You’ve built a lovely life on omissions, the letter continued. But omissions are just lies with good posture. I’m here to collect the debt.
I live in the walls, Dana Vespoli. Not as a ghost. Not as a rat. As a memory you buried wrong. Remember the summer you were twelve, and you told your sister she could have the last piece of peach cobbler? You lied. You ate it at midnight, standing over the sink, and you never told her. That’s me. That’s all the little truths you fed to the dark. dana vespoli dear
Look under the bed.