"Pretty girls like you get lost in these woods all the time, Alexa."
On the night of Sebastián's annual Beginning of Summer Bash, amiable and adventurous Melody Tryniski went missing. What might have appeared as a juvenile escapade - a casual incide...
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DEAR YOU,
I WRITE to you through a letter instead of an email or a text message or whatever other technological form of communication there is because it's safer this way. There's no way this can be deleted or easily discarded as if my words don't matter because I'm dead. Well, soon to be dead anyways.
If you're a police officer, then my words are a shot into the abyss. My efforts would've been for nothing. It's no secret that Levittown thrives to be mediocre and, so far, it's done a damn good job. But if you're one of my friends and not my parents or the police or him or U, then I suggest you continue to read.
I shouldn't be writing this. I know that, but I also know that I'm not willing to let anybody else get hurt... like me, like them, like all of you if you don't do as I say. Let me warn you beforehand, you're not safe. Not anymore. I'm sorry about that, but if all goes well, you'll end up alive.
Right now, as you read this sorry excuse of a letter, you're good as dead. Sorry.
There's a series of letters scattered around Levittown, some behind the blank surface in which the imagination explodes, others in parts of this shithole of a town that I consider sacred. In those letters you'll find clues about my whereabouts during June 28 to August 23 and, if you're lucky, which may result tragic for me, you'll know who or what killed me.
Interested yet? You'll finally know what happened to poor little Melody, gone before her time, missed, a tragedy, blah blah blah. Aren't those the things you're saying? I mean, those are the go to responses to death.
There should be rumors about a 911 transcript right now. I'm making sure of that. I'm telling you now, it exists, but it's probably kept a secret. We wouldn't want our pathetic town in a frenzy. I do, but what I want doesn't really matter. It never does.
What comes as a bonus are dirty little secrets that may or may not change your perspective of me and those around me. Notice that I wrote clues. Nothing's going to be said, yet everything will. You just have to look harder, think wiser.
This is going to be like a short horror story... without the fiction and good writing. I can't write for shit, but I'll try. Somehow, that's worse.
This secret is bigger than me, bigger than you, bigger than everything that's about to come. I may be dead, but the real danger's about to start.
You're in danger if you share this information with ANYONE. You're in danger if you don't play along. Don't trust anyone, not even me.
