To any law enforcement that finds this letter. It’s for my fiancé, Grace Sinclair. It’s meant for her eyes and I would appreciate if you let her read it first. Thank you.
My name is Kyle Callahan. I’m writing this to explain the situation here (where you’ll find the letter) hopefully. It should shed some light on my recent actions. I am ashamed and regretful. I don’t expect forgiveness from anyone. But it frankly couldn’t be avoided.
Grace and I have been dating for eight years and she proposed to me 2 weeks ago. Happiest day of my life. To celebrate, she had me over at her folks’ place for dinner and we were planning a cottage trip, just me and her. I always got along well with Grace’s mother and father. Her father, Peter (who you will find with this letter) always treated me like his own son. Never knew a more gentle man. I’m so sorry.
A week ago, Peter asked me if I wanted to go fishing with him. It’s a fairly long drive but he loved this spot and wanted to introduce it to me since I was now becoming part of the official family. It’s his happy place. Peter comes here by himself a lot, he told me, when he’s upset or needs to think or just needs some time to clear his head. And I get it. The spot was gorgeous. It’s a tiny cabin he built there over many years, overlooking a quiet little lake in the shadow of a mountain. The cabin is only a storage room, really. No long-term supplies there, just basic equipment and random stuff. It was such a cozy experience. I brought my sketchbook and drew some of the scenery. Drew him fishing. It’s not good, but I like it. I’ve left the sketchbook next to Peter.
I wish I could turn back time and convince him to never bring me here. But I can’t.
We drove up early morning and I watched the sun rise on the drive. Beautiful. We caught some fish and threw them back. We made coffee and instant noodles over his little portable burner. Peter showed me how to whittle, we collected some wood and made little animals. I made one for you, Grace. It’s not good (my first time) but it’s supposed to be a starfish. I brought trail mix I’d made and made sure to include his favorite goji berries. I wish I’d made more. But we were only planning to be out on that trip for a few hours. We were gonna be back in town before dusk.
The problem arose when Peter and I were walking back to the car and we saw about four - maybe five bear cubs sniffing around near it. I remember Peter being shocked because he’d never encountered bears here before. We didn’t have any bear spray or anything. We tried to shout and scare them away and it worked for the cubs - but the mother was around and she spotted us pretty fast. She charged at us. We panicked and ran into the cabin (which was our first mistake, we should’ve ran for the car). We locked the door. And that was it.
That was a week ago.
I don’t know what it is about this bear. But… she’s still out there. Still right outside the door. Aren’t her cubs hungry? Don’t they have somewhere else to be? Easier prey to hunt? Why is she obsessed with us? I can see her moving around outside through the tiny window of the cabin. Through the cracks she’d made over the course of a week, clawing at the door. The door isn’t even that sturdy - I’m pretty sure a bear could break through it. But she hasn’t. She’s just - waiting. I don’t know. Is this how bears behave? Are they this relentless? This methodical? It doesn’t add up. Why is she waiting? What is she waiting for?
Peter and I tried everything to scare her away. There really wasn’t much in the cabin we could use to defend ourselves. We’d left our phones in the car because Peter had insisted on not taking them, he’s old fashioned and doesn’t like the distractions on this trip. We thought it would be fine. The car was only a few steps away. There had never been bears here. Peter had come here alone so many times before. No hiccups. No issues. Just keep the phones in the car, he said, or you’ll be checking texts with Grace every five minutes instead of taking in the scenery. I kind of agreed with him (I am a doomscroller) and I did what he asked.
We chewed through the bag of trail mix I’d made pretty fast. I suggested throwing it outside for the bear but Peter said if we open that door even a crack, she’s coming in. The windows didn’t open. So to remove the scent of the food, we just ate it as fast as we could. I don’t know, we’re not professional wildlife survivor people. We didn’t know this would be so dangerous here. Like I said, Peter had been here a lot before.
I just got so hungry. I’m a city kid. I’ve always had 3 meals a day and snacks to spare. I don’t know how to deal with hunger. I get headaches and my hands shake. We went days without food or water. We told stories and tried to pass the time and tried to survive the best we could. But we’re not survivors. We’re not built for it. Peter kept telling me someone would come along. Someone would send help. Why did no one send help? Why didn’t you, Grace? We’ve been gone for a week. Did you not think we’re in trouble? Did your mother not think to call the police? Do you both just want us gone? Do you hate us? Nobody came. Could they not find us? This spot is a little out of the way, but… our phones could be tracked. Why did no one come yet? Why has the bear not left? None of this is how it’s supposed to be.
Grace. My love. Before he fell asleep for the last time, Peter wanted you to know that he doesn’t hold any grudges against you for dropping out of college. Even though he stopped talking to you for a while. He loved you so much he couldn’t stand it, his words, not mine. Which is why it broke my heart to do what I had to do.
