September 11, 1967
I came to Maddison in her gardening, and told her while she comforted her little yellow and white flowers, ''We will be expecting some people. I got a letter.''. ''Oh goodie, neighbors, I really want to meet the neighbors.'', she mentioned. When Maddison finished her adjustments in the yard, I called her to the house to prepare things around, before the people should arrive to welcome us, as I expected.
At 11:25 a.m. of that cold morning, Maddison called me when she caught sight at the door of a single man nearing our property, when I worked in assembling my study.
I opened the door and spotted the single figure of a man approaching the house from down the road. ''Hello sir!'', he shouted barely across our yard. When he arrived to the steps, I said, ''Good morning sir. It is quite chilly today.''. ''That you got right, mister.'', he said. ''My name's Jerrard Hastings.'', he said while shaking the hand I gave him. ''I'm Jeff Carter, we just moved here, and I can see you've spotted us living around down here.'', I told him. ''Yep, it aint usual having much neighbors livin down here, in this part of Burkshire.'', he mentioned. ''That's right, it's mighty cold here.'', I said becoming used to conversing with him. ''Oh it's not that, but it aint important. Do yall folks need some wood for the fire, I have a bundle back over there.'', he said directing towards the mile-far place of his residence. ''No thank you, Mr. Hastings, we have plenty, you'll probably need it now that it is gettin kinda chilly.'', I responded. ''Please, you can just call me Jerry, we're all much closer than we are distant here in Burkshire.'', he told me, and I was unassured but with a swift decision to the ways of Mr. Hastings. ''Alright then, Jerry, you can just call me Jeff, I'll be more comfortable with that.'', said I.
He told me, before he would leave, and before he would welcome Maddison, who stood silent by me, that he must attend to other businesses, and continued again down the strech of the ghastly road. ''Oh, Jerry, one thing: what did you mean about it being unusual for people living down here in Burkshire?'', I asked him across the patch of green front of the house. ''There are things, Jeff, things. Trust me, you'll get used to it here by the time the cold moves.'', he said while moving farward to his next destination. I saw that dark, ghostly figure of a man, slowly being swallowed up by the white of the haze there that morning down the road, and harshly conceiving the fact of that presence being of a human form, yet Mr. Hastings, as it was him who I saw, vanished in the unclearing of the rising fog.