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Drive and Eldritch Talks by Christopher Cirillo

Insomnia Press

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It began with a star, a very bright star. Though not as bright as the North Star, it was a close comparison. A very unusual star too, not because of how bright it was, but because every so often you would swear it wasn’t there. One night it would be there looking down at Lake Simcoe and the surrounding land, the next night however, it was simply gone. There never seemed to be a pattern to its disappearances’. Sometimes weeks would pass and no disappearance, but then, out of the blue, it would be gone. It had a permanent position beside the full moon, when the moon found itself near the highest point in the sky. It never changed, no matter the season. It was up there watching over Lake Simcoe. It was the start of autumn, the night sky clear and brilliant, with a full moon in a sea of stars. They pooled the cool light of the darkened heavens upon the waters below. The star was among them, at least for a little while. Perfectly bright and visible all night... until 3:33 am, at which point it vanished. At the same time, anyone looking out over the lake from the cottages and homes that lay in the vicinity of the Narrows, Simcoe side, would have spotted a very odd thing. Off a ways from the buoy,

between Strawberry and Grape Island, was a man. He’d simply appeared and was walking on the water as if it were firm as stone. He had a quick and commanding pace. Clad in all black, he swiftly passed nearby Grape Island and headed straight for the docks at the end of Forest Avenue. Within a brisk 10 minutes of his appearance, the man had reached the docks and was making his way up the hill. At the hill’s top, bathed in yellow from the last light post, situated in the middle of the road was a rabbit. The man walked up to the small woodland creature without it even flinching or scurrying away, as they so often do. The two just stood there on the road, between two very exquisitely cared for properties. The rabbit looked up at the man with its one good eye. The man continued to stare at the rabbit. “Why do you use such a pathetic, boring shell of a guise?” inquired the rabbit without words. The question had been spoken in a different fashion; a fashion man has yet to comprehend. The man sighed telepathically. “It suits my purpose. You wished to speak to me Death?” the innocent little black and grey rabbit was now seemingly far from in-

Insomnia Press #2: Happy Birthday, Lovecraft!  

Dedicated to the late, great H.P. Lovecraft

Insomnia Press #2: Happy Birthday, Lovecraft!  

Dedicated to the late, great H.P. Lovecraft

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