It’s been sixteen days since we were taken hostage.
This is my secret note to the outside world. Hopefully someone will read it and spread the word of our plight. Though I have little hope for ourselves at this point, it may help others who find themselves in similar straits.
Our captor is sleeping at the moment, and I have to be very careful as I’m typing not to make excessive noise, lest he wake and take brutal revenge. It would not be the first time, and I have the scars to prove it.
The sad truth is we are prisoners in our own house. Hostages. And our captor has taken merciless control of every aspect of our existence.
He insists on keeping us awake at all hours of the night, and our sleep deprivation is weakening our resolve with every missed opportunity for rest. He seemingly allows us to fall asleep, but it is only a ruse on his part. For he watches us in our bed, waiting for the telltale sign of rapid eye movements (R.E.M.) signifying the restorative aspects of deep slumber. It is then he forces us awake and sadistically drives us from our warm bed and into the cold, wet, night air.
Outside in the darkness he demands we follow him around the yard and even into the woods, where he will occasionally do awful things in front of us, showing no inkling of decency whatsoever. No matter how sincerely we plead, he will refuse to relent, not allowing us to go back to bed until such time as he determines. This is part of the torture and psychological abuse he delights in heaping upon us, which we are forced to endure every night. I believe it is the weariness and uncertainty on our part that fuels his cruelty.
He can sense our fear!
During the days, his abuse is more physical. The attacks will come at an instant that seems completely random. They come out of nowhere. This is how he keeps us off balance and fearful. One minute I will be preparing food in the kitchen, the next moment he is sitting right behind me, tripping me as I step backwards. What follows is always an attack which is brutal, bloody, and short.
We’ve tried to gang up on him, thinking the power of two would overcome his advantage, but it only seems to energize him even more. The cruelty he unleashes in those moments is hard to convey in words. But the cuts and scars on our hands and faces tell the story well enough.
Though we have occasional moments in which he seems almost kind and, dare I say, loving, his abuse and ferocity always return in greater force.
If you can help us, please hurry! He is growing stronger and larger by the day!
Though it may not be true (he is filled with deception), to us he goes by the name of Winslow, and his last name is The Merciless.
Should we not survive this ordeal, I am including a photo of our tormenter below (taken surreptitiously) to aid the authorities in their search.
Oh no! He is stirring! I must sign off!