So, I was going through my English binder and found this little sweetheart. Basically, I got bored when we were talking about Edgar Allan Poe in class and this is what happened. I own nothing...it's highly depressing. Enjoy!

George sat slumped in his chair, which sat in the shadowy library with stern busts staring at both the chair and its occupant

George sat slumped in his chair, which sat in the shadowy library with stern busts staring at both the chair and its occupant. Outside the library window, a cold December wind whipped through the lonely, quiet graveyard. It had been almost two months since Lily's horrific death, yet George still had not recovered. Few people even visited him any more. Perhaps they were put off by his overwhelming grief at the passing of his first wife.

He caught his reflection in a window beside the fireplace. In those past two months, George had become gaunt and pale. His once bright blue eyes lost their playful sparkle and became dull and listless. He ate little and slept even less. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, making him look corpse-like, and now his heavy lids began to droop. A sharp knock brought him back to a somewhat alert state. At first, George figured the book he had been reading fell to the floor; however, the large tome still sat on his lap with its yellowed pages open and its fading words blurring before George's eyes. He rubbed his hand over his face and muttered to himself,

"It's probably just somebody knocking at the door."

The ornate mantle clock chimed midnight, and George struggled awake to greet his guest. He stood slowly and stretched. Now the fire burned low so that only dying embers helped a dim lamp illuminate the room. Suddenly, something billowed the purple curtains, making George start, but he passed the incident off as a draft and nothing more.

"Besides," he mused, "strange things always happen in this house."

Finally, with the hope that his visitor had not deserted him, he made his way to the door.

"I'm terribly sorry, but I was not sure that I heard you knock," remarked George as he opened the door hoping to find another to pass the time with and possibly help him forget his sorrow for awhile, but as he opened the door, he only found an empty passage.

George blinked in confusion and wondered if this could possibly be a dream. He pinched the skin at his wrist causing a slight pain to accumulate at his wrist. Now he was sure he was awake. There was another possibility; Leota spoke of spirits inhabiting the manor. Why could this not be a supernatural inhabitant? Only one person would want to communicate to him from the other side.

"Lily?" George whispered into the darkness. "Lily, is that you?"

Nothing came back to George but the echo of his words. He cursed himself for believing in that foolishness. Besides, Lily would not have knocked, for she usually just waltzed in. George closed the door and went back to his sorrow. He was barely to his plush, comfortable chair when the tapping began again. This time it was coming form the window.

"Surely, it's just the wind."

With trepidation, he approached the curtain and flung it back; then, he pushed open the window and looked out. A raven, bold and black, flew into the room and perched itself on a bust over the mantel. The bird stared down disdainfully at George with glistening black eyes. Nervously, George stepped back and asked,

"Who are you? What are you called?"

The raven looked at him for a moment with black, beady eyes before responding, "Nevermore."

It was strange to hear the creature speak so plainly, even if its answer was irrelevant.

"No one else has probably ever seen a bird such as this," thought George. "Except perhaps Leota."

He glanced at the raven again. The fowl stood perfectly still on the bust.

"No matter," Gracey turned as if to leave the room. "It will leave, just as other have. Just as Lily did." He said these words regretfully and quietly so that only he could hear, yet the raven replied to his statement.

"Nevermore."

Gracey looked up at the bird in surprise. It looked real enough. Was someone playing a cruel joke at his expense? Was he dreaming? Why did this bird stare so unyielding, so cruelly from his perch? It must be a trick.

"He must have parroted the word from some depressed master."

The raven did not confirm nor did it contradict the statement. George collapsed in his velvet lined chair, touched his forefingers together, and stared over them at the raven. The bird's eyes bored into George's heart, seeking out something. George also sought something, and that something was why the raven perched in front of him. Something downed on him, and sprang to his feet and pointed at his silent feathered foe.

"Wretched creature! You are here to take Lily from me again! You demon! Come to take my memories have you?! Tell me will my pain be eased?"

"Nevermore."

George growled in frustration, and a small voice echoed in his head. What did you expect from talking to a bird? You're going mad. George ignored the voice and posed another question to the solemn black bird.

"Tell me, whether you are bird or devil, will I hold my beautiful Lily again? Will I see her again?"

The bird blinked and answered without emotion.

"Nevermore."

George turned, picked up a book, and hurled it at the raven. It missed, but George was not fazed.

"Get out, you unwelcome, foul creature!" he shrieked. "Leave me in peace! Go back to Hell or wherever you came from!"

Again the bird merely looked at him and quoted, "Nevermore."

George screamed in fear and frustration. He cursed the bird again and ran from the room in a panic. Once he had gone, three heads popped up from outside the window. One was rather plump, another almost skeletal, and hair almost completely covered the third face. They climbed through the window and peeked out the door.

"Do ya think we took it too far?"

One of Gracey's screams echoed back to them as the raven perched on Ezra's shoulder and repeated his word. Ezra gave him a cracker to shut him up. Gus, the short one, was giggling uncontrollably behind his beard.

"Nah. He's lookin' better already, Phinny. Look, he's even getting exercise now, and you know what they say about exercise."

The plump man looked over at his tall companion with curiosity.

"What do they say?"

"It gives you those whatchamacallits…uh, endorphins! And endorphins make you happy, so he'll be better in no time."

"Endorphins? I thought we made that up for our anti-depressant for that crowd in Albany."

"Did we?" Ezra put on a thoughtful expression. "Yeah, that sounds like something we would make up. Well, at least he's not moping around anymore."

The other two of the group nodded before following Ezra to find a prime seat for George's continuing freak-out.