Even as I write this, that bear is still out there. She’s basically set up camp here. She owns us. She owns me. Nobody’s come to save us. No people up this trail in a week. Why? Why did it come to this? What did we do to deserve it? She’s just waiting for me to open the door. Waiting for me to accept the fate that I was sealed into the moment we ran into the cabin.
I just couldn’t bear the hunger. Peter was asleep and I just - I didn’t want to do it if he could still feel it, you know? Didn’t want him to suffer. And I don’t think I could hold him down or anything, not for that long. He’s old, but he’s still larger than me. And after all this time starving and being so dehydrated I didn’t know if I had my usual strength either.
The ziploc bag I used to carry the trail mix in. That’s what I used. Peter was dozing off, it was my turn for the watch. I just took the bag, put it over his head and held it tight as long as I could. He struggled. He punched and kicked me. I’m bruised everywhere. I deserve it and so much worse. But I kicked back, and I kept saying I’m sorry, and I am. I’m so sorry. So so sorry. It took so long for him to die. I had to choke him for so long. It felt like hours. He loved life. He wanted to live. We all do, even if it sometimes feels like we don’t. When faced with the cruelty of nature, when death stares you in the face, you fight to live. No matter what. I fought to live. Peter fought to live. I fought to live. It’s my birthright to survive. Why shouldn’t I? I can’t just roll over and die. What kind of human would I be?
Once Peter finally died, I had to find it in me to do what was necessary. There were no real tools in the cabin, but I found a small bushcraft knife in Peter’s pocket. It’s what we used to whittle the wooden animals earlier. I used it to slice off a piece of Peter’s cheek, and I ate it. Human flesh is disgusting. Maybe it’s because I know it’s human, but the taste of blood is overwhelmingly metallic. Peter’s cheek, though, was soft, but I had to peel off his skin - couldn’t handle the beard stubble. Unpleasant to chew. I took a few more slices off his arms (the flabby lower parts first) and I used the ziploc bag to collect as much blood as I could to drink. I was so thirsty too. But blood still went everywhere. I spent about six hours slicing and eating. I cut out his left pec, peeled and sliced it into little cubes, and ate them. I cried. I ate his eyes because I thought they’d be easier to chew than his flesh, my jaw was hurting from it all. They popped like berries in my mouth and I spilled some of the fluid and it got on my clothes. I ate his tongue too because it might be softer, and it was. Though I didn’t care for the texture at all. Something similar to the tripe we had at that buffet on our double date with Tristan and Marcus last month, remember? I didn’t like it then either but you made fun of me for it, called me basic. I know you were just kidding, but it still hurt. I know I’m not the most exciting guy but I’ve tried to be more, for you. I guess all that’s gone to waste now. I’m sorry.
I was so full, and it felt so good to not be hungry. I passed out. I woke up the next morning and of course the bear is still here. I think the smell of blood excited her even more because she made a few more dents in the door, but hasn’t broken it down. I didn’t want Peter’s body to start wasting away so I ate his ears (deceptively hard to chew, I thought they’d be soft but they were pretty tough). The meat around his neck was really good. I found myself thinking about different ways to cook him to best bring out the texture of his parts. Like, for example, his neck meat would be great shredded up and seared on high heat with that chimmichuri sauce you showed me (I know I spelled it wrong, sorry). But other parts like his thighs, I think would benefit from a slow braise, like you’d do with beef or oxtail. As for eyeballs, if they’re fresh I’d say you could eat them raw, maybe with some diced red onions and a fresh egg yolk, like they do with tartare. His toes are perfect for skewers over a fire, some teriyaki glaze and toasted sesame. Perfect. One important tip - if you’re gonna eat organs (and there’s plenty so they shouldn’t be wasted) make sure you brine them in salt and vinegar overnight, because they’re extremely bitter as is. I ate Peter’s kidney and, while the texture was really nice, the taste was awful. Not surprising since I ate them raw, but even if you cooked them, I’d recommend a vinegar brine for organs. Maybe some allspice and ginger. That’d be nice.
I’ve never felt so relieved to not be hungry. But I know what I’ve done. It took me some time to process before writing this letter. I’m going to open that door and let the bear in, so it can take me. Give me the death I deserve. I’ve placed Peter’s body in the corner with the wooden starfish I made for you, and this letter. Hopefully the bear doesn’t disturb him and is satisfied with me. He deserves to rest.
Grace - I love you so much. I don’t know why nobody came looking for us. I don’t know why this bear didn’t leave us alone. Maybe nature itself wanted this to happen. I’m going to face my fears, Grace. I’m going to meet the bear. Not so basic anymore, right?
Love you forever and always,
Kyle