Mr. E. Reading 112 Seaside Avenue Brewerton, New York 10012

What you need to know is that I’m in trouble, and I’m too scared to be alone.
Really, I need your help, could you come over soon?
I thought I’d write you a letter before I file an official police report, I’m sure you can sort it all out without getting the force involved.
That's it, I do need your help, Eddie; you see, I think someone is living in my house while I’m not there, one of the builders perhaps.
That sounds crazy, doesn’t it?
Enright estate, you remember it?
Now that the rebuilding is complete and the builders are gone the floorboards won’t stay down.
From morning to noon, they come up, and they creek in the night, and they rattle in the wind, and in the attic, strange noises at all hours of the night.
Really, it’s getting to the point that I’ve started wearing earplugs just to stop the noise from disrupting my sleep.
Obviously, it goes without saying–it’s a new house, the wood just needs to settle a little and the noises will stop.
Maybe that’s it, maybe not, maybe I’m just acting crazy again.
Anyway, I’ve started dusting the hallways with powder so that I can check in the morning for footprints.
Powder, like baby powder? I’ve been doing it for a few nights now and no dice.
Last night was the strangest of them all, and actually the reason I’ve written to you.
All I can say – and believe me, I’ve rewritten this a thousand times now – is that someone was moving around in my room while I slept.
Not exactly; I didn’t see anyone per se; I heard floorboards creaking and breathing; I was really afraid that If I looked, they would rape me or something.
Could you swing by the house, Eddie?
Hell, I’ll even pick you up if you don’t want to waste money on gas.
Every night is the same.
That feeling like I’m being watched sometimes I wake up, and the room is different, and things have moved, and clothes are kicked across the floor.
That latch is tough; you remember that, don’t you? Then explain how the door can be open in the morning and a light can be on in the hall.
Even if I have to file an official report, I’m happy to do that if you just come and have a look.

Did you get my last letter about the mirror?
Oh, it was really awful. And I'm sure I saw something in that air vent through the reflection just the other night.
Now, I know it’s impossible. I thought I saw Jack in it, and he was reaching out to me from inside that walk-in cupboard. The one you hid in...
Oh, but you should have seen him.
Then, last night, when I heard that intruder in my room I thought I saw him walking across the lawn, he loved to stroll down by the water.
Can you come as soon as possible? I've started having horrible dreams. Like I'm watching myself from the cupboard while I sleep.
Only that I’m not sure I can take another night here alone, you can sleep in the guest room if it’s too much for you.
My ceiling keeps shaking at night, as if there’s someone up there, and sometimes dust falls down onto the bed.
Eyes, I remember the hue of his eyes in the mirror.
I woke up the other day down by the river, Eddie.
And I was on the peer just where he went in, they left the police tape where they found him, you know?
My God, I can’t take another night here; I can’t call the police for an emergency, can I?
And does it count as an emergency if the intruder hasn’t done anything?
Let yourself in when you get here Eddie, keys in the same place as always.
Really, I haven’t been feeling right lately, even when I’m out of the house. I’m tired and lonely and the world kind of feels like a horrible dream.
Each morning, I wake up and watch my body move without me; I’ve started taking those pills again just to try and stay focused.
Actually, I don’t know if they’re helping. It’s like I’m watching through a veil, and on it is projected a horrible lie, but I can’t seem to lift it or look away.
Do you know what I mean?
You can only imagine how mortified I am in writing to you. Like pictures Eddie, pictures projected onto my wedding dress, pictures that I can’t unsee.
Don’t let me down Eddie. I’m so afraid and I don’t know why, could it really be him?
Exactly on the dot, at twelve, I hear the attic creaking like clockwork and the creaking like someone’s moving around, and the banging starts again.
And I’m scared. I’m scared someone is going to come down in the night and really hurt me. Please, I’m saying please now, could you please come over?
Did I never tell you how sorry I was for not telling you about Jack in the first place?

Trish.

PS: Please read and reread this letter, Eddie. I want you to find it for yourself… But I don’t know how to help you. My life is in all directions, up and down. I am not alone.

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Pub: 02 Feb 2025 15:00 UTC

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