At the height of my fame I was known as the master of macabre, Poe the poet. But you, gentle reader may call me Edgar. It is with much displeasure I look upon your current world. The nightmares you now face are far more devastating than any I have poured from my pen. In hopes of diverting your attention I will tell you a bit about my own life.
Yes, in my day we had atrocities as well. Disease and tuberculosis. The enslavement of human beings for profit, great plantations built upon sweat of those who never saw a farthing for their labor. As for myself, I was orphaned at a young age, separated from my siblings and raised by a man called Allan. He hated me.
First, I will speak of the raven for I hear he is still an obsession of many. It was my wife, my sweet Virginia, who inspired that poem. “Edgar,” she told me, “choose a bird! One of dark and eerie countenance. Only such will move the minds of your readers, for they long to be frightened out of their wits!”
She then giggled her girlish laugh and I knew she was right. The poem I created sold by the hundreds, enabling me to begin my travels on what you in your modern world would call a ‘book tour’.
Virginia was my muse, my inspiration. She spoke of dark things; human beings buried alive, black cats and black death, the stench of coffins and great stone mansions that crumbled in the quaking earth. Many a night she would entertain me with her wild imaginings, all of which found a true place when I put pen to paper. Yet her dark fantasies worried me. Her behavior was peculiar, not like that of most women. Often in the night I found her perched on the balcony as if she meant to take flight.
Oh, she was a nubile creature! Our marriage was quite unconventional. When I wedded her she was but thirteen years old, a budding beauty, hair of silk and skin of peach. And I, in my lustful maturity (for I was then twenty seven) could not resist her coquettish charms.
What’s that you say? Pedophilia? The word was not in my vocabulary! Before you jump to any vile conclusions be assured; my love for Virginia was pure. She was family, my first cousin. We shared the very same blood! As such, I think I saw in her a bit of myself — my own reflection. I could not resist the charm of her lovemaking, the exquisite pinnacles we achieved, for who does not secretly desire carnal knowledge of one’s own self?
What’s that you say? Incest? Risk of birth defects? We knew nothing of your modern genetics! Even if we had, I certainly would not have stopped the union, for I adored Virginia with a passion that was sublime, a passion very few humans will achieve. Alas, she was to bear no children, a thing I have always regretted.
My true nightmare began when Virginia took ill with tuberculosis. In the stifled, slow moving days and the gloomy nights I watched as her body atrophied. She became a walking cadaver, a blood spewing entity, standing in the path of the reaper, doomed for the bed of death.
When Virginia passed from this world I was devastated. In my loneliness I even tried to replace her. I courted several ladies. I had affairs with the beautiful Nan Richmond and the illustrious Sarah Whitman. I even called upon the widow Elmira Shelton who had once been my fiance (before I met Virginia.) Yet my efforts were for naught. None could rival my true love. Though she was gone I still burned with passion for her.
I then traveled to Baltimore, on a speaking tour. It was there that the spirit of Virginia began to haunt me relentlessly. She came to me in dreams, visions and visitations. She was pale as chalk, thin as bone, with red stains of tainted blood still trickling from her lips. Yet to me she was lovely.
These visions lasted four nights and it became clear to me; if I wished to reunite with Virginia I must pass through the dark realm myself. I must enter the red masque, step beyond the veil and know the silencing of my own telltale heart.
And so it was outside a public house, on the streets of Baltimore that I drew my last breath.
The night was wet and blustery, chill of the early October winds setting in. I had been drawn from my chamber, beckoned by a bird. Yes, a raven. Of courses a raven! What else? I stood on the pavement in bare feet and a nightshirt. I was then encompassed in what I can only describe as a thick fog, soft to the touch of my skin, rich, relaxing and delicious. In that fog I could feel Virginia’s presence. Finally I saw her, nubile and fresh as she was on our wedding day. In that moment I was no longer tied to this earth. I joined Virginia in that place of enthralling darkness, to return nevermore.
Try as they might, doctors could report no discernible cause for my death.
This post is in response to the Daily Prompt Nightmare
you are extremely talented…this really caught me.
Thanks for the like. Now I must follow.
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Thank you so much! What a kind compliment. Glad you enjoyed and thanks for following 🙂
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[…] Jul16 by Christine Valentor […]
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I enjoyed it very much 🙂 Just wondering, is this meant to be satirical? If it’s not, still a great piece
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Thanks! I don’t really know… It is just what I imagine Poe might say to a modern audience… 🙂
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Right, I might have to read his books sometime now haha
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Yes! If you do let me know what you think! 🙂
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Delightful! I just love it! Poe is one of my favorites! 🙂
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A sinister dark soul has surely made acquaintance with Mr. Poe 🙂
Glad ya liked it! 🙂
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‘At the height of my fame I was known as the master of macabre, Poe the poet.’ You had me with your first 17 words! Absolutely Spectacular.
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Thanks so much! Glad I got ya! 🙂
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Love this. I love Poe’s work.
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Thanks! Poe is awesome. Glad you enjoyed it!
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Wow! It’s as though Poe wrote these words himself. So beautiful and haunting.
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That is an awesome compliment! I was trying to do just that — channel the master. Glad you enjoyed it, Vampire Girl 🙂
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Liliana, first, thank you so much for following my blog! :). Welcome! About Poe. I had the chance to visit the Edgar Allan Poe museum in Richmond, VA this summer. It’s a small museum but really well presented, detailing so much about the poet’s extraordinarily complex and often tragic life. Is it any wonder that all of that poured out of him into such incredible creative works. Fascinating. One odd tidbit I learned at the museum. The physical signs of consumption (pale, thin bodies and skin, rosy cheeks, and red lips) became all the rage in women’s fashion. Consumption chic. 🙂
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You’re welcome! I greatly enjoyed your posts.
I love Poe! Did not know about this “consumption chic”. How weird! It is a bit like the “waif look” of Paris runways, the girls looking emaciated. I’ll have to look more into that. Thanks for reading! 🙂
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Makes you realize women have always been nuts when it comes to fashion and appearance. Seeing the runway models of today, you realize nothing has really changed.
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Yes… that is very true!
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Oh dear, not Liliana. Christine. How embarrassing. I had just read a blog before yours by a Liliana and I guess her name was still in my brain. Can I blame it on the fact that I haven’t had my second cup of coffee yet? 🙂
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Haha, that is quite alright! I actually love the name Liliana. You won’t believe this, but I recently wrote a book with a ‘Liliana’ as my main character — so when I first saw the mistake I thought — hey, this is a bit Twilight Zone-ish, haha! Think nothing of it, I greatly enjoyed the mistake 🙂
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Oh you’re right, that is Twighlight Zone-is! 😀 Liliana isn’t a name you hear every day.
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Exactly! A bit of a strange coincidence. I love it! 🙂
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