Thanks for your latest letter. I'm sorry not to have written earlier, but we have had very busy times lately. The thing that kept me busy most of the time is the discovery of a huge basement under the space where we live. We live in this kind of old factory, it was built end 1800's or so. It's a rather big complex with different 'wings' next to a main building, we occupy one wing of 3 floors and various other rooms and space throughout the building. Anyway, I was making a kind of trench (I don't know the right word for it) to work under my car, so I cut away a part of the floor in the garage, and as soon as I started bashing through the concrete, I discovered a hole, which, minutes later, turned out to be a staircase. As soon as the hole was big enough, I crawled through and found a large, but low room, and a second big one behind it, then on the side, a hole was made in a wall, leading to another smaller room, which had another corridor, dead-ending in a heap of dirt, and a new-sealed wall, we broke open that wall and found 2 more spaces. There still are possibilities to find more rooms and corridors, but there's a lot of dirt keeping us from that so far. The dirt is usually sand and bricks, it seems that when they broke something down on the ground floor, they just made a hole in the floor and dropped everything through it. So I had to divide my time in building the trench , because in that part I had to remove the staircase and part of a wall, and dig out the space for the trench, then re-build it with large concrete blocks, so the floor would be supported when I drive the car inside, I wouldn't like to end up with the car in the basement would I? And I also wanted to clean out at least the first big room, since we are organising some event every 4th saturday of the month, we decided this month would be a basement-party, actually we called it 'Amontillado-Party', do you know this story by EDGAR ALLAN POE, it's about a guy who leads a bragging friend of his towards a cask of excellent Amontillado-wine, down large basements and crypts filled with bones, finally the friend ends in a small niche, is chained to the wall, and the niche is sealed with bricks and covered with bones. So that was last saturday, as extra appetizer we showed horror movies: Premature Burial and Night Of The Living Dead. Of course many of the invited people didn't dare to come, afraid of being locked up or something.

I was kind of surprised finding this N O T I C E with your last letter, it maybe refers to something you talk about, love-letters being printed, but I don't know about that, in any way I'm not going to print your letters in a newspaper you know, I'm afraid Belgian newspapers wouldn't be very interested in them anyway, it's only in America and England that criminals are such celebrities whom everybody knows, 9 out of 10 people here don't even know CHARLES MANSON, and I guess only 1 out of 100 or probably less would know about you, as a matter of fact I never met anybody out here who did, there's nobody around here who's interested in true crime in a way I am, or interested at all. There exist almost no litterature in Dutch about any of those things, and bookstores who sell English books don't sell anything of that, I know it's different in America and England, I buy a lot of books there and also people in America send me second-hand books, but they're always out of date, so it's never a big deal.

I wonder wether you send out all these forms to all your correspondents, and then why didn't you send it right away when we first got in touch? On the other hand I don't see who could be interested in private conversations between us, the more so since we haven't actually discussed peculiary 'loaded' subjects, if you'd given ghastly details regarding the crimes of the KILLER CLOWN, or other serious top secret information, allright, but then I guess you wouldn't care too much about it being published anyway. On the other hand you seem to try to keep up some kind of legend about yourself, I can understand you don't want any more rubbish being written, but if you never give an interview, never have pictures taken, remain deadly silent, don't you think that makes people feed their fantasies with stuff they make up themselves, or small bits, endlessly exaggerated, like a snowball-effect? Now I don't have the faintest aspiration of becoming the person to whom you should confess details concerning whatever, guilt or inoocence, but I do think it might be wiser not