The 14th of November 1977 – Salem, Massachusetts

(found in the cutlery drawer)

Dianne –

Can you send more spoons? I’ve run out of spoons. I’ve had to get rid of all my spoons.

See, one of the spoons got all bendy in the middle. I was digging into a carton of ice cream that had been in the freezer too long, that had turned almost into a brick more than anything smooth and creamy. False advertising, like usual. Then, of course, the spoon bent. Right in half it bent. So I threw it out.

But then the others, well, it’s hard to use a spoon sometimes. It’s hard to use a spoon when you’re always scared of getting a glimpse of that reflection. Forks are just great. There’s no reflection in a fork. Knives – well, as long as you hold them properly – well, knives are just as good as forks are, perhaps.

But spoons, well, there’s always something lurking. I can hear the footsteps in the halls sometimes. I can hear the voice of an old woman croaking in the middle of the night, calling for her dear Susan. Her voice breaks and wavers.

So I can’t have any of the spoons in the house. Well, but then I can’t eat soup anymore. I’ve got to drink it all the time, except I get too anxious about letting it cool, so I always drink it too hot. It burns my throat. I need the spoons back, but I’ve gotten rid of them all. Send me more spoons, Dianne.

The mirrors in this place are all smashed. I cannot see what is behind me.

And the old woman is calling out again. Usually she doesn’t call this early in the day. Usually she doesn’t call my name either.

-Betsy

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