Step into the shadowy realm of "Poe's Nightmares," a mesmerizing collection of short stories and poetry penned by the enigmatic Lady Eckland. This anthology is a tribute to the master of the macabre, Edgar Allan Poe, whose spectral whisper resonates...
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In the shroud of twilight’s fold, There stood a mansion, age-old, Its towers grim and foreboding, In lands where mist was always floating.
A man of curious heart and sight, Took residence one fateful night, Drawn to the allure of ancient stones, Not knowing he'd enter forbidden zones.
The doors creaked open with a moan, As shadows danced, chill to the bone, Whispers curled around his ear, Murmurs of dread, and lingering fear.
The air was thick with tales untold, Of the lurker at the threshold, A presence dark, from eons past, In this house where shadows cast.
Each night, beneath the moon’s pale glow, He heard the stirrings, soft and low, A silhouette in a fleeting glance, In the corners of his trance.
With each whisper, walls would speak, Of the guardian of the peak, That held the mansion’s darkest lore, And the horrors it bore.
The man, once brave, now trembled, undone, As the boundary between realms had begun To thin, revealing the ghastly sights, Of spectral forms in the dead of nights.
He saw things no man should see, Faces twisted in agony, Echoes of those who’d come before, Trapped with the lurker forevermore.
The house, alive with malicious will, Drew him deeper into the chill. The whispers turned to desperate cries, Underneath the stormy skies.
Madness crept into his mind, A creeping fog, thick and blind. The lurker’s call, a siren song, To where the lost souls belong.
In isolation, his heart did fray, As the lurker led him astray, Through halls that pulsed with spectral breath, The threshold between life and death.
On a night too bleak to name, The threshold pulsed, a silent claim. The man succumbed, his fight all spent, Into the dark, forever bent.
Now he whispers with the rest, Another shadow, once a guest, Lurking at the threshold’s side, In the mansion where the lost reside.
Beware the lure of ancient stone, For some doors should open to none alone. And if you hear the whispers call, Flee, lest into darkness you too shall fall.
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