Dearest new neighbor at 657 Boulevard, allow me to welcome you to the neighborhood.
Buying 657 Boulevard had fulfilled a dream for Derek and his wife, Maria Broaddus. The house was a few blocks from Maria’s childhood home. Their three kids, who were five, eight, and ten years old, were already debating which of the house’s fireplaces Santa Claus would use.
The typed note went on:
My grandfather watched the house in the 1920s and my father watched in the 1960s. It is now my time. Do you know the history of the house?
Do you know what lies within the walls of 657 Boulevard? Why are you here? I will find out.
The letter identified the Broadduses’ Honda minivan, as well as the workers renovating the home.
I see already that you have flooded 657 Boulevard with contractors so that you can destroy the house as it was supposed to be. Tsk, tsk, tsk ... bad move. You don’t want to make 657 Boulevard unhappy.
Earlier in the week, the family had gone to the house and chatted with their new neighbors. The letter writer seemed to have noticed.
You have children. I have seen them. So far I think there are three that I have counted ... Once I know their names I will call to them and draw them too [sic] me.
The envelope had no return address.
Who am I? There are hundreds and hundreds of cars that drive by 657 Boulevard each day. Maybe I am in one. Look at all the windows you can see from 657 Boulevard. Mayb