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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London, 1888
A chill autumn fog swirled through the darkened streets, the cobblestones slick with a cold drizzle that had begun to fall. The flickering gaslights did little to pierce the gloom as two shadowy figures hurried through the night, their faces obscured by caps pulled low, the collars of their coats turned up against the damp. They moved with furtive purpose, stopping occasionally to glance behind them through the murk, ensuring they weren't being followed.
Tom and Bill made their living as body snatchers - graverobbers who disinterred the recently deceased and sold them to anatomists for medical dissection and study. There was always a demand for fresh cadavers, and the pair rarely had a shortage of "work." If a pauper burial couldn't be found, a middle-class grave would suffice, as long as no mourners lingered and groundskeepers could be avoided.
The church graveyard was wreathed in mist as they arrived, its moss-covered headstones and monuments looming out of the darkness like crooked teeth. They made their way to the fresh grave they had spotted that afternoon during a scouting trip. The wooden marker was bare except for a single initial: R. No flowers adorned the mound of damp earth. Whoever she was, this R seemed unmourned and forgotten. A perfect target.
"Bloody miserable night for this business," Bill muttered, shaking droplets from the brim of his cap. "Let's be quick about it and scarper off."
"Right," Tom grunted, thrusting his shovel into the dirt. "Sooner we're out of this boneyard the better."
They set to digging, taking turns plunging spades into the earth, moving as rapidly as possible while trying to minimize the scrape of metal against rock and soil. The grave was still fresh, the ground not yet fully settled, which made their task easier. