I burned the bodies, for I felt it was best after considering all of the options. I mean, I could have chopped them up because space was a big issue—it always is—, but that was much too messy. All of that blood and gore would have been sickening, and clean up would have been a real mess. Sure, I concede, burning is a major hassle and an equally large mess, but I never use that furnace anyways. It's a derelict room—safe, secure, secluded, silent. More spiders than people down there. You'll need a key, though, because I locked the cellar door. That's in the left-hand drawer—a dusty key of bronze. They certainly do not make keys like that anymore, as you well know, Reverend.
They were shot in case the autopsy doesn't show. You'll find the weapon where it always is, out back in the shed. I didn't clean it, so my fingerprints should be on it. Didn't bother.
So do you want to know how I did it? I'm sure that they all do, so I'll say. It's not very exciting. They were eating dinner, the three of them—Michelle, Max, and Amy—at six, just as they always do. They were glad to see me, and in a way, I was glad to see them. We said our greetings, sitting at the table. After I finished, I shot them all. The gun worked fine, but the blood from the bullets was a bit messy. I decided to put them in the cellar first since it kept coming out, just flowing like Niagra Falls. Amy's was the worst. I started the furnace and tossed them in. All of them were pretty light. Then I had some apple pie and did the dishes, making sure everything was nice and clean.
But I think that I'll be okay. I'm gone now, out of the town, and I'll go to church regularly so do not worry—I'll keep in touch with the Lord. I may have to do some good work, but we'll see, won't we? So long, I guess. Maybe I'll see you later. Take care Reverend.
Edward G, Paxton
P.s. I almost forgot my mother. She's in the attic still, shot dead where I killed her. She was much too heavy to carry down, so I just left her. That key should be by the door on a beige shelf. Take care.