Forever More

In the early morning hours of the seventh of October, in the year of 1850, a chilly breeze lifted fallen leaves and flew along an unlevel stone walkway next to me. Lampposts flickered, lighting my route for moments, only to burn out with every other step against the cracked, weather-worn ground. Unwary, I followed until the path was no more, leading myself into darkness surrounded by graves. With an ever-so-sudden drop in temperature, my fingertips went numb as the air fell below freezing.
         "Poe ought to be out here," I whispered to myself, chills creeping down my spine as blank tombstones appeared before me. The crisp air scourged into my back, pushing me forwards. Shrieking winds encircled the cemetery, piercing the air as trees buckled at its will. Clamminess formed against my hairline despite the frigid gusts. My nervousness crept in, leaving at no expense but by the stability of my intrepidness. My dry fingers clasped together, intertwining, begging my mind to calm its quaking self.
         Mr. Edgar Poe had long been an inspiration for a likeminded individual such as myself. Having sought refuge in a world of horror, I wanted, needed, his insightful mindset on the allure of ghastliness. Papers marked, rejection after rejection, harrowed the will to create such thrillers. I yearned of reassurance to allow myself to love my own craft again. After so many neglectful dismissals of my work, what should remain but the sunken eyes of a man who couldn't be? But, Poe—he was a master. I wished only for his supreme approval, only to be left in the living world of which he no longer existed. So there I wandered, seeking for Poe, and seeking for myself.
         Memories of local rumors rummaged through my brain. Those who wander alone to seek Poe shall meet him only in death. I pushed the echoing words from my thoughts, shuddering at images they instilled. If he asks you of Lenore, you will be no more. A sharp pull of the icy atmosphere coated my lungs, and I noticed a reflection of red against a blowing oak. The winds nudged me once more, as I crept closer to the small crimson light that illuminated a shallow dirt path leading towards itself.
         Beneath the tree, a raven with piercing blood-colored eyes stared into my own while grasping onto a hanging limb. My breaths slowed as my heartbeat quickened, watching the raven's wings expand as it fluttered atop a grave but a few feet ahead of me. The raven stayed still, digging its dagger-sharp claws into the dampened grass. With its wings still outstretched, it barreled its luminescence into my soul with what appeared as blinding garnets in the place of pupils.
         "Poe?" I asked the bird, watching the raven's legs rumble from the shaking earth below.
          "Nevermore,"

Quote from "The Raven"

the raven replied, locking its gaze on the stars above, its red light blending with the black sky, envisioned through velvet clouds.
         My mouth was left agape, hearing words emit from a bird. "You are Poe?"
         "Nevermore."
         The harsh winds closed around us, blurring my sight past the raven and grave. Feeling as though in the middle of a tornado, the air suffocated my lungs while the earth above Poe's casket shook with a harrowing presence. Unable to move other than by the will of supernatural nature, I watched in horror as a pale, blue-stained forehead emerged from the mud. Eyes with stones of ruby, similar to the bird, appeared beneath, harvesting a powerful radiance as its gleam bounced off of the wisping vortex that enclosed us.
         The surface of the ground crumbled beneath the rising body of a fragile, expired Edgar Allan Poe. He stood and stared at me for only a moment before he spread his lamented arms towards the night sky with the raven between his feet, brightening the purple blend of their eyes mixed with an abyss of blackness against clouds.
         "This can't be real!" I shouted, the swirl of dust and debris minimizing its radius around us, forcing myself to edge nearer to Poe and the raven.
         "Nevermore," the raven and Poe stated in unison.
         "P-" I gasped for air. "Poe!"
         "Nevermore." Their eyes never left the clouds.
         The stench of rotting human flesh filled my nostrils as I was pushed closer, closer... closer. The physical breath of Poe warmed against my numbing face as he exhaled grime and flecks of dried viscera.
         "Sp-" I yelled, wrapping my hands around my throat as it began collapsing against itself. "Spare... me..."
         "Nevermore." The raven flew upwards against the ravaging winds, landing on Poe's shoulder. Their gaze fell from the sky and blasted into my frostbit face, now inches away. The ferocity of their optic gemstones blurred my sight as they bore their powers into me.
         With little strength left, I pushed my arms into Poe with every bit of my existence that I still maintained. As my fingers reached the crusting aged coat clinging to year-old death, Poe's hands clasped around my own.
         He gripped onto me, his desquamative skin falling into my palms, nearing his face towards mine, and asked, "Lenore?"
         I gave up, gasping for breaths against the wind and horrid smell emitting from his flesh. His blood red eyes bore into mine, allowing the light to enter my mind. My body fell weak and I stated, "Nevermore."
         The wind halted, knocking me onto the ground from the abrupt stop in pressure, my sight dizzy as I regained enough courage to stand. The temperature rose to a normal sixty degree autumn air, warmth flowing through my veins. Sunlight peaked over the oak tree above. And there was perched the raven, still sitting, still sitting,

Quote from "The Raven." And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting

staring at me with regular eyes.
         The raven said, "Nevermore."
         I responded, "Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!"

Quote from "The Raven"

The soft moss grew beneath, where I once was—now filled with the remains belonging to the spirit of a visitor who came to see me.
         As I reached an unlevel stone walkway I had never seen before, the raven behind shouted the word, "Lenore!"
         To which I responded, "Forever more." And the ground beneath me shook with horror, as the being beneath the dirt implored, "Lord, help my soul."

Entry for The Bard’s Hall Contest
1,041 words
Prompt ▼

It's 1850 you are visiting Poe's grave. Suddenly, his ghost appears and takes you on a haunting journey. *Ghost*

1) Where do you find yourself?

2) Incorporate one of Poe's stories as a backdrop showing where you go and what horrors await you.

3) You have to end the story with "Lord help my soul."

Short stories only
Word limit: up to 1500 maximum
Place word count at the bottom of the story.