Prologue:

I'm glad you've bought this book, or at least are thinking about buying it. Looking at it, you probably think I wrote it; it's got Wendy Anderson written on the cover, after all. But that's not true. All I wrote is this prologue and my own chapter, at the very end of the book. The others wrote the rest, one chapter per person.

We've never spoken about what happened at the Mansion, not even to each other. All that you see in the newspapers or on TV has been edited so much I'm surprised they didn't just make it up from scratch and have done with it. It would probably have been marginally more accurate that way.

Also, all you've heard from us has been the very tip of the iceberg. We couldn't face talking about it to the people we knew would understand, never mind those who wouldn't. I know there are still things I don't want to remember or write about here, and I'm sure there are things the others didn't put here either.

The only two you won't be hearing from in this are Dave and Sandy, who dropped out of college and moved away to Illinois together. Well, they had to, really. If they'd stayed, it would have meant having to look each of us in the eye every day until graduation. I've read the others' parts and as I don't want you to get sick of reading the same thing over and over, I'll refrain from comment here. You'll know what I mean. Right now all I'll say is that it isn't easy having to work with people, all the time knowing you're partially responsible for the deaths of three of their best friends, and yours as well. I suppose I wish them well, though. Dave got the prize, and we paid the price for it.

As for the rest of us, we stuck together. We had to. There are too few people out there who could understand what it was like in the Mansion, what we went through. And I'll tell you, understanding and being understood is a large part of getting over something, corny as that may sound.

So. Where are we now? That's probably what you want to know, isn't it? I can tell you easily; we're still in California, still going to the same college and still hanging out on the same beach.

There have been changes, of course. None of us live with our parents anymore. Selling interviews to the press gave us enough to buy apartments and personally, it worked out much better that way. That was largely thanks to Syd and Razor; both of them turned round and said they wanted one hundred thousand dollars per interview and so did the rest of us. And we got it. None of us except those two would have had the nerve to ask for it, but we got it. Right now I live with Michael, and I'm not even going to say if we have a thing going. Not because I'm ashamed, but because it's none of your business. You wouldn't have cared last year when I wasn't famous, so why should I tell you now? Razor moved in with Syd and Jeff's currently sharing an apartment with Bernard. It's kind of an unusual pairing, I know, but neither complained too much. I gather Jeff's usually out late night surfing and Bernard's in the labs during the day, so they're not exactly under each other's feet.

You're probably thinking that with all the publicity we've had, we could probably buy our own individual houses. Yeah. You're right. We could. But after a week of depending on each other to survive, and after everything that happened, none of us really want to be alone anymore. When you wake up screaming in the night, it's nice to think there's someone else there who can sympathise with you.

We probably won't repeat any of what's in here to anyone. The agent agreeing to represent us in this has also agreed to copyright it to death. The first hint of the press reprinting this and we will sue until we're in possession of the very air they breathe. This is our story, not theirs. For those of you who want the glamorous lies, who want to know about Michael snapping topless photos of Razor, who want to hear about how Syd stabbed one of Dr Fred's creations to death with a ballpoint (actually, given Syd's and Dr Fred's respective reputations, there may possibly be some truth in that one) or who want to hear about the amazing showdown between us and the Edisons, put this back and go buy the paper. I can't promise this book is going to be gripping, or as exciting as the press stories. All I can guarantee is that everything here is one hundred percent true.

I hope that morbid curiosity, if nothing else, will persuade you to keep reading this. If you want to hear what really happened that night, read on. If you don't, go give this book to someone who does. We didn't write it to become multi-millionaires. We wrote it because we're sick of the rumours and the lies flying around. I don't even care if you believe it or not. We know what happened in there and it's long past time to set the record straight.

--Wendy Anderson, California.

(from Maniac Mansion Revisited, Prologue, p1)