57 Elmwood street,
You wanted the details? Here they are... I woke up sweating that night, and in the heat of the moment my eyesight blurred, all that I saw was red. Not anger as such, but... Blood? It took me a second to come to my conscience, the cool air gave me chills as it blew across my face and I realised my situation. I couldn't move. I kept telling myself 'Get up, get up!' but nothing would happen. I remember trying to scream for help, but no sound coming out, I remember the feeling of horror and being scared out of my wits. Lying straight like this was making me so uncomfortable, yet I couldn't change position. I believe that's called 'sleep paralysis' and can happen to any ordinary being, but on that night there was just something so abnormal about it... It gives me goose bumps to even think of it. Whenever I woke up in the night I would look around the bleak empty space that is my room, just to make myself feel safe. But on that night, it just made everything worse. I remember seeing the window, open, only by an inch, but open still, the curtains billowing slightly in the chilling night wind. Now though it might all seem like a silly child's story to you, especially since it was almost Halloween. But I felt insecure. I know what I saw, his hand prints lay on the wall, the curtains stained with blood and sinister eyes staring out at me from the darkness. please... I'll do anything to make people aware of this killer, I swear I could never do anything so cruel as to hurt my family. I know it was him... If you can get on this investigation I would be more than grateful and happy to help.
yours faithfully, Teddy Alfred Augustine.
No, no, no! This just wouldn't do! I thought as I screwed up my newly written letter for the third time that evening, bowling it neatly into the bin on the other side of the room. Everything has gone wrong since that night. People believe that I was the one to murder my sister, mother and father, they tell me that I should be ashamed, locked away somewhere for society to stare at in disgust. I'd tell them 'I didn't do it!' but the truth is so far-fetched that they just wouldn't believe me. I groaned, banging my head onto the writing desk and staring at the wall in front of me. I'm an illustrator, but recently I just can't seem to draw or even write anything within reason. I studied the large map of the world that I had pinned to my wall, maybe travelling would do me some good, especially since now I have the money left by my parents. I shrugged, pulling myself from my desk chair, I guess I'll consider it.
I dragged myself into the bathroom and rubbed my eyes tiredly, the recent events had caused me to have serious insomnia, and I kept waking from whatever sleep that I had. I found it completely impossible to concentrate, and kept getting calls from my boss, asking: "Ted, I know you've been through a lot, but it's been several months now, I need you to get a doctor, get yourself sorted out, and get back to your study to do some goddamn work. We need that book illustrated for Christ's sake!" I stopped taking his calls after that, but constant nagging voicemails were still left, and I'm guessing won't stop until I get my job done.
I shrugged off my shirt and stared at myself in the mirror, outlining all my main features. I was tall and lanky, with long limbs, sandy blonde hair and dull grey eyes. I didn't work out but somehow still stayed in shape. Pretty good for an almost-eighteen-year-old huh? I smiled weakly at myself as I turned on the shower and watched the water flow steadily, before looking at the clock and sighing, better change the batteries, it claimed that the time was three In the morning. It wasn't.