GHOSTS OF DE LE SANG

We begin, once again, at the portal of the narrow doorway between the Gargoyle and Gin and Mad Haberdasher and the garret window to the world overlooking Chi-town's beloved Belmont Avenue. Gordon Prim awoke to the familiar and soothing strains of classical music whose compositions were as reliable as the constant stars of the night sky. Standing in the midst of his sparce, economical surroundings of settee, ornate rug and a library of bound notebooks that contained a wealth of decades of personal observations, he tossed aside yesterday's daily paper and the latest riddle heretofore knotted by detective Brown. In a shape-shifting Age of Electronic Information, the collective consciousness of idle conversations of various herds are often unknowingly scripted like actors on the big screen; therefore the truly wise best proceed trusting alone in what one's own eye perceives among their own circles of experience. Nightfall of the first of October had returned and the sidewalks below appeared to be peopled with ghoulish clones known only to the mind-stream of those they encounter by what appeared to be coincidence. For a brief moment, there came the sensual aroma of perfume as the classical music faded in and out of jazz. Between draws of his cigar, memory-ghosts cascaded from his lips and swirled upwards on the damp air. What do people fear most? Unlike the machinations of vampyres, whose haunts and habits are strictly limited to the nocturnal, ghosts roam freely at all times and are indestructible. How does one bring an unsettling and troublesome revenant to its startling conclusion? Locating an eldritch volume of his own hand written adventures and removing it from his private bookshelf, Prim's keen intellect arrived at an immediate deduction that could only be reached by an elucidator of the eerie.