Dearest Mother, Dearest Father,

What silly words to start a letter. What can be “dearest” of something one only has a pair of? Would I address my broughams thusly?

Well, be that all for nought, let’s look at what’s laid out for us. It’s beyond my imagination where the hotel chef conjured these eggs (Or these eggs cups, either. They appear to be some hoodoo manifestation of coral and palm fronds.) The yolks are amber and slightly translucent (delicious, none the less, simply boiled in their sea-blue shells). Manny’s appetite, delicate that it is, seems much improved by this first taste of Spontoon Island fare. I must say…

“So, what DO we have planned for today?” Orson Chase, young man about town, and newly man about the islands, stopped the missive to his parents and partook the view of his chum, Manny Champion. It was a view he always found, no matter the hour, breath taking and homy.

“Oh good man! Now that you’re able to raise your attention from the Shepherds Hotel crockery…”

“Simply fuel for the day, Orson,” was the reply, “fuel for the day. Say, have you heard of 'The Angel Having Fallen'?"

A pale look of consternation flickered on Orson’s face as he reviewed what he lovingly referred to as his 'mental card catalog'. “Doubt it. Say more.”

“It’s a legendary artifact —in the literal sense— oft’ spoke of, but not seen for hundreds of years. Related somehow to those boffins at…”

“Has your mother been teaching you dirty Briticisms again?”

“Let’s not be late to the party, Orson, it’s the United Kingdom now. And I’m referring to the weird experiments going on at…Screen Door, or Porch Door, Or-What-In-The-Blue-Screaming-Heck Door.”

With a mild scolding tone Orson said “Oh don’t play the oaf. We know that’s MY job in this pot boiler.”

His companion across the table cracked a grin. “Funny you should mention that…” and pulled a recent copy of VIVID TALES OF COMPLETE FLABBERGASTATION from the pocket of his traveling jacket and passed the lurid-covered thing to Orson.

“I do despair of ever rising you right when you insist on filling your peaked little head with such drivel and I call dibs when you’re finished.”

“Shall be off, then? We have an assignation with the Headmistress at Mrs Sigourney’s Institute for Deaf Young Ladies.”

“Of course!”, Orson exclaimed with vigor, then as the two exited he was heard to mutter low and sadly, “Oh no, not MORE Lovecraft.”