What did you say? What do you want? What are you doing here? What's all the fuss about? You want to know about me? Hmmph. Well, all right, I'll tell you!

I was born in this house, this old, dark house built on rock at the foot of these crags near Sarnau in Wales. Sometimes I think this house wasn't built but rather grown like an outcrop of stone, pushed out of the earth by God Himself.

I went to school and was smart, very smart. I wanted to write like the Bronte sisters, but my family never knew how smart I was. So I watched and I saw and I listened and I heard.

This is how I looked in the old days. But in this house of sin that would change, too

I was to wed soon enough -- Sanford Mock was his name, a gentleman who owned a fleet of fishing vessels in Cardiff.

But it got put off! My sister Rachel had this room once. She died when she was twenty-one. She was a wicked one. Handsome and wild as a hawk. All the young men used to follow her about. With her red lips and her big eyes and her white neck. But that didn't save her. She fell off her horse, hunting. Hurt her spine. On this bed she lay -- month after month.

I asked -- begged! -- my betrothed if he would allow my sister to live with us, so I could save her soul from the eternal fire, but he would have none of it! He went off to the war and he died. So I cared for her in this house. Many's the time I sat here listening to her screaming.

Screams are not uncommon in this house. In earlier times this house was filled with the screams of lust. How they blashemed and reveled! They were all godless here. They used to bring their women here. Brazen, lolling creatures in silks and satins. They filled the house with laughter and sin, Laughter and Sin! If I ever went down among them -- my own father and brothers -- they would tell me to go away and pray. They wouldn't tell Rachel to go away and pray. Heh! And I prayed . . . I would have none of it! I left them with their lustful red and white women.

Soon the sins of the father were visited upon the sons; they turned their backs to God and God turned His back to them! This house is cursed. And I too am cursed. But I have staved my curse with the help of the Lord! Only when the woman and the others showed up on the night of the Great Storm did the curse almost overwhelm me. She was lean and her face was painted and she wore a gown of flame. But I am stronger than my sister and brothers. Like this house I too am built on rock!

My father is upstairs. He's still alive. He's old, very old. One-hundred and two. He is bedridden these eighteen years. Lately, I've had to care for my brother Saul. Saul is not well -- not well at all! I thank Our Lord and Savior for Morgan who helps me with Saul, though Morgan can be a handful -- at times. Morgan also keeps the generator working. I know Morgan's secret, which is the secret of this old house and the secret of my father Roderick. As for my other brother Horace, no one knows his whereabouts. He's not here at the house! So don't bother to knock if you wish to see him.

I'm old now, very old. And the old, dark house is now a bed and breakfast. And you're wicked. Young and handsome. Silly. And wicked. You revel in the joys of fleshly love, don't you? Now go. You can't stay here. No beds!