Hello there, dear friend. I am very glad that you have decided to come over, and I am greatly anticipating your visit. However, there are a few simple rules that you must follow in order to have a good time and to, in the future, be invited back, if you’re truly up for that again.
You are able to visit any day of the year, even holidays, except for the days of the summer, spring, autumn, and winter equinoxes. Those are vastly important days for me and my family, and it would therefore be unwise to reach out to me or contact me at all during this time. For your own sake, it would be best if I didn’t cross your mind at all.
You may arrive at anytime in the day or evening, except for the times known as angel numbers, such as 1:11, 2:22, 3:33, 4:44, or 5:55. You will find that my grandfather who lives in the attic, if you are unfortunate enough to meet him, is incredibly superstitious. Sometimes you can even hear him repeating a strange sequence of numbers, and if you do, make sure not to memorize the sequence and try your best to forget that you heard them in the first place.
Once you are dropped off, you must walk up to the house on the sidewalk and the sidewalk only. Under no circumstances will your feet touch the grass. Believe me, the effects of the lawn fertilizer have caused inexplicable damage to guests I have had over in the past, and I will refrain from going into further detail, for the sake of your precious sanity.
When you reach the door, you must grab the handle held by the gilded lion-shaped holder, and you must knock three times, no more and no less. I will answer immediately.
If I happened to be wearing anything red, including clothing, shoes, or even makeup, you must run immediately, without looking back. Also, in the case, make sure to refrain from making eye contact with me at all costs.
You will follow me inside, and you will see my father sitting on the brown couch in the living room. If you do not see him, no worries, he’s probably just doing his research or tending to the garden. Or maybe They’ve got him. You never really know, do you? If you do see him, you must wave politely and he will give you a nod. If he winks at you, it’s probably best that he doesn’t see you again.
I’m deeply sorry that I didn’t mention this sooner, but if at any point in your visit you feel a growing vibration in the ground or if you notice the fresh cracks in the walls, floors, or ceilings, you must leave IMMEDIATELY, no questions asked.
I won’t dictate our options of entertainment too much, but I’m afraid that my home doesn’t offer much. We can play a board game, perhaps, or watch a movie on the TV in my room. If you choose to play a board game, I must retrieve one from the storage room in the basement. NEVER GO IN THE BASEMENT. While I am down there, you must wait at the door and not make a sound. I won’t be long, but as I emerge from the dark basement, do not bother to take a peek at what lies down in the depths.
We will go up to my room and hang out there for a while. We can watch any movie you’d like, except for horror movies, for Grandfather has abnormally excellent hearing, and we wouldn’t want to remind him of what They are capable of.
As you explore the house, you will notice pictures of a young boy, about 11 years old. That is my brother. Do not ask my parents any questions about him and do not let them catch you staring at the photos.
When you enter my room, please close the drapes. The neighbors love to try and take photos, each and every one of them strives to be that brave soul who will discover the dark and complex secrets of what my family is hiding, but none of their guesses will match the truth. Ugh, I’m sorry. I promise that my intentions are not to frighten you. I just want to protect you from falling victim to Them, as Grandfather and my brother once did.
Speaking of Grandfather, sometimes he will come down from the attic and walk frantically through the halls, still repeating the same chain of numbers that I have already informed you about. Once again, do not fear Grandfather, he is just recalling his past experiences, and his ways of doing that are beyond ordinary. If you do happen to run into him, do not make eye contact for it will frighten him, and keep on walking.
Once it reaches dinner time, my mother will show up at the door to my room and ask you if you’d like to stay for dinner. You must be polite and accept the offer, for my mother is a very generous and kind woman, and will not give you much of a choice.
My mother is a wonderful cook, but be sure not to ingest any fruits or vegetables she might serve you. They will appear to be rotting, for the second any fresh produce enters my house, the life is sucked out of it and it is not safe to eat. I encourage you to enjoy anything else she gives you.
You may leave any time before midnight. Before you make your way to the door, I will bid you farewell and hand you a red envelope. You will not open in, even in the safety of your own home. You will hold onto it until you see me at school again.
As you make your way to the door, you will notice a weird beeping noise coming from the library. That is just our old telegraph. That is how They communicate with us, through Morse code. Please just ignore it and proceed on your way out.
When you get home, check to make sure there are no weird marks on your body or vine-like stains on you legs. If this happens to be the case. Then I’m afraid your time is running out. Not to worry you, of course.
Lastly, if I am not at school for you to give me the envelope, I’m sorry to tell you that it means one of two things. I have either lost my soul in the depths of the Void just like Grandfather, or I have been engulfed into the Void completely like my brother, and I fear that you will never hear from me again.
If this is the case, and I am gone forever, and then you can feel free to open and read what lies within the envelope, but please do so in private, for this is one secret that I cannot share. But if it is not, and I am there to retrieve the envelope from your possession, then you may forever hold your peace in the unknowingness of oblivion.