Dear Berkman Family,

I am so sorry to have startled you last night. Based on your blood-curdling screams, I have to imagine you were terrified to run into me. I’d like to say I understand your pain, but how could I? The only terror I’ve experienced is watching everyone I ever loved die, while roaming the Earth as a shadow of my corporeal self. Oh, and my gruesome guillotining death.

Bottom line: what happened last night is all my fault. I totally should have known that you would all creep downstairs to the kitchen in the middle of the night, while I was rummaging through the fridge. I get it. It totally makes sense for a family of four to skulk, together, towards an unknown rummaging sound, in total darkness, and then to freak out when they find the source of the sound.

And then to have seen what you saw! It must have been so hard for you to see me put the food from the fridge in my mouth and then watch as it flowed through my translucent body, eventually falling, undigested, onto the floor. Some people might say that I’m the one who should be screaming in horror at the fact that my hunger hasn’t been sated in nearly two centuries, but yeah, you guys screaming at me totally makes sense too.

I guess the reason I’m so distressed about this is that it’s been so nice having you around this house that I hear you calling “your” house that my undead spirit has been inhabiting for the past 200 years. It used to be that when I practiced my pipe organ, I didn’t have an audience. But now I know you all are listening, 'cause of the blood-curdling screams. What a treat.

Also, I’m naturally a night owl, so it’s been just lovely how early you go to sleep and how, when I turn the lights back on, I’m met with—you guessed it!—blood-curdling screams.

Another thing I love is hearing you go on endlessly about your problems, like “Oh no my house is haunted,” or “We need to get rid of that horrible ghost haunting the house.” I want you to read this carefully now, because I’m one hundred percent serious: From the bottom of my heart, I apologize for bringing the price of this Victorian mansion down into your price range. You think you could have afforded this place without me? In this neighborhood? On you budget? You work in a call center, Todd.

Meanwhile, this whole time you’re complaining about how hard it is to live in a period-furnished, landmarked manor home, you know I have unfinished business. And you haven't even asked me about it!

So go ahead. Bring in another priest. Bring in two, for all I care. Bring back those TV Ghost Hunters you seemed so excited about it. I’ve got a SAG card, Todd. I’m happy to watch those residuals keep rolling in.

Oh, also–garlic is for vampires. I love garlic. The more the better. As far as I'm concerned, you can fill the whole house with garlic.

Sincerely,

Vernon B. Scuttlemore