Hunters,
Please help us.
At night. That’s when the man comes. But not every night. That would actually be better.
That sounds weird, doesn’t it?
But it’s true. When something happens all the time, you can get ready for it. Even if it’s something you don’t like. But you can’t be ready all the time.
I can’t, anyhow.
My older brother—his name is Dave—would say that makes me a wimp. I say, it makes me normal.
I should probably back up, huh?
My name is Bill Turner. I’m twelve years old. I live in Peekskill,New York. My parents are named Steve and Dana. I have a younger sister named Mindy. She’s seven. I already told you about Dave. He’s fifteen and thinks he knows everything. So, really, the less said about him, the better.
We used to live in California. Then Dad got transferred to New York. So we moved. Our house is big. It’s pretty new. That’s what Mom likes best about it. It has two floors, plus a basement and an attic. What I like best is I got to pick my own room. It’s a great big one at the end of the upstairs hall.
At first, we were happy here. We all thought the new house was cool. Then the bad stuff started. The stuff I can’t explain. That I can’t tell anyone. But I know the truth.
Our new house is haunted.
That’s why I’m writing to you.
It all started a month ago on January 5. I know because I put a big black X on my calendar. I watch your show all the time. I know you have to write stuff down. To document it. So that’s what I did. I even have my own case file. I put it in the envelope along with this letter. So you can see I’m serious about this.
It started the night I heard my parents arguing.
My parents don’t fight. Well, hardly ever. I can’t explain it. They just always get along. Dave says it’s weird. He says parents are supposed to fight. But I say Dave is full of it. Just because he can’t get along with anyone…
So what happened was, I got up late at night. I wanted a drink of water. Usually, I keep a water bottle right by my bed. But that night I forgot to fill it up. So I grabbed the bottle and I headed downstairs to the kitchen. That’s when I heard my parents arguing.
“What do you mean we shouldn’t tell the kids?” my mother said. “Of course we should tell them.”
“Honey, you’re being emotional about this,” my dad said.
“Emotional!” My mom’s voice went up like when Mindy plays scales on the piano. And it got a whole lot louder. “Of course I’m being emotional!”
My dad made a shushing noise.
“They’re our children, Steve,” Mom went on in a quieter voice. “It’s our job to protect them.”
“From what?” my father asked. “What, precisely, do you think we should tell them?”
Uh-oh, I thought.
Precisely is one of my dad’s favorite words. But he only brings it out on special occasions. Like, say, when he’s absolutely, positively sure he’s right. Precisely is the way my dad wins the few fights my parents actually have.
There was this really long silence.
“I don’t know,” my mother said. Her voice sounded tired. “I just don’t know, Steve.”
“There,” Dad said, “that’s my point. Until we know what we’re up against here, we should keep the kids in the dark.”
“In the dark,” my mother echoed.
“You know what I mean, Dana,” my father said. His voice was impatient now.
“Yes,” my mother answered. “I know. But you’re forgetting something, aren’t you?”
“What’s that?”
“In the dark… That’s where those things hide.”
Mark paused and looked up from the letter.
“Okay, now I’m starting to get scared,” Lyssa said with a shudder. “Is that all?”
“No way,” Mark said. “There’s a whole lot more. Listen. I’ll read the rest.”
The dark… where those things hide.
That’s what my mom said. I could have done without overhearing that, let me tell you.
I heard my parents’ footsteps. Any minute, they would come out of the living room. They would spot me in the
Please help us.
At night. That’s when the man comes. But not every night. That would actually be better.
That sounds weird, doesn’t it?
But it’s true. When something happens all the time, you can get ready for it. Even if it’s something you don’t like. But you can’t be ready all the time.
I can’t, anyhow.
My older brother—his name is Dave—would say that makes me a wimp. I say, it makes me normal.
I should probably back up, huh?
My name is Bill Turner. I’m twelve years old. I live in Peekskill,New York. My parents are named Steve and Dana. I have a younger sister named Mindy. She’s seven. I already told you about Dave. He’s fifteen and thinks he knows everything. So, really, the less said about him, the better.
We used to live in California. Then Dad got transferred to New York. So we moved. Our house is big. It’s pretty new. That’s what Mom likes best about it. It has two floors, plus a basement and an attic. What I like best is I got to pick my own room. It’s a great big one at the end of the upstairs hall.
At first, we were happy here. We all thought the new house was cool. Then the bad stuff started. The stuff I can’t explain. That I can’t tell anyone. But I know the truth.
Our new house is haunted.
That’s why I’m writing to you.
It all started a month ago on January 5. I know because I put a big black X on my calendar. I watch your show all the time. I know you have to write stuff down. To document it. So that’s what I did. I even have my own case file. I put it in the envelope along with this letter. So you can see I’m serious about this.
It started the night I heard my parents arguing.
My parents don’t fight. Well, hardly ever. I can’t explain it. They just always get along. Dave says it’s weird. He says parents are supposed to fight. But I say Dave is full of it. Just because he can’t get along with anyone…
So what happened was, I got up late at night. I wanted a drink of water. Usually, I keep a water bottle right by my bed. But that night I forgot to fill it up. So I grabbed the bottle and I headed downstairs to the kitchen. That’s when I heard my parents arguing.
“What do you mean we shouldn’t tell the kids?” my mother said. “Of course we should tell them.”
“Honey, you’re being emotional about this,” my dad said.
“Emotional!” My mom’s voice went up like when Mindy plays scales on the piano. And it got a whole lot louder. “Of course I’m being emotional!”
My dad made a shushing noise.
“They’re our children, Steve,” Mom went on in a quieter voice. “It’s our job to protect them.”
“From what?” my father asked. “What, precisely, do you think we should tell them?”
Uh-oh, I thought.
Precisely is one of my dad’s favorite words. But he only brings it out on special occasions. Like, say, when he’s absolutely, positively sure he’s right. Precisely is the way my dad wins the few fights my parents actually have.
There was this really long silence.
“I don’t know,” my mother said. Her voice sounded tired. “I just don’t know, Steve.”
“There,” Dad said, “that’s my point. Until we know what we’re up against here, we should keep the kids in the dark.”
“In the dark,” my mother echoed.
“You know what I mean, Dana,” my father said. His voice was impatient now.
“Yes,” my mother answered. “I know. But you’re forgetting something, aren’t you?”
“What’s that?”
“In the dark… That’s where those things hide.”
Mark paused and looked up from the letter.
“Okay, now I’m starting to get scared,” Lyssa said with a shudder. “Is that all?”
“No way,” Mark said. “There’s a whole lot more. Listen. I’ll read the rest.”
The dark… where those things hide.
That’s what my mom said. I could have done without overhearing that, let me tell you.
I heard my parents’ footsteps. Any minute, they would come out of the living room. They would spot me in the
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