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The Rousseau House

by MJ Konevich

248 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #02-0388; ISBN 1-55369-575-5; US$22.50, C$25.99, EUR18.50, £13.00

Frederick Miller went into the house looking for gold. He never thought that the house would be looking for him.

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about the book      about the author      excerpt      catalogue info

About the Book Frederick Miller is new to Grendel. He has little money but big dreams - dreams that include becoming wealthy from the money that is rumoured to be hidden inside the Rousseau House, an ancient, brooding structure which has overlooked the town since time forgotten. The only problem is that the house has a reputation for evil. A reputation that is well-earned, as the story starts with Frederick digging a grave for the two latest victims of the house. He remains confident that he can reach success in finding the money where others have failed, because he just recently purchased several letters written by the last known inhabitant of the chateau: Francis Rousseau. The letters make passing references to the location of the money, as well as to a strange horror that also dwells within the walls of the house. Undaunted, even when another body is discovered, that of his boss, Frederick decides to take action. Along the way he encounters a dark bounty hunter named Larson who also believes that he can break inside the Rousseau House and steal the money therein. Together they strike up a bargain, with Frederick agreeing to share the letters while Larson agrees to share his knowledge of the area. While all this is occurring, another set of characters have begun to notice and take action. The man who sold Frederick the letters, Benjamin Barrett, has sent his servant to fetch an old friend, a historian named Nathaniel. He hopes that together they can uncover the true secret of the Rousseau House. His interest does not lie in the material wealth that is hidden there, but in the strange power that the place itself holds. It is a power that he desires to obtain at any cost.

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About the Author MJ is an affiliate member of the Horror Writer's Association (HWA) and the author of several short stories, which have appeared both on-line and in print. He has also written freelance articles for a music website (www.dragstripcourage.com) for the past five years, on top of working in mid-town Manhattan in the music industry. In his free time, he enjoys reading, traveling and, of course, writing. Born in Salem, Massachusetts, he was quick to embrace the dark past which existed there, using several of the town's more sinister areas as a backdrop for his writings. In The Rousseau House, for example, the chateau which is the main subject of the story is based on an actual decaying structure a few blocks away from where he lived. The saying "write what you know" is something that many writers hold true to their hearts and MJ is no exception to this rule. Once you open yourself to what's stirring inside you, anything is possible!

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Excerpt

Two bodies were found at the gates of the chateau known as The Rousseau House. They had been mangled to a point where visual identification was almost impossible, but everyone knew who they were anyway. Only outsiders would waste their lives going up there searching for something that everyone knew didn't exist -- something that had never existed, even back when it was still occupied. Nowadays, the house sat alone atop Gallow Hills on a vast acreage purchased nearly two hundred yeards earlier by one of the Rousseau family from one of the Kings of France. No one could recall exactly which one, but no one really cared. As far as they were concerned, the house had always been there. Construction of the chateau was completed within a year and soon after that, the family moved in. It had stood there in various states of opulence and decay for more years than anyone in Grendel could remember. It wasn't until a prolonged stretch of disease killed off many of the Rousseaus who occupied the house, that it was more or less abandoned. It had always been there and would always be. The townsfolk of Grendel could never recall a time when the odius house wasn't a part of the dreary landscape, a leering monster glaring down on them from its lofty perch on top of the hill. Its windows were more like haunted eyes than simple panes of glass that stood in the frames. A decaying slate gray roof and rotting Doric-style columns added to the discomforting aura of the house. Its disturbing appearance and the dark lore of the surrounding area made the townsfolk avoid the house, and indeed Gallow Hill, altogether.

For many years after the plague that claimed the majority of the Rousseau family, no one was even sure if the house remained occupied. That was, of course, until this morning, when news began to filter down about the mysterious deaths of two foreigners, who apparently broke into the structure seeking shelter from the rain last night. What exactly had occurred inside the house was unknown, but the result was indescribable and brutal. As the velvety morning mists slowly cleared in the pale light, their bodies were carted down the thin trail from Gallow Hills, just as many others before them had been. A small crowd had gathered to watch as the wooden, horse-drawn cart slowly clopped by with the mutilated corpses wrapped in black cloaks by resting in back. Crowds always appeared after a death. They were drawn to it like carrion flies to rotting meat. Only these flies were people and the rotting meat they sought were the cadavers of the two poor men whose lives had been taken under the most mysterious of circumstances. What remained of their bodies had been found at the gates of the Rousseau House, covered with horrible claw and bite marks that zig-zagged across and through the skin. Claws with the strength to tear muscle from bone, tendon from muscle and render what was left into nothing more than a steaming pile of flesh.

Unfortunately for the townsfolk of Grendel, this wasn't the first time they had seen this. Nor did they expect it to be the last. There were creatures that still prowled the ancient French countryside at night, animals that most wrote off as myth. But the people of Grendel knew better. They would not cast aside what they had been seeing for years with their own eyes just because educated men from a distant university claimed these creatures could not exist. They had learned long ago not to go near the house because of what lived there. If others chose not to listen to them, that was their own business.

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Catalogue Information

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