Dear Mr. Blathe,

I trust that you are in fine spirits and good health. I find my convalescence going well in my somewhat perditious town. Therefore, I find that it is appropriate for me to continue writing about my travails. If I recall correctly, I left off describing my hiding behind a small hill. I must be honest and say that I am still not certain that I was awake at the time.

I remember the moments slipping by. I also remember the voices of those very same three captors and their hurried whispers on the other side of that hillock. You are likely aware that the region is full of large and small hills and valleys. Therefore, even though vegetation is sparse there is still plenty of cover in which to hide. This is especially so in the dark of night. As I lay paralyzed in fear, I lay fairly safe from detection. However, even as they passed from the area I knew that they had resources to find me that I could not so easily escape. As I write these words, I gather the vaguest recollection of faint blue light, and it fills me with a chill horror.

Untold minutes pass as I lay there staring at the featureless black. In time, some base instinct forced my self to push up and get away -- and none too soon as I noticed the blue approaching from many directions. The ghastly illuminations seemed to rake the ground in search of my person. There was no sound or other clue as to the location of my captors so I had to run on as fast and as sensibly as I could. I cannot count the number of times I stumbled and fell, nor can I tell you how often I must have broken or torn bits of myself, but by the time I found the house I was a physical as well as mental shambles. I only knew that the house was there by its silhouette against the pre-dawn sky. Finally, the day was coming.

In retrospect I should have avoided the house, for anyone living there would have been in danger from my presence, but I was in a panic and could not think clearly. I stumbled to the door and pounded on it. I pounded for several minutes, but there was no answer. If I had my wits about me, I would have realized the fear that my pounding doubtless would have caused. I turned to see the wispy curtain of light approaching along the path I took. I turned to pound harder and harder. I wanted to scream, but I could not make a voice. In desperation, I tugged at the door and found it unsecured. So, I stumbled inside and closed the door behind me. I found metal bolts to lock it with, and I stood in the quiet dark.

I am so excited to write these things down for you. There is so much going on in my mind-- I put these words to paper. But, my mind grows foggy. It is harder-- nearly impossible to keep my thoughts coherent. I cannot. I can not. I can not continue. Let me rest. Let me sleep. I will drink some tea and close my eyes and when my headache leaves me I will continue.

These are difficult times, my friend. May we see the other side,

I. McNutt