Unmasking THE MILL HOUSE MURDERS (1988)

Originally posted January 1, 2025.

“In the gloomy darkness, I revealed my accursed face.”

When I read The Decagon House Murders by Yukito Ayatsuji, I happened to guess the killer early—what almost felt like unfairly early, as there was a good two-thirds of the book left to go. Which is not the worst problem to have; at least I got to feel very clever for figuring out this fiendish mystery based on a totally, totally unjustified guess.

Nevertheless, when I got to the follow-up book, The Mill House Murders (tl. Ho-Ling Wong), I was looking forward to a cunning surprise. “There’s no way I’ll guess the culprit a third of the way through again,” I thought, and I was right. This time, I guessed it… in the prologue. Rats!

Let’s rewind and talk about the plot. The Mill House Murders is set in the eponymous mansion, an eerie place nestled in the mountain woods, whose power is generated by three enormous mill wheels in the bordering river. The master of the house is Fujinuma Kiichi, son of a famous artist, who wears a rubber mask due to a disfigurement. Kiichi has exiled himself along with his adopted daughter/wife Yurie (ick), two staff, and his artist father’s surrealist paintings, all of whom seem to be held hostage in this malevolent mansion. The book jumps between present day chapters narrated by Kiichi, who is reluctantly hosting a viewing party of his father’s work, and past chapters in third-person describing the mysterious events of the last viewing party, which ended in murder.

I mean, this party ends in murder too, of course. Goes without saying.

As far as I understand, Decagon House wasn’t originally intended to have a sequel. Continuity is established through the shared architect of the mansions, as well as Shimada Kiyoshi, one of the mainland investigators, being promoted to recurring detective. Readers may recall that Kiyoshi is Just Some Guy. Here, his presence at the Mill House is justified by yet another personal connection: Kiyoshi’s beloved friend, a monk, was implicated as the culprit of the murder and theft by virtue of not being around to defend himself.

Sure, why not! I had to check whether the fact that the Shimadas ran a temple was established back in Decagon House (it was), but I’ve seen flimsier justifications in puzzle-mysteries.

I wonder if the “creepy whimsical mansions designed by the same architect” hook added much here. Aesthetically, I wouldn’t bat an eye at the setting, but if we’re going “cursed architect”, that suggests a level of architectural trickery which isn’t really present here. Unlike, say, Murder in the Crooked House, the layout of the building isn’t deeply incorporated into the trick. You could pull this off in any house, mill or otherwise. The physicality factors into some of the murders, but again, it’s not a gruesome reveal like e.g. Jonathan Creek’s ‘The Grinning Man’. What’s left, apart from some memorable setpieces, is an ominous supernatural connection, which ends up being surprisingly literal.

(Hey, speaking of the architectural layout, can we take a moment to appreciate the extremely cool cover design for the Pushkin Vertigo editions of the series? That is slick.)

There were several plot elements that return here after showing up in Decagon House, both ones that were actually involved in the murder and premises that the characters speculated about. Off the top of my head (ROT 13 for spoilers): snxvat lbhe bja qrngu ol oheavat n obql qbhoyr orlbaq erpbtavgvba, n ivpgvz’f unaq orvat zhgvyngrq va beqre gb erzbir n evat, naq gur qvfgvapg aneengvba fglyrf bofphevat gur snpg gung gjb punenpgref va qvssrerag frpgvbaf ner gur fnzr crefba.

I’m not sure if this was an intentional callback. So maybe it wasn’t blind luck that I guessed the culprit. I certainly feel like anyone who read the books back-to-back would have an easy time of it. Anyway, the third book (Labyrinth House) is coming out this May, and I’m looking forward to that one. Third time’s the charm!