The lashed together framework of sticks jutted from a small cairn alongside the stream.

Colin Leverit studied it in perplexment.

Half a dozen odd lengths of branch,

wired together at cross angles for no fathomable purpose.

It reminded him unpleasantly of some bizarre crucifix, and he wondered what

might lie beneath the cairn. It was the spring of 1942, the kind of day to make the war seem distant and unreal,

although the draft notice waited on his desk.

In a few days, Leavret would lock his rural studio, wonder if he would see it again,

be able to use its pens and brushes and carving tools when he did return.

It was goodbye to the woods and streams of when he did return.

It was goodbye to the woods and streams of upstate New York too.

No fly rods, no tramps through the countryside in Hitler's Europe.

No point in putting off fishing that trout stream he had driven past once, exploring backroads

of the Atsilic Valley.

The story asserts that there's no point in putting off that fishing trip, but then goes on to make a very good point for why Colin Leverage should have avoided this particular trout stream. And we're going to get to that point pretty

quickly here on the HP Lovecraft literary podcast I'm Chad Fyfer and I'm Chris Lackey

we're sticking our voices into your ears on HPPod podcraft. And Patreon.

Yuck.

This week we're tackling a story folks have wanted us to do for quite some time

called Sticks by Carl Edward Wagner.

Where did you find this story?

Well, I actually found it.

...