Nemesis

A wretched raven clutched the downtrodden limb of a decaying elm by its talons with a vice-like grip, ever watchful of the throng of people toward the Trendwell Convention Center.

Miriam, accompanied by her boyfriend, said, “It’s no of surprise that this event is so crowded. This expo only comes to town once every fifteen years.”

“Fifteen years?” parroted Daniel, “That long?”

“It’s an international exhibit. What do you expect?”

They approached a ticket booth, Daniel paid the fifty-dollar admission fee for each of them and were supplied two tickets. They followed the line to an usher who collected the tickets and was returned the halves of each stub.

Daniel stated, “Just like those old-fashioned matinées. Glad I dressed up for this event.”

“Well, this is a formal occasion,” reminded Miriam. “Later on, there will be dinner and an auction. Totally optional. For now, why don’t we check out the booths?”

They entered the gallery riddled with booths showcasing oddities from around the globe. Daniel said, “So, this is like some upscale flea market?”

“Not in the least,” Miriam flushed from his crassness. “All of the items are rare, one-of--kind, artifacts. Some are for sale, while others, the ones with the blue tags, are reserved for auction. There are also the untouchables, deemed strictly for show and forbidden to sell.”

“Forbidden?” Daniel pressed, “Who says?”

“Beats me! I didn’t write the rules! I’m just telling you how things go! Now, the auction begins in two hours. At that time, the booths will close. I say we look around and get a bit of worldly education.”

They approached a booth composed of rare artifacts from the American Revolutionary War. Daniel picked up a blunderbuss and exclaimed in a hackneyed Australian accent, “G’dday, Mate! How about we hunt down some kangaroos hopping along the outback and put a shrimp on the barbie?”

Miriam lowered the barrel with the flat of her hand, “Will you stop, Daniel? You are causing a scene… Really? Am I on a date or babysitting?”

Daniel forfeited, “You’re right. There are places to be an asshole, and this is not the place.” He set the blunderbuss upright against a rocking chair.

His eyes glazed over a collection of African fertility figures, cluttered amongst Shogun military armaments, and even Greek carpentry tools. He scoffed, “Not a flea market, you say?”

“Daniel…” Miriam’s patience thinned.

Daniel laughed to himself and saw a display of rare books. “A library, how quaint!” He surveyed the collection, all first editions, below a bust of William Faulkner. “Tolstoy. Twain. Hemingway. I read these buffoons in college.”

Something interesting caught Daniel’s eyes. Within a glass case rested an old edition of Weird Tales magazine bearing an illustration of Edgar Allan Poe facing the ill-omened raven from the tragic poem by the same name. “A magazine. What’s so special about this?”

The vendor—a man hauntingly housing the spitting image of Vincent Price—responded in a dreadfully dire voice, “What makes this exceptionally exquisite piece unique is that it was signed by the legendary author of Gothic literature, Edgar Allan Poe.”

“Signed?” Daniel asked, “By the Edgar Allan Poe? Dude who’s been dead a centuries ago. Now that’s impressive!”

The vendor informed, “Examine the signature. It matches both shape and form with that of Poe. It is believed his ghost signed this copy from beyond the grave!” There was something eerie about the way the man made that comment. Daniel’s hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

“Because how else do ghosts sign their own work?” Daniel looked at Miriam, who was not the least bit amused. “How much this piece of crap go for?”

The vendor rose a brow, “It is not for sale.”

“Oh, one of ‘those’ items. Holding back on us, Vinny?”

The vendor replied, “More like protecting you. For, it is cursed!”

“Cursed? Am I to believe this baloney?” Daniel reached into his wallet, produced a one-hundred-dollar bill, “Can this resolve your hankering superstitions?”

“It is not for sale. Now, if you would excuse me.” The vendor assisted another guest.

Daniel couldn’t resist. Making certain the coast was clear, he replaced the magazine with the on-hundred-dollar bill, slipped the magazine in his coat, and dashed off.

Pure adrenaline from the thrill of the moment made Daniel feel like a kid again. He raced outside, made his way past the incoming spectators, and banked down a solitary path tucked to the left. The statue of a woman held a pitcher from where water cascaded into a fountain where below, upon a golden plate, the name ‘Lenora’ was inscribed.

Daniel paid little attention as he pulled out the magazine and examined it. The pages seemed unaffected by the elements of yellowing, and the front cover still retained its sheen. Either the encasement saved it from the effects of oxygenation or, more plausible, it was counterfeit. Daniel flipped to front page, where upon the name ‘Edgar Allan Poe’ had been penned. The publication information below read ‘Weird Tales. September 1939, vol. 34, no. 3’ in full validation.

Daniel thus professed, “I’m one fortunate man.”

A shrill cry broke.

‘Nevermore!’

Daniel turned.

A raven looked down upon him from a gnarled branch.

‘Nevermore!’

“Hey, bud! Do me a favor and return to Hell from whence you came!”

The raven’s eyes flashed crimson.

‘Nevermore!’

In a fury, it flapped its wings and dove toward Daniel.

Horrified, Daniel scuttled off to escape the hellbent bird.

‘Nevermore!’

Daniel was taunted with the possibilities of escape and plagued with the promises of ruin.

For him to live a life once more would be worth more than all the treasures in all the world.

‘Nevermore!’

‘Nevermore!’

Miriam shouted aloud her boyfriend’s name, “Daniel! Daniel!”

A raven responded through the park.

‘Nevermore!’

Miriam came to the source and saw the meaty pulps that were once Daniel’s eyes; the magazine, gone.

A woman’s scream was smothered by the harrowing curses of a raven crowing.

‘Nevermore!’

‘Nevermore!’