I am writing to you as my last friend in the all the world. I feel an
intense obligation to inform you of the truth behind what happened to
your sister, dearest Joyce, though I thoroughly understand that after
what the police told you, you might not believe me.

As you know, Joyce and I, along with two friends, had gone on a short
fishing holiday in the north of Scotland...

The four of us arrived on Friday evening. It was a long trip, but the
sun was shining and we were a gay lot. Hugo, the small Westie
accompanying us on our trip, immediately set out to explore the
holiday cottage and its grounds. Cecil and I poured ourselves a glass
of brandy while the ladies immediately set about preparing the evening
meal. Hugo soon scampered back from his adventures when the smell of
fresh Cumberland sausage being cooked over hot coals caught his
attention. Eventually the sun went down and each couple retired to
their rooms, Cecil and Joan taking double bed, Joyce and myself taking
the twin singles, much like at home. We all slept well that first
night, exhausted from our long journey, but little did we know the
unimaginable horror that was to beset our party during our stay.

The first signs that something was amiss appeared the following
morning when we awoke to find Hugo cowering uncharacteristically in
the small doggy basket that had been provided for him by the owner of
the cottage. Joan was the first to notice the smell; an overpowering
stench of ammonia. Hugo had wet himself during the night and was now
hunkered in his own mess. Not like him at all.

Joyce managed to coax Hugo out of his basket and took him for a stroll
around the grounds while Joan cleaned up their dog's mess. We left
the windows in the sun room open for a while to let the smell out, but
instead it was replaced the awful smell of rotting fish.

As Joyce returned with Hugo, who had settled down now, I heard her shriek.

"Oh jolly gosh, Rupert! Look at this dreadful thing!"

I rushed outside with Cecil to where Joyce was stood almost in tears.
Hugo had reverted back to his frightened state, his little legs
visibly shaking while a small pool of urine began to appear around his
feet. I looked down to where Joyce was pointing and took a step
backward in disgust. An indescribable mess of what appeared to be
fish guts and strangely coloured tentacles lay splayed on the patio.

Somehow Hugo had recognised this mess and as I looked up at the sun
room I observed faint but distinct hand prints, almost unnoticeable as
the early morning sea spray had done its job of cleaning the windows.
As I pointed this out to Cecil, who had started stoking his pipe for
another smoke, Joyce became hysterical.

"What on earth is happening?", she exclaimed loudly, almost being to
scream. I slapped her and she embraced me tightly, exploding in to a
fit of womanly tears. Eventually she calmed down and then excused
herself to return inside, apologising for her indiscretion as she
went.

Cecil and I exchanged some speculation on the occurrences then joined
the ladies in the kitchen of the cottage to inform them of our
decision. There was a danger that Joyce's hysteria would spread like
some kind of local style gossip to Joan, so for the sake of our
holiday I had to deal with this situation quickly and firmly. Cecil
and I had planned to do some fly fishing and we didn't want our
activity to be ruined by dithering women.

As I explained the happenings away Cecil found a bucket and spade with
which to clean up the offal disposing it over the stonewall at the
bottom of the garden in to the near by field which overlooked the sea.
The rest of the day past without incident and by the evening we were
all relaxed again, our troubles all but forgotten. Cecil and I were
reading the papers while the ladies made dinner and then we enjoyed a
game of bridge. Joyce and I won as usual, and all was right with the
world, or so it seemed.

We decided to take the doggy basket in to our room, so that Hugo could
sleep at the bottom of Joyce's bed, thus avoiding any further
unfortunate incident during the night. Indeed, we all slept well and
woke feeling fresh and eager to do a day's fishing in the local
rivers. After the ladies had cleared away the breakfast paraphernalia
Cecil and I finished preparing and head out on foot to a near by river
a few miles away to enjoy a day of fly-fishing. I have to say, Cecil
is a keen angler. Between us we threw back many fish, saving the two
biggest to take home for supper.

However, when we arrived back at the cottage, it was to a scene of
utter mayhem. The women were in utter hysterics and Hugo was nowhere
to be seen. Eventually, Joyce composed herself enough to explain what
had happened.

After they had finished clearing up after breakfast the ladies had
embarked on a crochet session, as ladies usually do. Just before
lunchtime there was an awful bang from outside and the ladies had
rushed to investigate, Hugo first to the door leading out in to the
garden. The scene was all but indescribable. Much like the previous
night, but on a larger scale, the garden was covered in what appeared
to be fish-gore; blood, eyes, tentacles, entrails and no discernible
beast from which this could have been construed. Joan had opened the
door in amazement and Hugo had rushed off in to the gore, sniffing all
around when something his caught his attention beyond the garden wall.
Somehow Hugo had found away up on to the wall and had launched
himself in to the field beyond. There was a yelping noise, the sound
of a dog in utter pain and distress and then silence.

After this the ladies had locked themselves in the cottage to await
our return, despair smothering them like a muggy summer's day.

Cecil and I were stunned by what Joyce had described and immediately
set out around the side of cottage and in to the garden at the rear.
The ladies stayed inside. I think we were more shocked by what we saw
than by what we expected to see. The garden was almost the way we had
left it except for a small puddle of gore in furthest corner of the
garden, under the large tree, certainly nothing of the extent
described by Joyce. It was beginning to go dark, so the dappled shade
of the tree obscured the truth of it. We of course had to investigate
further and as we approached the corner of the garden it became
obvious what the spattering of mess was. I put my hand on Cecil's
shoulder to comfort him as it became obvious that this was the
decimated remains of their pet Westie, Hugo, splayed to the four
winds.

