The Lost Mansion

April, 1841

The affaire started with a series of strange letters from one of young Monsieur Augustin Perrault's uncles. Over the past few months, the otherwise amicable correspondence grew more and more agitated in tone. The older M. Perrault recently bought and moved into a mansion in the Alps, East of Grenoble, which for the past year he had been happily renovating. For a long while everything seemed to be in order, he and his populous family were enthusiastic about the work and content with the change of pace after moving out of a big city.

It was about three months ago when things took an unnerving turn. At first old M. Perrault attributed anything out of the ordinary to his own forgetfulness or to clumsy servants. This stage would not last long. As the correspondence between a solitary mansion in the Alps and Paris was understandably slow, the dark shift in tone in each consecutive letter Augustin received was stark.

The last one was a plea for help.

Augustin frowned down at the freshly opened envelope and the pages, the pale paper in sharp contrast against his warm brown hands. He knew he should go, but whatever should he even do there? What to make of all this? With a swift nod to himself, he gathered up all the previous letters, donned his overcoat and hat and set out to his favourite café. On his way he flagged down a couple of street-urchins, distributed a handful of sous and sent them off with a gathering call.

This was a matter that needed careful consideration and the counsel of his closest friends.

Not an hour later five figures were gathered in a smoky corner of a café, poring over the rumpled letters.

'So, to sum it up' one of them, a tall, burly fellow said 'Your uncle is complaining about objects being moved and hearing voices where none should be.'

'Exactly' said Augustin 'Here he writes about steps coming from the attic in the middle of the night. No one sleeps there and the trapdoor leading up is generally kept locked. Not only that, but a ladder is needed to reach it.'

Another figure, a lanky, thin, long-haired man leant forward and excitedly steeped his fingers.

'Must be a spirit!'

'Yves. Could you maybe be a bit more constructive?' said Augustin.

'But that is exactly what I'm doing? Come now, Alain, surely you can see it at least?' Yves turned to the burly man 'A forgotten soul! A daughter or maidservant trapped between the ancient walls, wailing in wain for the family that left her behind! Surely she...'

Yves could not finish his tearful tale of the theoretical tragic lady as he was rudely interrupted by a deep, resounding, throaty laughter.

'Only you, Yves, only you could come up with this! Gus, dear fellow' their fourth friend spoke up, still shaking with mirth 'I'm sorry but your uncle is hearing voices. And seeing shadows if I recall your account correctly. He needs a doctor, is what he needs.'

'You know, Nicolas... actually I thought about this. That he might be out of his mind. But that doesn't explain everything.'

Nicolas leant back in his chair, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

'What else needs explaining?'

Augustin picked up another letter.

'He's not the only one who's seen and heard odd things. Also, people are behaving strangely. Here' he tapped a line on the paper 'He writes his oldest son is being needlessly harsh with both the family and the servants and that his wife had been in a downcast mood for weeks. I know my aunt, you will never meet a more cheerful woman! One of the maids had been screaming for two consecutive days! Two whole days until she went completely hoarse! Also, how do you explain the moving objects?'