Dear Marcus.
Oh, Marcus. I know.
I know it has many years, and I haven't seen you or your family.
And for that, I'm sorry.
I'm sorry for not replying to your letters all these years, but this is urgent.
I know you, Marcus.
I know how you think of me, and you know I'm not a lunatic.
Father called me a lunatic (that son of a bitch), but I'm not.
This is not a case of delusion and an up losing my grasp again.
So just please, believe my words.
Three days ago, I was outside gathering some firewood.
And suddenly I noticed a light flickering inside Gary's house
This lone yellow light, calling from the corner of my eye.
There's something about that light.
I swear.
I watch it, and it... it seems to...
Dear Marcus, it strikes me.
This odd sensation that something powerful was staring back at me from Gary's windows.
And you remember Gary Jorgensen, that little neighbour of mine.
Well, Gary Jorgensen is gone.
He left his house that morning.
So... So...
What... is... watching me from his empty house?
Dear Marcus.
I've moved my desk and bed closer to the window so I can keep an eye on this...
conscious house.
Yesterday night I saw shadows moving inside the house.
That house with its skin rotting off in its bare bones sticking out.
And... yes. Yes. I'm aware that I sound like a madman into you, Marcus.
But...
But have you forgotten what this suffocating cold can do to you?
The way these blizzards can shake the house and make their way through the gaps.
And living next to Gary?
Oh, how glad I am he's gone!
Ten years, Marcus!
An entire decade...
I have dealt with that pitiful excuse of a man
who clearly did not have any respect for my privacy.
Every morning, he would come to my house,
sit on my chair like a bag of shit and eat his porridge.
That disgusting cold porridge.
Like a meal for a rolling boulders hog.
He would stand there, Marcus.
And give me that blank stare.
Just watched me with his void expression.
But I knew what he was trying to do, Marcus!
Oh, I knew!
The extreme lengths he went to break my sanity!
"Good morning, Winston",
"How are you, Winston?",
"I brought you this porridge, neighbour".
Those insincere evil remarks
hidden under his false gestures of kindness.
I know what you are doing, you vile boor!
"Why don't you try this porridge, Winston?",
"So happy to see you, Winston",
"Goodnight, Winston",
"Hello there, Winston",
"Hello, Winston",
"Winston,
WINSTON,
WINSTON!!!".
Dear Marcus.
There's a trail of smoke rising from that old decrepit brick chimney.
And by the end recent hours, it is taken the shape of a black serpent.
It is rising from the mouth of the dead.
Watching me closely.
Detecting my every breath.
But I can see him.
I am watching him too.
I go to the tree at the edge of the yard, and I watch.
Sometimes, at nights,
when I hope I won't be seen.
But...
I...
must...
go...
closer...
And now,
at the dead hour of the night,
amid the dreadful silence of that old house...
so strange...
He is there, Marcus.
I don't know how, but...
but he is in that house.
He is getting closer.
I feel him coming after me.
His voice...
That voice that won't leave me alone.
I've put up father's bear traps around the house and tripwires.
I laid glass by the doorway and nailed the windows shut.
But I am afraid nothing...
nothing keeps his trembling voice from reaching my soul.
I can hear him, Marcus.
I can hear him so perfectly...
The sound of that beast.
I found footsteps leading to me.
Deep violent bog scratching towards me from a the endless white.
He is here, Marcus.
He is in the pictures, watching me.
Everywhere...
listening to every thought...
every word I put down...