An Element of Truth

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AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Ascending room=Elevator. I had to call it that to avoid anachronisms.

I was at a gala on the 28th, when I felt myself becoming rather ill. I bid a farewell to my fellows and left, feeling flushed and nauseas. I made my way to the ascending room. When it arrived on my floor, I entered. There was already a man in there. “Good evening,” he spoke. The man had an American accent.
“How do you do,” I said courteously.
“Rather well, sir,” the American answered.
The doors closed and we began to descend. When the ascending room was between the sixth and fifth floors, it slowed to a halt. An alarm blared for a few seconds, and then all power disappeared.
I, myself being afraid of the dark, was quite frightened and cuddled myself up into a corner.
“Good fellow! Do you have any light?” I cried to the American.
“I do indeed,” said he. “In my pocket there are seven white candles and a box of matches.
“Then light them, for heaven’s sake!” I cried.
The match was struck, and pressed to the tip of the first candle. The ascending room was bathed in a scarlet light.
“Scarlet?” I asked.
“Apologies, sir. These are the only matches I have on my person.”
“Well, some is better than none, I suppose,” I replied.
As the candle flickered, the scene reminded me of a short story I had recently read. “Sir, this scene reminds of a short story I was reading recently.”
“Oh? Do tell,” the man said. I saw his eyes twinkle in the candlelight.
“I was reading ‘The Masque of the Red Death’, by Edgar Allan Poe. It had a room very much like this.”
“I know. I should know better than anyone, I wrote it.”
“Then you, sir, are the Mr. Poe?”
“Indeed I am,” replied Poe.
“Well, Mr. Poe. I have read all of your works. They are simply marvelous!”
“Thank you, good chap. I rather like them as well. Perhaps this night you shall experience some of my stories yourself.”
“Excuse me?” I asked.
Poe’s eyes looked malicious in the candlelight. “Nothing. Would you look at the amazing artwork in this ascending room?”
I glanced around myself at the walls. Each wall had a painting hung upon it. But the wall above Mr. Poe’s head was what startled me the most. Upon it hung an oval painting of a beautiful young girl.
“Mr. Poe!” I exclaimed.
“What is it?” he asked.
“The painting! Your painting! From ‘The Oval Portrait!’”
Poe did not even glance up. “Yes, I know.”
I stared at the painting. She really was beautiful. The candle burned down, and Poe struck another match and lit the second candle.
There we sat for hours. From time to time, we conversed. Other times, we just sat with our thoughts. One peculiarity struck me, though. We could still hear the banging of the grand clock from the gala room upstairs. Every time it rang, Poe would immediately stop talking and stare at the wall. When it stopped, Poe would continue talking as if nothing happened.
During the fifth candle’s time, I decided to question him about the clock. “Mr. Poe, why will you not talk during the ringing of the clock?”
Poe stared at me gravelly. “I thought you yourself had read ‘The Masque of the Red Death.’”
“Yes, sir, but…”
“Did you not think I made that up? Do you think the silence during the ringing of the clock was my imagination? Oh no, Mr. Valdemar. Each of my stories has an element of truth, and the silence at the ringing of the clock is of my own tradition.”
“And the matches?”
“Of course.”
“The seven candles, they are from ‘The Pit and the Pendulum.’ Are they not?”
“Yes, my friend.”
My mouth suddenly burned with thirst.
“Mr. Poe, might you have anything to drink?”
“Oh, yes of course. I have with me a flask of Amontillado.”
I scooted away from him as the end result of ‘The Cask of Amontillado’ came to mind. “You know, I’m not really thirsty.”
“Suit yourself,” Poe took a swig and placed the flask back in his pocket.
Poe was really starting to scare me. But somehow, in all my terror, I fell asleep during the burning of the sixth candle. I feared that, as in “The Pit and the Pendulum,” my hope was draining as the candles burned down. I did not want to be left alone in the dark with Mr. Poe. Even with this on my mind, I fell asleep.
I dreamed I was in the ascending room with Mr. Poe. I looked up, and there on the ceiling was a portrait of Father Time. A pendulum was swinging out of his open mouth.
“Mr. Poe!” I cried as the sharp pendulum swung down towards me.
“An element of truth, Mr. Valdemar, an element of truth.”
I screamed and woke up. I was lying on the couch of the lobby of the building, out of the ascending room. The guests looked at me with minor annoyance. A woman in a business suit walked up to me.
“Sir, you must leave now.”
“Who moved me?” I asked.
“It was the fellow that was trapped in the ascending room with you. He left a message.”
“Yes?”
“He said, ‘An element of truth.’”
I fainted dead away.