A small, nondescript household exists within the city of New Berlin, nestled between uniquely different yet equally unexceptionable homes, all of which share the same layer of pure, white snow adorning every exterior surface.
The residents of this particular address - a married couple in their mid forties - receive an unexpected letter in the mail, addressed to them personally with a type-written font yet bearing no watermark nor any sender.
The husband nonchalantly opens the letter as he is trudging along the snow-laden footpath between the fence and the front door. He retrieves the letter from inside the envelope, reads the first line and freezes still, mid-way between the two routine destinations. He, after a moment, dashes inside, gathers his wife and shares the cold, chilling contents that had been delivered to them.