Dear Mr. Stone,
I regret to inform you that I have left and will not being coming back. Please don't be mad at me? When you told me that I had demons inside me, and that you could flush them out, I trusted you. When you chained me to the wall in that little stone wine cellar of yours with the huge pentagram on the floor and told me to give you my ...uhm... well, you know.. It suddenly dawned on me what you meant by "Flush the demons out", but it was too late. I didn't particularly enjoy being your toy at first, but I ... I guess I got used to it over the years or has it been months? And then there was the time where you made me dress in your strange clothes and shake my ladyco... well, you know.. until I .... Uh, hold on, I think I need to take care of something....
* 15 minutes pass *
Ok, I feel better now. Anyway, I'm through and I'm not coming back no matter what. I have your dirty photograph collection, the newspaper clippings with the red circles that you tacked all over your walls, and that strange old-fashioned meat grinder that you had in your kitchen. I have no idea why you would want to manually grind meat in this day and age when you can just go to the store and get it... but oh well... it must have mean something to you....
PS. I think you have rats or something. There's a strange scratching and screeching sound coming from your attic.