Darling,

As fall rolls into winter you have still yet to return home. I don't dare start a fire to warm our house because I don't want any of them knowing that I'm still alive. These sick people I don't consider human beings anymore. It must have been only a dream, but I saw a man eating a severed arm. Darling, tell me everything is going to be all right. I'm afraid that they aren't going to lose their appetites.

And this family that has been in our home for over a month now is constantly thanking that dead man, Jesus. What is there to be thankful for? They are unlike anyone I have ever seen, and I think they are beginning to grow on me. Sometimes I still fantasize about the children's meaty flavor with nice, rich gray; but I cannot send them away.

This morning an enormous rapt was coming from the front door. The father woke up and went to assess the situation. The mother, children, and I listened from our bedroom upstairs. When the father creaked the door open the most disgusting noise came from the unexpected visitor. It was as if he was snorting and coughing all at once. The father raised the shotgun he had brought to the door and pulled the trigger. We had the children's ears plugged long before. I cried into the mother's arms for hours; I was so embarrassed but I was so deeply terrified. Darling, what is going to happen to all of us?

Please, write back as soon as you receive this letter,

Margaret