My name is Jake Williamson. I'm 68 years old. I have one of those numbers they give you, but I've forgotten it a long time ago. I'm writing to tell you that you have won the lottery, my friend. Like me, you have found yourself in a bad place. You've done the crime and now you're doing your time. You've been sentenced to die, but you got brought here instead. Confusing, isn't it?

Well, I've had a lot of time to think about what this place is. I've been here for a long time, after all. A lot of time on your own gives you a lot of time to think. And what I've come up with is this: this is a prison, but not for us. It's a prison for much worse things: diseases. It's a kind of hospital, and we are the patients. We're here for them to infect so they can poke and prod us and see what bits fall off us and when. Did you know the Nazis did that at the camps? Gives you an idea of what kind of people we're dealing with, doesn't it?

None of that really matters, though, because you've lucked out just like I did. They thought they were giving me some really bad disease, one that rots your head and makes you crazy. You know the one; the one that old people get. Old people like me, come to think of it. But I was a young man when they put me in here, with the intention of catching the crazy off the man they had in here before me. Except he wasn't crazy, and he told me everything.

He told me the truth: the disease doesn't exist!

Maybe it was real, once upon a time. But I can tell you this: it's not real here and now, not in these cells anyway. They either had it and they lost it, or they never had it in the first place. Maybe it cured itself along the way. Maybe they just got it wrong way back at the start. Who knows. Who cares, right?

So for the last thirty or so years I've been in here on my own, perfectly sane. Well, as sane as you can be on your own for so long. Watch out for that. Read the books. Watch the movies. They've been kind enough to stock the place up. Keep your mind working. You don't want to get the crazy for real! Thirty odd years is pretty good for a guy who was sentenced to die, don't you think?

Whatever you do, don't let them find out that you're sane! They don't ever come inside, and they're not watching or listening, but they move you from cell to cell sometimes (they knock you out first), and they come in to clean up the place when you die. So don't write anything down. Don't leave any marks on the walls. Don't trash the cell. Don't do anything that makes them think you're anything but a man (or woman, I suppose) who has gone funny in the head before your time. You owe it to us all to keep the ruse going.

After you've read this, you'll get sent inside the cell. You'll meet someone who's probably on their way out. They might be in a bad way, so do the kind thing and help them along would you? There's no medical treatment in here. No painkillers, no relief. If the guy's suffering, end it for him. And then settle down for a nice, long, peaceful life, if you're lucky.

Good luck, whoever you are! And if you find any juicy pictures in the books you find in there, be sure to leave them clean for the next guy. And have a laugh at those idiots who locked you in here!

Yours,

Jake Williamson.