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...
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The night was still and cold as the three men approached the towering iron gates of Raven Holme. Jonas pulled his coat tighter against the chill that seemed to emanate from the abandoned estate. He had scoffed when Tom and Edward had first told him the stories that locals whispered about this place - tales of spirits that stalked the old halls, the shrieks of tormented souls that could be heard in the dead of night. Superstitious nonsense, he had said. No one had lived here for nearly two centuries, not since the last of the Ravens, that gloomy family, had died out. What better place for three enterprising men to find forgotten treasures? But now, seeing the imposing manor rising from overgrown grounds, darkness spilling from its vacant windows, Jonas felt a tendril of doubt take root.
The bars of the gate were rusted but still solid. Jonas peered through them, straining to see beyond the edges of the overgrown entrance path that was visible in the moonlight. “Well, what are we waiting for? It’s clear. Time we got what we came for.”
Tom shook his head nervously. “I still don’t know about this. Maybe we should head back, try the Claycroft place instead–”
“And pass up the chance to be the first men brave enough to sack old Raven Holme?” Edward scoffed. “Where’s your sense of adventure?” He shook the gates impatiently. “Now are we breaking in or not?”
Jonas pulled a narrow crowbar from inside his coat. “Stand back.” After several moments prying at the old lock, the gate creaked open. Jonas paused, listening for any sound besides the sighing wind in the trees along the road. Silence. He grinned, his unease starting to lift. “Come on then. Fortune awaits.”
The three men crept along the weed-split path, the house growing slowly larger before them. The darkened windows seemed to gaze down like sightless eyes. As they drew closer, Jonas frowned. The manor looked even bigger up close, an edifice of tumbled stones covered in ivy, towers and turrets clawing at the night sky.
“Sweet Jesus,” Tom murmured. “This place is enormous. We could search for a week and not see all of it.”
“Then we’ll just have to be quick about it,” Edward hissed back. “Watch for places where it looks like valuables might have been stored - locked rooms, cellars, hidden nooks. Stuff the old families didn’t want found.”
They circled the side of the house, finding a small door half-hidden under a stone arch, hanging loosely on rusted hinges. Jonas held up his lantern. A brick-lined corridor stretched out before them, lined with wooden doors and dust that looked nearly undisturbed. Jonas’ unease returned. It was unnatural for a place to sit empty so long without vagabonds or vandals breaking in to pick it clean.
Edward’s eyes glinted as they stole into the passage. “Where should we start?”
“The family jewels and plate silver were probably kept in the locked upper rooms when the house was occupied,” Tom said. “We’ll have more luck finding treasure up there.”
