You there?

I'm here. Can you hear me?

Yeah, there you are. Yeah.

Okay, cool.

Did you read the email?

Yes.

Would you be willing to talk with me about what it was like growing up?

This is my older brother, Mark.

Gosh, Carol, I don't know if I can handle re-visiting those old memories.

They're just too haunting.

Yeah, sure, of course.

Oh, good.

Okay, so we grew up together in a house across the street from the mysterious Mr. Drain in his biggest date.

What do you remember about that?

Well, I remember it being no man's land.

He was dinsed in forest with a road that went down into the heart of it

and just seemed to disappear in the woods.

So it was very mysterious.

It was a place of real foreboding and, of course, that just made it all the more alluring to us.

When Mark and I were kids in Corsicana, Texas, the owner of this closed-off property was a reclusive, one-armed multi-millionaire named Mr. Drain.

Every day, Mr. Drain steered his Rolls-Royce down the long drive to his front gate to empty his mailbox,

and then turned right around and swept back to his house hidden amid woods and ponds.

...