You have all been invited to Cypress Island, the home of A.J. "Savage Jack" Turnbull -- noted explorer and industrialist -- in celebration of his 70th birthday.

On the surface this is to be a weekend to celebrate the fascinating life and adventures of New Orleans' most interesting man. Secretly you know that all is not well. There are rumors of A.J.'s failing health and whispers of his growing madness.

You arrive at the hour appointed on the invitations. Beyond the gate winds a path that cuts through an overgrown and dying grass, leading up to a massive Plantation style mansion. Its tremendous mass sits on a brick foundation raising it over twelve feet above the surrounding earth. its walls and mantels, plastered and carved by the most expert European craftsmen money could secure.

A great flight of brick steps covered with imported marble build up to a front portillo dominated by towering Corinthian pillars. It manages somehow, to cut it's vastness with delicacy; titanic proportions with grace - delicate balconies rim the exterior with elegant wrought iron railings.

However the marble and plaster all seems stained by the black earth that surrounds the building.

The fading sunlight colors the sky in shades of orange and violet - but none of this light filters through the willow trees that frame the house on ether side.

The trees appear to reach out towards the house like skeletal claws the tattered spanish moss hanging from their limbs creating a feelling of rot and decay. More Pale-Green gas light blaze from the windows of the manse and call you up the hill with a promise of shelter from the foreboding exterior.