“Well,” Lucas began, shooting me a meaningful look, “I know that this house was built for a well-to-do family of four in the late 1800s.”

“The Drapers,” Dad mumbled with a note of contempt that had nothing to do with the Drapers themselves and everything to do with their bodies being six feet under our property.

“Oh, you know about them,” Lucas said.

“Well,” Dad began, “the realtor told me they were the original owners. He also mentioned that this place had a reputation. What he didn’t tell me was that the Drapers had all died here on the same night and that foul play was suspected.”

“What?” I said. Though I knew about the dates, this was the first mention I’d heard about anything nefarious.

“Found out that little nugget at the local hardware store today.” With this, Dad balled up his napkin and tossed it onto the table. “Apparently, the Drapers’ eldest, a kid named Erik, got himself mixed up with some kind of cult.”

I slowed my chewing to a halt, my eyes bugging at the plate of food I now couldn’t hope to finish. Dread spread over me like a frost, and I laid my fork down.

“The Order of the Mothmen,” muttered Lucas, and immediately I lifted my widened stare to him.

“You know something about it?” asked Dad, who perked with sudden interest.

“The Order of the Mothmen,” Lucas repeated, speaking softly while sparing a glance toward Charlie, who stayed absorbed in Frozen. “They were a bunch of teen boys who were, much like the rest of the aristocratic world at that time, interested in Ancient Egypt and the occult. During the Victorian era, exploration of Egypt, along with the emerging practice of Spiritualism, was all the rage. People had Egyptomania. And anything having to do with the mystery surrounding death intrigued them.”

“Sounds about right,” huffed Dad with a laugh. “Victorians were a morbid bunch.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” agreed Lucas.

“So,” I began, not finding the humor anywhere in this, “what was this Order supposed to be about?”

“Well.” Lucas’s gaze bounced from me to Dad, as if he hoped my father would butt in and end the conversation before it could start. But Dad was too intrigued. Not because he believed in the paranormal but because here, finally, was someone willing to tell him just what he’d gotten himself into in terms of investments. “Supposedly, Erik, whose parents emigrated here from England when he was twelve, was the founder of the Order. Erik, it was said, had always harbored an interest in the occult, pseudoscience, locks, puzzles, and illusion. Stuff like cryptographs, magic, conjuring, and ciphers.”

I pursed my lips in thought, intrigued on more levels than one. Lucas, it seemed, had told this story before. Maybe it was a campfire favorite. Or perhaps he kept a running case file on this place.

“About this Erik,” I said, officially glad I had not yet told Lucas about the dream. “What did he look like?”