As someone who has had a keen interest in Poe since the age of six (when I came across a copy of 'The Black Cat' as read by Vincent Price), I'm appalled at myself for not writing fanfic for his work sooner. I just received a copy of his complete works and after spending much time reading and rereading, I decided to dip my toes into his realm and see just how close to writing in his style I could come. As such, I picked out one of my favorite stories on which to base my attempt: The Cask Of Amontillado. All the dialogue that resides herein was originally written by Poe and is owned by the people (what with this thing called 'public domain'), as it should be; the filler inbetween, however, is all mine.


I ask you, what cause had I to suspect the man wished me ill? He was as congenial as ever as he shook my hand, full of a glee which I attributed to the festive season, and even though we'd had disagreements in the past--trifle, pithy things that no one of any substance would have taken as an insult--I had no reason to believe he was anything but glad to see me.

My heart was gay with a lightness that I suspect had much to do with Carnival and the liquor in my veins, so perhaps my judgement was impaired...

But he gave me no reason to believe I need worry about his intent!

And what intent!

To lure me to his stores and to my doom! Oh, foolish man! What folly has befallen me due my lust for Amontillado!

Truly the angels must weep for such a man as I, so easily swayed in judgement--so easily fooled by one I called my friend. Surely his trechery will be written in the books of heaven; his name stricken from the record of the righteous so that he might join the damned!

Yet I seem the one to be damned. I the one chained to a wall in the damp and dark with nothing but the sound of silence pressing in on me from all sides.

What a glorious idiotic man I am! Strip away my robes and dress me in those of a jester, for tonight I play the fool in the court of Montesor.

A fool with no that of the heavy, pressing, empty catacombs that will serve to be my tomb.

I even begged him to release me...begged him with a voice so meek I barely recognized it as my own.

Fortunato! Beg! To do so was an insult to my lineage, I am but a man facing death!

And I heard the sickness in my own voice carried through the cold, damp air, weighed down with a desperation that my false cheer could not cover. I heard the proud voice of a lord reduced to that of a frightened boy.

"Yes," he said, the timbre of his voice sounding much further away than the remnants of my rational mind knew him to be, "let us be gone."

It was clear in his tone that he had every intention of leaving me where I stood, chained to the wall like animal and the icy terror that burrowed into my breast at this realization tore away the last visages of pride I had left.

"For the love of God, Montesor!" I cried, my own voice sounding far weaker and more desperate than I had ever heard it before.

"Yes!" He mocked, "For the love of God!"

He mocked! With jubiliation in his voice, he mocked!

Let him be damned! Let his judgement come from the lord high God himself!

I curse...knowing there are none to hear me...

This is my tomb...this place the last my eyes will see...

Death from suffocation or death from starvation...I can hardly choose the lesser of two evils as both are unappealing.

None will search for me...the festival will go on high, high above and not one will ask another 'Where is Fortunato?'...

Even if they do, another will comment that I am most likely off making my own mischief and give me no more thought than that.

Here with this chain digging into my flesh amongst the darkness and the rats...

None shall miss me. None shall think to look for me. One man will know my whereabouts but of them he will not speak.

And here I will perish, in these vaults of dirt and stone...

All for the sake of Amontillado.