Letter from Daniel R. Estes to Margaret Estes Holcomb — Oct. 14, 1981

It has been too long since I wrote you a real letter and not just a card at Christmas, so here is one. Carol and the boys are fine. Tommy made the JV at Goddard which surprised nobody but him. Pete is reading everything in the house twice. Carol says to tell you the recipe you sent for the apricot bars was a hit at the church supper and to please send the one for the lemon icebox too.

We got a puppy. I know, I said we wouldn't. His name is Buster and he is some sort of heeler mix from a man out by Dexter who had eight of them in a feed sack which is its own letter. He is smart and a little mean about food which I am told is the breed. Carol loves him. The boys love him. I love him though he chewed my good loafer and there is no repair for it.

Aunt Joan got the hip done finally. Mom says she was up walking to the bathroom on her own by the second day and complaining about the jello by the third, so I expect she will outlive us all. If you have a minute send her a card. The address is the same.

Now I am going to tell you something and I want you to read it through before you decide I am cracking up. You always could do that for me. I am the only person I can think of to tell.

Tuesday night I was driving back from a supply call down at Hagerman. It was late, maybe a quarter past ten, and I had 285 to myself the whole way up. You know that stretch. There is nothing but rabbitbrush and the fence and the occasional rig. About fifteen miles south of town I saw something standing off the shoulder on the right side. It was inside the wash of my headlights for maybe two seconds, three at the outside.

It was a figure, Maggie. I am writing figure because man is not right and animal is not right either. It was tall, taller than a tall man, and thin in a way a person isn't thin, and it did not move while I went by. It did not turn its head. I do not know if it had a head the way I am using the word. I looked in the mirror after and there was nothing there, just the road going dark behind me.

I drove the rest of the way home and I did not stop and I did not tell Carol when I got in. I went and sat in the kitchen with the light off for a while. That is the part that bothers me almost as much as the rest of it. I am not a man who sits in the dark.

The next two nights I woke up at four in the morning exactly. Both nights I had been dreaming and both nights the dream went out of my head the second I opened my eyes, like a word you almost have. And both nights I had a little spot of dried blood inside my right nostril. Not a nosebleed. A spot, like a pinprick. The same place each time. I am going to see Dr. Halloran on Friday. I wanted you to know that I am going.

The other thing is the dog. Buster won't go on the front porch. He hasn't gone on the front porch since Tuesday. He plants his feet at the door and shakes and I have to pick him up and carry him out to the yard. Once he is in the yard he is fine. It is the porch. He looks at the porch.

I am sorry for the strange letter. Please don't tell Mom any of this. You know how she is and she will pray over me and call three times a week and that is not what I need right now. What I need is to put it down on paper to somebody who will read it and not laugh and not be afraid of me. You remember when we used to sit in the closet in the back bedroom, one of us scared of something, and the other one would just be in there listening. That is what I am asking you to do now. Just listen.

Write me back when you can. Kiss the girls for me.