Dear sir, the shipment of limestone from Sandy Gap arrived this morning, but the stock seems to have been vandalized.

The edges of each slab are covered in the strangest writing.

I don't care to look on it, and I've covered it with the canvas until you arrived for further inspection,

though it still gives

me an uneasy feeling.

I swear I can still see those strange letters even through the tarp.

Sir, I am not a man given to flights of fancy, but since that stone arrived, it seems the

days have grown shorter.

The sun sets a full hour before its time. In other news, the

foundation excavation appears to have increased in both depth and breadth. It is not collapsed

nor sunk. The ground workers assure me it is sound. No, rather, it is simply grown. I know no other way to

explain it. Its boundaries have widened. The hole itself has deepened, throwing long shadows as the

hour stretches towards our unaccountably early sunset. I can offer no explanation as to how this is possible other than to say that the soil within feels hungrier.

How can soil hunger?

Something is not right here, sir.

I urge you to return with all due haste to inspect for yourself.

Until then, I will await your further instructions.