A letter from Innsmouth

crumpled-paper1[1]Dear Stranger,

If writing this letter is not proof that my sanity has left me, nothing is. The likelihood of you finding this this piece of paper is next to nothing, but then, the likelihood of me ending up where I am is meant to be next to nothing too.

I shouldn’t be here. Neither should you.

You should be asking by now what I am talking about. Or writing about. Or both, it doesn’t matter. I don’t know. If I knew what I’m talking about I’d start at the beginning, but I’ve no idea where that is.

The beginning could be the last thing I remember, but I don’t know that. It could be the first thing I remember, but which one of the first things? I remember a lot of first things! I think I remember you too. Can you tell?

Remind me, why am I writing this? I started a while ago, but can’t really remember. I think there is something I’m meant to tell you, but I could be wrong. And how would I know if you actually want to know what I had to tell you? Assuming I did have something to tell you. Do you know what that is?

It’s OK if you don’t. You probably aren’t interested.

I don’t think there’s ever been a person who was interested. And I think I’ve tried to tell everyone. They tell me I have told a lot of things, but they don’t believe me. Which is fine. I wouldn’t be here if I could be believed. I mean, why would I be writing this if I could be believed? I wouldn’t be here in the first place.

But this is not the first place! Why am I here then?

The first place was very different. I think I remember that. I’m sure there were books around me. I like books, they’re fun sometimes. Other times they’re not fun, but they’re full of letters! I can read them very well.

Or I think I can. I haven’t read a book for a while. Once I read one that gave me nightmares. It had some pictures inside. But I can’t remember them either. The nice lady who visits me says that maybe I didn’t see those pictures, that they are a product of my imagination. But I don’t have an imagination. Do you think that’s possible? Me? Having an imagination.

I mean, if I did, it’d be great because I would have imagined the things that I know I haven’t and then they wouldn’t be there and people would think I’m funny and I’d write stories about them and then everyone would be safe because they’re not really there and then I wouldn’t be here in the first place even though this is not the first place so it shouldn’t really matter at all.

But it does.

I don’t know why though. I just know it does and no one believes me.

Do you believe me?

I think I could tell a lot more to someone who believed me, but right now I can’t remember. And who are you anyway? Why are you reading this?

And why am I writing? Ah yes! Because I had to tell someone something, but I’m not sure is the right thing to say!

Have you ever looked under your bed? I think there is something under mine, so I sleep on the floor. I think is the floor, it’s very vertical sometimes and I have hit the wall under my feet a few times with my head and it hurts, but pain is good because it gets me out of here in the first place. Though they don’t take me to the first place. Maybe they don’t know where the first place is. I do.

But I can’t tell. It’s confusing.

If I could go to the first place it’d be easier. I think I could go there walking. It can’t be far. I’d need the book with the pretty pictures that I should have imagined, though. I should have imagined them because seeing them wasn’t good. But the nice lady says that is not true because they weren’t there. I have drawn the pretty pictures for her, but she doesn’t believe me still because she says those things come from my imagination. She didn’t think I should keep the pretty pictures in my room. I think the pretty pictures belong in the first place.

Oh, by the way, I am Andrew. I think. The nice lady calls me professor. But I don’t profess anything, so I think she’s confused. Maybe she’s crazy.

Have you found this letter yet?

When you do, make sure you don’t lose it. I think the pretty pictures are in this letter somewhere, but I can’t tell because I don’t know who put them there. The nice lady can’t see them or she will want to keep them away from you too.

Remember that if you can see them, they might be coming from my imagination. But I don’t have one of those so I’m sure they come from someplace else. Maybe the first place!

I want to go to the first place. It was pretty. I think. I couldn’t stay I don’t think. If I could, I’d still be there. Am I still there? No, this place is too small.

Also I had to come back. I don’t think the first place was all that friendly in the first place. And getting there was difficult! That much I know for sure. Because I can’t get there again. That must mean it’s difficult.


Who is Dora? I’m don’t know. But that name came to my mind just now. I don’t think she was in the first place. Or maybe she was. The nice lady is not Dora. If she were, I’d know. Maybe.

I think I want to stop writing now.

Have you found this letter? Let me know if you found this letter. I’ll send you another.

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