At the age of 90, being on my deathbed, I have a story that desperately needs to be addressed before I die. My story took place almost 80 years ago, in 1935, when I was 15 years old in the woods behind my house, just one year after my sister was brutally killed. I will leave my writings at my bedside, because when I pass, someone will have to read them. Being believed is not my concern, only that my story becomes known to someone, anyone, and that I can gain some sort of release before I pass. This is the story of my meeting with the man in the black suit in winter. from 1935: A year before I met, my sister Faith and I were behind our house about a mile deep in the woods. We were playing hide and seek, and it was my turn to find her! I couldn't find it anywhere and that's when I saw the bush. He looked trampled, so I ran over to him, only to find my twelve-year-old sister lying in the snow, in a puddle of her own blood. Her throat was open, it looked like a wild animal had bitten her. I avoided these woods for almost a year until one ...