To Helen and Timothy Hollister, the current residence of a 32-null street.

If you were any other family, I would have skipped the formalities, but since I introduced

myself to you by skipping the formalities in the first place, I suppose I shall have

to conclude this relationship by being as cordial and direct as I can.

I didn't start by writing a letter, and that would seem rather backwards to anyone else

in any other situation, but given my current circumstances, the stipulations of what some

might refer to as my occupation, and the general effect I have on others, I thought our

acquaintanceship should be a short one.

But you've done the exact opposite of what it hoped.

With only hours you've spent on the infertile machines of yours, and the most parade of

sham physics and so-called occultists, all the times you've tried to contact me with

leegee boards and automatic writers in the line.

You were all without a doubt the most tenacious family I've ever come across, so I

have to break the rules if there ever were any in my line of work.

Before you lose patience, please note that in order to explain who I am and give the

point I was getting at, I'll need to go about this in a roundabout way.

If I don't, you might not believe a word of it.

You may remember how during your first night here, that antique grandfather clock of yours,

that you had just set up in the main hallway, fell over and shattered my inches from where

you, Helen, were standing.

That was my handshake.

I could have hurt you, Helen.

...