of my
mission. He did not deserve to die, and I am sorry, Oh
Father, thank you. I feel so much better now. I am renewed.
How could there be anything wrong with allowing the Lord to work through me.
Oh, oh, there you go. Don't fight it, don't fight
it, just let go. Oh, bless you father, good night,
sweet prince made flights of angels singly to thy rest. Amen. It feels
so good to do good, so very good. Perhaps a little too good.
Kyle Gosley here, local writer for the Hartford Current. Despite the credible
evidence delivered by Nelly peers to every authority and publication available, her accusations regarding
her brother's death fell on deaf ears. So while I wasn't the first to
suspect foul play, I was the first man to suspect that something wasn't quite
right at the Archer home. You see, I wrote for the obituary section,
and I couldn't help but notice that I was writing an alarming number of
death notices for sister Amy's residence. That evidence, bolstered by Nelly's testimony not
to mention the ludicrous quantities of arsenic Amy was purchasing, eventually led to a
formal investigation. In nineteen seventeen, Amy was convicted of the murder of Franklin
Andrews and sentenced to death by hanging. She appealed pled insanity and lived out
the rest of her days in the Connecticut Hospital for the Insane in Middletown.
She passed away in nineteen sixty two at the ripe old age of eighty eight,
older than most of the approximately forty people. She is suspected of sending
home to God. And now please welcome a fine songwriter who originally hails from
this hallowed town of Westport, mister Tom Shaner. She dressed like Emily Dickinson,
but her hair was blind, her eyes were blue. She said,
this world is thick with sin. It was a woman liked me to do
Sunday's on her front stoop. She offer you homemade me so soup. She
said. She lives with few regrets. She'll pass around a bowl of Tempe
croquets. People said she moved away, but her bike is still outside her
place in the alley. I see her cat. I think there's more to
the story than that. A Vanessa the vegan murderous. She's the kind of
goal doesn't like much fuss. She has a little bit of poison, but
she takes no joy and turning purveyors into preying fast Henry of a butcher.
He's gone yes, he's gone. He's hanging in his med locker. He's
gone. Yes, he's gone. She slipped a little poison into his teeth
as he turned around to slice some salami last Tuesday. Vanessa the Vegan Murderous.
She's the kind of gal you can trust for you may not agree waver
for Lasoeurphie. She feels she has integraty mapelvel fish manga. She's gone,
Yes, she's gone. She was strong, the poison was stronger. She's
gone. Yes, she's gone. Floating in the sea. There's her baseball
cap. They found her remains and allowed us to trap. That's that Vliss
the Vegan Murderous. I could tell you first hand she was delicious. How
would I know? How you say, how would I know? They call
me wild eyed Cannibal Joe. That was Tom Shanner and his gloriously ghastly song,
Vanessa the Vegan Murderous. One more thing before we part. Typically,
this final part of our broadcast belongs to our resident poet and philosopher, the
esteemed doctor David Linton. He could not join us this evening, so I'd
like to share with you one of our very favorite poems in his cannon,
one that strikes right at the center of what it is we do here at
fire Side Mystery Theater, and why we do it. It's called late night
radio. You're wide awake, You're out of sheep. No matter how they
jump, you just can't sleep. They say to count them as they leap
the fence, but you have learned that makes no sense. So up you
go to get a drink into the couch. You slowly sink. Nearby there
sits a radio. You flip the switch and make it glow. Your fingers
grasp the tuning knob to find distraction. That's your job. The needle slides
along the dial. When the static clears, you stop a while. There
is a voice, perhaps a song, that makes you pause, though not
for long. But then here's one to tease your ear. It seems to
say this. You must hear two people locked in deep contention, their voices
filled with angry tension. They snap and growl with building rage, like classic
actors on a stage in a shower. How dare you mock me? A
man responds, don't try to block me. I'm leaving now. I've had
enough. I'll pack my bags and take my stuff. Oh no, you
don't. You've had your fun. Now sit right there until I'm done.
There's more I've got to say to you. You'll have to wait until I'm
through. Oh yeah, just try to make me stay. You think you
always get your way. Then there was silence from the speaker before the voice
became much weaker. What are you doing? What have you got? Don't
aim that at me? You could go off it could, She laughed,
then cocked the trigger. I guess that now I look much bigger. You
say you've had enough of talking, that it's time for you to just start
walking. Well not quite yet. Here's what I say. There's an easy
way to make you stay. The radio speaker, amidst a blast an organ
chord makes it seem to last owne fades out for a moment or two,
and then a new voice speaks to you. An announcer asks, do you
think he's dead? Do you want to know what lies ahead? Let's take
a pause before we answer, and hear a few words from our sponsor.
Now you're hooked sleep past to wait until you find out how these two meet
their fate. And that was the confession of Amy Archer Gilligan. The cast
featured in this episode include Casey Laforest as Amy Archer Gilligan, James Reeser as
Father David Eric, David Gislissen as Franklin Andrews Alan Laforest as Charles Smith,
Michael Pate as Doctor King, Mary Murphy as Nellie Pears, James Kleinman as
Carlin Gosley, and the part of Sister Mary was played by me Allie Silva.
The song Vanessa the Vegan Murderess was written and performed by Tom Shaner accompanied
by Nico Slater. The Confession of Amy Archer Gilligan was written by Liz Leiser
with Casey Laforest, and the poem Late Night Radio was written by our resident
poet, doctor David Linton, and performed with love by our company. Our
live show and podcast are produced by Gustavo Rodriguez and me for Fireside Mystery Productions.
The live performance of Nightfall on the Nutmeg State was supported by Verso Studios
at the Westport Library in Westport, Connecticut. Our musical score was performed by
Nico Slater. Our lead sound effects designer and engineer was Greg Russ. Additional
sound designed by Ricardo Delgado and Ali Silva. This series was directed by the
team of Lizleiser, Casey Laforest and Ali Silva. Our fabulous Fireside production coven
includes Lizleiser, Casey Laforest and Mary Murphy. Jason Graves composed our theme music
and I manage our audio post production. Want to support us, become an
FMT Patreon patron today by going to patreon dot com slash Fireside Mystery Theatre or
follow the link from our website. It's a great way to stoke our fires
and hear early releases Patreon only content, and enjoy other rewards as you help
to keep our fireside flickering. If you fancy, give us a rating and
review, and you can follow us on social media at Fireside Mystery. When
next you find yourself strangely ill, laid up with inexplicable indigestion, gazing up
into the kind, god fearing eyes of your splendid caretaker, you may want
to peer behind the saintly mask, into the darkness of their wretched soul,
and to well, if it's not already too late, mind the shadows