You can probably guess the reason for my letter.
He died last night. He seemed a little better and took some broth. Little Al even got him laughing a bit. But the laughing turned to coughs. That lasted for about an hour. Then it stopped real sudden. Like he didn't have the strength to cough no more. Then he sort of spit up some black, and more came out his nose. I tried to get him to cough it all out, I turned him on his side, and slapped his back, and put boiled onions on his chest.
But it weren't no use. And he died like that, eyes bulging out, and that black stuff everywhere.
I'm taking the children and moving back to Redmoor. We ain't never should of come here in the first place.