I heard Cecil take a deep sigh and without a word we both headed back
to the cottage.

"Explain yourself, Joyce", I demanded and the proceeded to explain
what we had found. The women simply looked at each other and then
broke down further in to tears.

"Calm yourselves!", Cecil demanded, "We still need to eat dinner and I
see you haven't started anything yet."

He was right. This was no time for hysterics. Seeing the wisdom of
this the women, still sobbing, put together a quick dinner consisting
mainly of light side dishes; spam, bread, cheese, crackers and some
fruit.

"I think it would be best if we stayed at the cottage tomorrow,
Cecil.", I suggested. He nodded in reply as he stoked his pipe.

"We can have the fish we caught for tomorrow's lunch.", he said,
breathing out the pipe smoke as he managed to get a chuff going. This
set the women off again, tears and all manner of other unpleasant
noises. I'd had enough of their miserable cacophony so retired to the
lounge room to pour myself a brandy.

The next morning came, and apparently I had hadn't slept well the
previous night. When I awoke Joyce was already up and out of bed,
presumably to make breakfast. Initially I was glad she'd gotten
herself together and was looking forward to breakfast, the previous
events still weighing heavily on my mind, but with a stiff upper lip,
I'd decided to move on.

I washed, dressed and headed downstairs and in to the kitchen where
the whole gang was waiting, the women still looking utterly miserable
and Cecil looking stern faced. I'd seen that look before, it was the
same face he had each time we went head to head with the Jerries.

"Morning, old chap", Cecil said. "I think we need to have a bit of a
chin wag, old bean."

Perturbed, I replied, "What's this all about, Cecil?"

Cecil proceeded to recount an astonishing tale. It seems that during
the night I had gotten up and headed outside. Joyce had come outside
looking for me and found me all native like, chanting and reciting
some prayer or mystical spell. When she'd tried to calm me down, I
had apparently struck her with a closed fist. Her face was decidedly
bruised I'll admit, but I have no recollection of this event.

Unable to explain myself Cecil pressed the matter. During the
previous day's fishing I'd apparently disappeared for a couple of
hours. Just enough time to get back to the cottage, commit some
mischief and then return to the river. Again, I had no explanation.
I remember going to relieve myself, but no more. I did wonder why
Cecil hadn't mentioned something yesterday, but failed to have my wits
about me to ask, being on the defensive and seeing Cecil looking so
fierce.

Of course, I denied both accounts, and while Cecil couldn't provide
evidence for the latter, the evidence for the former was shockingly
simple, my shoes and the bottoms of some of my trousers were covered
in mud.

"Explain yourself!", Cecil demanded. I could feel myself becoming
angry. I had no memory of these events and just wanted to relax.
This vacation was turning in to a nightmare. Cecil stood up and
produced some climbing rope he'd been hiding on the floor next to him.
I could see what was about to happen and had to decide, should I
resist or should I allow Cecil to tie me up. "This is for your own
good, old bean. If there's no more shenanigans then I'll let you go."

I allowed him to bind me in the recliner in the lounge where I stayed,
without event, for the rest of the day and that night.

The next morning, Cecil released my bonds and declared that him and
Joan would like to leave the cottage today. We'd shared a car so we'd
all have to leave together. I agreed and headed upstairs to freshen
up.

I remember everything about what happened next vividly, but I swear to
you, my actions were not my own. In the bathroom, I rinsed water on
my face and my vision began to blur. As it cleared I could see my
skin had taken a tinge of violet and small pocks had begun to appear
on my arms and face. I immediately stripped down and found the same
tinge and pocks all over my body. I vomited a thick black liquid
mixed with what appeared to be blood all over the sink and mirror and
dropped to my knees clutching my stomach which wracked with pain. My
hands were tingling with the most intense pins and needles I'd ever
felt. Looking at them I tried to scream as I could see my fingers
knitting together, but no noise escaped me. I looked up and my face
was beginning to sprout spines from the pocks. My neck had swollen
and now my upper body, neck and face was almost one giant mass. My
arms began to writhe and then I felt my legs tingling similarly.
Inside I was screaming. Each leg had become a spiny tentacle and two
more tentacles were starting to grow from my groin and anus.

It was at this point I became a voyeur for the finale of my
transitions and the actions which followed. I watched myself sliver
out the door and at astonishing speed I slid down the stairs and in to
the kitchen. Cecil and Joyce were there. They looked understandably
shocked and of course Joyce screamed. Cecil reached behind him to
grab a kitchen knife, but as he turned back towards me I thrust a
tentacle in to his mouth and right down his throat in to his stomach
where I could feel his stomach acids swishing about and tingling
against my tentacle as they began to start digesting me. I felt the
spines on my newly prehensile arm expand as I retracted the entire
limb with a frighteningly fast jolt. Cecil's body was ripped to
shreds and gore showered myself and Joyce who immediately fainted. My
other tentacle entered her, I do not want to say where, and committed
the same atrocity. Innards and offal now dripped from the ceiling of
the kitchen. I knew Joan would be close, so turned to leave and go
find her, but there she was at the kitchen door holding Cecil's
hunting rifle, fear and tears on her face. I felt my tentacles go for
her. I heard the gunshot and remember a flash from the muzzle and
then everything else is blackness until I woke three days later
restrained in a bed in the local hospital. Looking down at my body I
was relieved to see it had returned to normal. There was a police
guard in the room and as I came back to consciousness one of the
guards left the room. A few minutes later a more senior officer
appeared the interrogations began and you know the rest.

And now I shall sign off as it is my bed time and my warden, Gordon,
has arrived with my medication.

Goodnight and God Bless.

Yours sincerely,
Harry