It's not time traveling, but quite close

“Melancholy were the sounds on a winter's night.”

- Jacob's Room (Virginia Woolf, 1922)

My mother couldn't forget the winter when it was dark whenever she would leave for work. It was dark when she would come back home. She didn't want to repeat the experience, but I was eager to witness the moment. It was some kind of wonderful, a time traveling of a sort. Perhaps this was how an adventurous soul would look at those long wintry nights.

Edgar Allan Poe was in a state of delirium days before his untimely passing on October 7, 1849. He died under mysterious circumstances. The clock may have struck midnight when Poe sensed the end was near. A sensible mind would point out poisoning, even a symptom of brain tumor. And I wouldn't contradict it. Then again, authors tend to imagine too much. It could be good entertainment, but it was a different case with Poe. He had been a strange fellow.

My professor wondered if I was fascinated by morbid stuff. He was startled after I told him about my obsession with horror films. It wasn't hard to imagine the likes of Poe hiding inside an abandoned castle, waiting for a specter to appear. She would take the form of a voluptuous woman, who had to quench her thirst for blood. It could be a Gothic tale set in Europe, but Poe was fascinated with the Old World. (Seth Grahame-Smith also thought of the same thing.) Moreover, the author could have found peace in such things. I shuddered at first.

Bloody history

An old castle would be the first thing that came to mind whenever I recalled my summer holiday in England. For instance, Arundel had a sinister past. The womenfolk who lived in this part of Sussex died in the most brutal manner. (Off with their head!) Religion played a part. Poe surely knew about it, but he might have seen it differently. There were unforeseen forces, which have influenced the past rulers to turned against their spouses. The unpleasant memories would disappear under the bright sun. I would know after I marveled at the manicured lawn and the restored structures.

Most people would look at it as plain sightseeing, but Poe could have imagined a plague ravaging the land. It forced a prince to stay within his fortress, even staged nightly masquerades to forget the impending doom. Why would I keep on associating Poe with the horrors of the past? He didn't have an uneventful life. Anyone who saw his portrait would notice his eyes right away. Those were a sad pair of eyes.

Some would link Poe to H. P. Lovecraft. There were similarities between the two (and I wouldn't state the most obvious one.) Both authors didn't lead normal lives. They were drawn to the darkness. And they didn't seem to get out of it. In my case, I didn't feel detached from the bright lights at all. Not even the technology. Authors kept me company during the long wintry nights. Poe and Lovecraft would think otherwise.