My name is Henry Bishop, I will tell you my horrible story…

This story happened to me in the late 70s and even the most terrible nightmare will seem only echoes of horror in comparison with those mysterious events which I participated in. I worked as a real estate agent, and we had an old mansion in Maine which no one could sell. It was as a dead weight on our company. As a stale product on a store shelf which was losing its value every day. After all, houses also have a shelf life. And then, one May morning the silence of our office on the Fifth Avenue was broken by a telephone call. That call changed my whole life. It was a Mr Johnson, a very strange client who was willing to seize this old junk called house. And even the fact that a family of five people disappeared in this house did not frighten him, but on the contrary it was the reason for such a strange purchase. After a brief conversation my boss decided to send me to Stonebridge, to this provincial hole in Maine. My task was to inspect the house and make sure that it still didn’t fall apart, and then to contact the clients for a deal.