Spoiler! :
Also, I know the last line isn't grammatically correct, but just...go with the flow, yes?Quoth The Raven
The house reflected my mind like a mirror shows one’s face, or the way a placid lake will paint a parody of the trees and bank above it. The house was an echo of my mind, like something that mimicked and brought to tangible life the unknown recesses of the human head.
It was dark, and felt old, and had a smell that reminded one of death and suffering. There were empty recesses where things could perhaps be hiding, the kinds of things that gnawed and ruined and killed. The boards were old and creaky, sounding as if they were shrieking in pain whenever something touched them.
Most of all, though, the house reeked of loneliness.
And this was why I took it.
There were no children running around, screaming, laughing, crying—no animals whining or barking or growling. No women nagging and yelling, no other people about to bother me. I was alone, well and truly now, and it was wonderful.
The first night in that house, in that echo of my mind, I lit a candle and sat in the study on the musty old chair, and I wrote. I took out my pen and my journal, and I wrote. I wrote about the house, and how beautiful it was, and how I liked it not just for its emptiness, but for its familiarity. How it was like a part of me, and thus was nothing strange, though I had set eyes on it but once before purchasing it.
I wrote until the candle had melted itself down to half its original length, and then I set the pen down and settled back in the chair, and I thought.
There came a tapping sound, and at first I thought it was the wind brushing a branch against the window. But then I lifted my head and looked, and saw beyond the glass panes a dark figure outside. A gleam shined upon its eye, and I, quite unafraid, rose and casually advanced. Upon opening the window, I saw that it was a bird—a large, black, bedraggled-looking thing that gave me a strange look with its twinkling eye before hopping in.
I watched as it fluttered to the candle and perched on the table, shaking its feathers. I closed and latched the window and came over, curious, but, as yet, unalarmed by the unnatural actions of the creature.
The bird—or raven, I should say, for that was its species—looked at me as I seated myself on the chair before it and stared back.
Finally, it spoke.
“Oh, Misery! Oh, Ruin and Destruction! Death, how unrelenting thy pursuit, and how cold thy grip! Woe to those who cannot outrun His swift feet, which are shod with the iron of Hades. Woe to them, for they are gone and nevermore shall live to see the sweet light of dawn.”
It has been trained, I thought to myself, it is a trained pet that someone has taught, like the parrot, to mimic the human’s vocal sounds and make it seem like some harbinger of evil.
“Really,” said I, aloud and quite calmly, “really, it seems like such a waste of time. Why would anyone spend their mental faculties and efforts upon a dumb creature such as this? Why not put their energies to a more rewarding feat? What use is there in training a bird to speak when all it does is talk of inane subjects? Surely this is some kind of bad joke.”
With that, I stood and went to the window, opening it up and gesturing to the bird. “Your time here is done. I’ll have no more of these foolish interruptions.”
The raven stared at me for a moment before hissing and flying away. I own that it was with a trembling hand that I shut the window; for a moment, I felt as if all the blood had drained away, that my heart had stopped beating for a second, and that I was no longer living, yet still cognizant.
For the raven, before leaving, had whispered something as it passed my ear. “Murderer,” it had hissed, and with that word came the guilty and panicked fear of discovery. But then, after a moment of contemplation, I reassured myself that it was simply my active imagination. No doubt my brain was tired; indeed, the house, as if noticing the feeling, seemed to mirror it by sagging a little more. I snuffed the candle and retired to bed.
†††††
The next night, as I was writing by firelight—for it was a cold evening, fraught with the gusting sharp winds characteristic of November—I heard the tapping again. I hesitated, but some preternatural force drew me to the windowpane, and I drew it open, and once more the raven fluttered in.
“What brings you back?” I wondered aloud, half-expecting it to reply and half-thinking it would just stare at me dumbly and show that the previous night had been nothing but the result of over-exertion and fatigue of a burdened mind.
To my horror, it opened its dull beak and spoke again. “Death shall dog the footsteps of those who seek it least; those who think they can cheat and control it, shall have the worst sufferings before their own. Woe to those whom Death has chosen for His special torture! Verily shall they scream and wail, penitent too late. Nevermore shall they know of ease and peace.”
At that, I picked up a heavy novel I had been perusing during the day and I threw it at the raven. The bird escaped and flew out the still-open window, and I screamed at it before shutting the pane, “Stay back in Hell from whence ye came, damned beast!”
I sat down and tried to regain my composure. With repose came repentance. It was an odd creature, to be sure, but it could do me no harm other than the torturing of a guilty conscience. There were no other humans around, and what had I to worry about from an animal? With these comforting thoughts, I retired, quite content.
†††††
The third night passed without event; there was no tapping, no flutter of darkness outside, for which I was quite glad. But on the next eve, there came that dreaded noise. I forbore to open the window, but the constant noise drove me nearly to insanity, so I opened it.
In came the raven, fluttering as it had before to the desk. This time, as it settled down and began its monologue denouncing me as a murderer and one to be destined to the darkest reaches of Hell, I shut the window and fastened it completely, so that the raven could not get out. Then I advanced, a strange sensation overtaking my limbs, as if something were inside me, prompting me to act.
It was the same feeling I had had when I had entered the water chamber as my wife was taking a bath, and held her under the water until she had stopped thrashing and had simply lain there, looking like some kind of sea-nymph, beautiful when still. ’Twas the same when I had locked the children in the basement, in the dark, and left them for three days, until I opened the doors to find their thin faces raised appealingly toward the heavens, their faces pale and laced with blue.
That same feeling overtook me now, and I came to stand by the raven as it dithered on.
“Misery shall overcome those who seek its respite, and as for the stained of heart, what shall save them? What shall cleanse them of their sins, but the blood of the Lamb? But this, only if asked for and repented of truly! For otherwise, naught but the fiery jaws await those, and nevermore—”
In an instant, I had snatched the bird up; it squawked and thrashed horribly, but I kept a tight grip, and with a slow kind of relish, I broke its neck. Its body sagged, and I threw it into the fire.
A horrible smell instantly flared up, and the corpse was consumed in a most unnatural and bluish-green light before fading to ashes.
I settled back into my chair with a sigh. What upset had gone through my soul during these past nights! What horror of discovery, of the gallows! But now, at last, I am quite safe, for the raven shall quoth, nevermore.
Gender:
Points: 30278
Reviews: 482