A letter just arrived, written in my own fevered hand and addressed to a Ryan Williams- me. The letter indicated knowledge of a night I cannot account for, and alluded to further answers found in my attic. I clearly was in a delusional state when I had written it, for it spoke of a family of monsters, villains so evil, that rage filled them in the presence of God.

I didn’t want to know more but if these miscreants threatened or harmed me, I wanted justice. I needed more information on them; perhaps names or faces. That meant going upstairs.

I approached the room in the uppermost reaches of my home with halting steps, trembling hands, and fear in my heart. The smell of smoke hung heavily in the air. Two charred books spilled from an overturned ash can. Of the first book only the thick cover remained, entitled- Williams Family Genealogy. The easily identifiable onion skin pages marked the second book as the Holy Bible and gazing upon it I began to mutter and felt anger course through my veins…