Dear Frances,
Aside finding in my pockets the butchered corpse of Philip Schofield, a bloodied axe, a badly-penned sketch of the butchered corpse of Philip Schofield, and a chainsaw bearing your name smeared in blood, Coleen Nolan's been sick in the pool.
Words cannot express how furious I am with you, Frances. Shop receipts, packets of sweets: no room for anything.
You left me no choice and that’s why I did what I did.
I skinned your dog. I filled your dog’s skin with bits of Philip and now Dog Skin Phil carries my keys and my housing forms and my tissues and my coins. I don’t need pockets now because of Dog Skin Phil.
You should see him swim.
Sometimes I look at my family and wonder what life would be like if they were all dead. I have nowhere to put that thought, Frances. Nowhere at all.
Yours sincerely,
Elizabeth Tent
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