I'm writing you this letter on the back porch of a rental home in Oguinquit, Maine. It's where I belong, they say, to atone for my sins.
They want to bring me back to that place they call home. If they come for me - no, not if, it's a matter of when - when they come for me, I'm sure they'll bring a small army. They're known to strike in daylight but more often they wait for darkness, like vampires. They've been doing it for at least a hundred years - longer, if Jack Casey is to be believed, and I have no reason not to believe him.
They're experts at hiding things: the living and the dead… the truth. Making people disappear, as you already know, is what they do best. Whatever you do, don't come looking for me.
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