When we last dispersed and everyone was tucked into bed, I ventured out alone in the darkness. I hope you can excuse my secret beat. I imagine no one is surprised to find the mystery only deepened.
I gathered my unraveled findings on the reclusive estate and its inhabitants and put on a soundtrack of noir standards in mono, complete with pops and hisses.
The record player in the next room accompanied as I typed away from my bathtub like a s newspaper columnist. I suppose in this dream detective scenario, the worn record was magically turned through the wee hours. Hidden House was written in the winter of and wrapped up with the transition to spring.
It was intended to be a large investigation for my book. Unfortunately there was not room for it and this discreet home history was ultimately nixed. Hidden House is a decadent, longform series, shared in parts, and is meant to be read by a fire on a cold winter night or two. Please review Hidden House Part Three as a brush up. A word of warning must be issued, as we very assuredly will not be concise or punctual in our exploration. That is of no interest to us. We are here to dillydally.
Under the spell of these names, I examined the particulars with a fine-toothed comb. As an aside, I found the name Einar Berg to be beautiful and strong and perilously similar to a beer s I once consumed on a dangerous night at the Uber House beneath the Crescent Moon.
