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Dearest Virgil,
You fucking asshole. To think of all the years we’ve known each other, you let me look like a fool. I can almost hear your retort now, “you don’t need me to make you look like a fool”, I'll take those words before you get the chance. I can’t believe you kept this from me. You let me expose my darkest secrets and not tell me your own? How could you?
I found newspaper clippings, I guess my parents kept it, up in the attic during my visit. I mentioned to you in my previous letter I was heading back to my hometown to visit my parents. It still baffles me that they choose to live there still after everything that’s happened. I can almost feel the satisfaction I would get, seeing your reaction to me finding the newspaper clippings. I’m sure you know exactly what I’m talking about. I always found it suspicious that despite the fact you visited my hometown on many occasions, you claimed to not know of its supernatural history. You were always so cagey about the topic; I think I understand why now.
I suppose I may be coming off too harshly, I know firsthand how hard it is to grasp the situation. Encountering that... thing. You remember how I was like just trying to recount the events, fighting down the fear I felt even so many years after. It’s one of the few times you cut back on your insistent insults, I'd love to hold that over your head but I am attempted to apologize, so maybe another time.
“Local Teenagers Encounter Beast in The Woods, Defending Themselves with Fireworks”. I must admit that’s quite a headline. I am almost disappointed they never caught the name of the guy who through the attack, he seems fun. I didn’t expect you of all people to be friends with a bunch of rebels, such a rule breaker.
Teasing aside, was it as I described? There is only so many horrors a child's mind can make up. My parents tried to insist that it wasn’t real, maybe a hairless bear or something, that my boundless creativity had gone too far. But I don’t think they even believed that, they just wanted to pretend. No other reason they would keep a clipping like this for so long, about kids that aren’t even theirs.
Kids don’t make up boney, skin monsters. I still can’t forget its claws against my skin, or it’s cold breath. They don’t, Virgil, and I know you believe me about that now. I can’t imagine you blocked this out, I can’t. I wish I could. That I could block it out, I mean. You probably know that I don’t cry over just anything like that.
I know, I know I said in my previous letter that I wouldn’t be able to talk until after my visit. That was truly the plan. Didn’t think I would have to eat my words. I was sure that if my mother got the chance, she would want to write a letter to you, too, and shove it in with mine. I’m sure you would find endless amusement in that; me, dying from embarrassment. I’d rather not, thank you very much. So I promised no letters, just to prevent that.
But this was important. To me, at least. I need answers, I really do. I won’t apologize for calling you an asshole until you explain. The article was incredibly vague, barely giving any names outside of you. I guess they didn’t want to get into trouble. Sounds like something my brother would do. Did you get into any trouble? It doesn’t sound like it, they played you off like some poor, unsuspecting kid who got dragged in unwilling to the whole mess. But they barely said anything, outside of that it happened. Witnesses saying they saw the explosion, saying it was high enough to just barely see it over the trees. An aim you wouldn’t take for a bear. And that someone, or something, lets out an awful wail. Like a tornado siren. And you kids running out of the woods. You have to tell me what happened. For my sanities sake, if nothing else. I still haven’t found much of a trace of the others, my endless search continues. I just want confirmation. I know it's real. I just want someone else to believe me.
Please.
Beggingly,
Roman