Step into the shadowy realm of "Poe's Nightmares," a mesmerizing collection of short stories and poetry penned by the enigmatic Lady Eckland. This anthology is a tribute to the master of the macabre, Edgar Allan Poe, whose spectral whisper resonates...
In the dim of a dying day, beneath the sway of waning moonlight, There arose from the depths of silence a strange and fearsome sight. A house, perched upon a hill so steep, Veiled in mist, where shadows creep.
Its windows, like eyes, hollow and bleak, Peered into souls, the courage they seek. The wind, a mourner’s low, ceaseless weep, Circled the manor, where secrets sleep.
An echo of footsteps, faint and slow, A lone figure approached, with heart a-glow. Drawn to the gate that groaned with despair, Beyond the threshold, he entered the lair.
The air was thick with a stifling dread, Walls whispered tales of the long since dead. Portraits stared with eyes that bled, Through corridors that endless led.
A clock ticked a tune of timeless woe, Its hands clawed at minutes, unwilling to forego. The chandelier swayed with a ghostly light, Casting dancing shadows, birthing the night.
In a room draped in velvet, dark and red, A figure loomed by the hearth, a specter dread. Its gaze pierced the gloom, a radiant coal, Speaking of sorrows, devouring the soul.
“Who dares to wander my cursed halls, To disturb the slumber of these hallowed walls?” The voice, a dagger, sharp and clear, Chilled the air, the heart to sear.
The visitor trembled, his voice but a sigh, “I seek the truths that here do lie, The mysteries veiled in thine ancient cry, Reveal, before death claims, before I die.”
The specter’s laugh, a chilling sound, Filled the room, unbound. “Seeker of truths, heart so bold, Brace thyself as secrets unfold.”
With a gesture, the room grew wide, Revealing horrors hidden inside. Spirits in torment, bound to roam, Each a tale, a tragic tome.
The man, now pale, with fear so rife, Witnessed each ghost relive its strife. A lady in white, with a silent scream, A child lost, in a never-ending dream.
With every spirit, every heart-wrenching scene, He felt his soul growing ever lean. The mansion, a prison of pain and plea, Bound each ghost, never to be free.
As dawn approached, the specter spoke, “Thou hast seen, but the curse not broke. Live now with the burden of ghostly lore, Trapped in thy mind, forevermore.”
The man fled as the first light crept, Leaving the house where shadows slept. But peace would evade, and rest would flee, For he carried the mansion's curse with thee.
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