There is a large residential home in Breton Close which was assembled piecemeal over the last forty years. The house is notable for its large back yard and long driveway. Every Halloween, the man who owns the house doles out cotton candy in the garage while his wife remains inside, alone. Never eat the old man’s cotton candy. There’s more than sugar spun in its strands, and if you cross the precipice of his home without his consent after eating it, your body will turn to sugar and air.
In the old man’s kitchen there are a half dozen boxes of index cards. Some document people, vital statistics jotted down in a genial handwriting that belies the exacting and invasive detail of the records. Others document formulas and complicated patterns that signify nothing, even to the most advanced acolyte. Still others are benign. But one set of index cards, kept under lock and key in the pantry, is more straightforward and more immediately of value.
The cards were purchased from Eddie Decae when the couple first arrived on our shores. They were so much older then. They have been adding to the collection ever since. If you have had any success as a seeker or acolyte, you will certainly find your name there. If any of the cards has a red dot in the upper right corner, or the name crossed out with ink from a fountain pen, the person or place or thing it describes will be visited by the old man… and then it simply won’t be anymore.Previous Page: 106 - The Epicure
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