Circleville, Ohio, 1976. A town of quiet streets and familiar faces. That year, letters began arriving. No return address, postmarked Columbus, handwritten, and personal. The first letters targeted Mary Gillespie, [music] a school bus driver accused of having an affair with the school superintendent. Then the letters spread, teachers, politicians, ordinary families. The writer seemed everyone's secrets. >> [music] >> Affairs, debts, crimes that had never seen daylight. In August 1977, Mary's husband Ron received a phone call. >> [music] >> He left the house angry, armed. 50 minutes later, his car was found wrapped around a tree. Ron Gillespie was dead. The death was ruled [music] an accident, but one bullet had been fired from his gun. In 1983, Mary saw a threatening sign on her bus route. When she tried to tear it down, she found [music] it was rigged. Inside the box, a loaded gun rigged to fire when she pulled. It misfired. Police traced the gun [music] to Paul Freshour, Mary's brother-in-law. He was convicted and sentenced to 7 to 25 years. The town believed the letter writer was finally behind bars, but the letters kept coming. The prison warden confirmed on record Paul Freshour could not have sent them. The writer even sent a letter to Freshour in prison. It read, [music] "Now, when are you going to believe you aren't getting out of there?" Paul Freshour was released in 1994. The letters stopped the same year he came home. He maintained his innocence until his death in 2012. The true identity of the Circleville writer has never been confirmed. A town where secrets are buried deep and some letters never reach their end.