You're kind of in an "opening mail" kind of mood after that letter about your creepy great uncle's creepy mansion. Better keep the streak alive by prying into the former resident's permanently undeliverable mail. You open the letter and take a peek:

"Deer ser or madum,

yur grat grat granfader is ded. Pleez com to hiz skaree manshun and spend the nite. I am a loyer, and yu will be ok. If yu want the hous, yu must spend the nite.

Sined,

Fred Loyer

PS: I am not a gost"

The entire letter appears to have been inked in blood, and the letter itself appears to have been printed on dried skin. And the sender used way too much postage. It would appear that the previous occupant was being courted by some kind of malevolent, but slow-witted, ghost. Or a mortician with a strange sense of humor and a skin drying machine.

Suddenly, there's a knock at the door. Perhaps it's the mailman again, come to deliver you more old mail from people you don't know.

"FBI, freeze!"

You're way ahead of the well-dressed skeleton. You thought you were safe from criminal charges because your former tenant was (presumably) dead. Unfortunately, you forgot the smaller branch of the FBI that deals with post-mortem mail fraud: The Dead Letters Office!

The DLO officer places you under arrest for opening the letter, along with resisting arrest because you soiled yourself when she put the handcuffs on you. She takes you down to the local DLO headquarters for processing. After getting photographed and fingerprinted by a bored-looking skeleton, the officer takes you to an interrogation room.

"This is our best interrogator. He'll be pumping you for more information about the other mail fraud you've no doubt committed. Once he's satisfied, you can go."

The agent sits you down in a chair facing another skeleton, this one in sensible slacks and a light blue dress shirt. Unlike the agent who brought you in, however, this skeleton is not animated. You turn to bring this up with the agent, but she has already left and locked the door behind her.

The hours roll by, and no one comes to let you out of the room. You try playing innocent, but that doesn't work. You try confessing to crimes far more serious than mail fraud, but that doesn't work either. Panic sets in, but as the days pass, it is eventually overridden by starvation. As you lie curled up on the floor, you mumble that you regret ever opening that second envelope. With that, the interrogator skeleton springs to life and declares, "Aha, so you admit it!" The last thing you see is a small group of DLO agents coming in to congratulate the interrogator on finally getting you to crack.

EVERYONE HAS A "START OVER" POINT, AND THIS IS YOURS!!!