One: I Look Back Upon the Mysterious House
The events in this story really did happen. They were not, as people in my travels accused me, a work of my creative mind. It was not from the impressionable brains of my siblings, parents, associates, or even my servants, although at times I look back upon the mysterious house and feel that it all was a strange and realistic dream; a phantasm.
The truth was slow to enter my mind as to the nature of the mystery involving our house, and we were all puzzled by events that could have been described as supernatural. The tabloids enjoyed a good headline at the family’s expense, and the police knew nothing of the nature of the case in the house. My father would never have allowed it. No. The events of the case were not released to the public until after the entire mess was solved and closed. It was my brother, Vincent, who really solved the case, though I was instrumental in the discovering of secret truths that haunt me to this very day.
We were approaching the year 1900 rapidly, and the house was in Bangor, Maine. It was a massive colonial structure erected by our ancestors. The Darsey family had lived within its walls for nearly one hundred years, and we had intended to continue to do so for centuries and centuries to come.
We, of course, stemming from European aristocracy, were very detached from the political state of our country. It was not until later that my siblings and I became entangled in foreign relations, dastardly spies, and dangerous dealings. We had all grown up in the colossal house. There were six of us by the time the story began. I was the second eldest, next to Vincent, who was twenty at the time. My twin sister and I were eighteen, leaving the rest of my siblings to be socially known as “children” during the tragedy and horrific mystery that soon unfolded.
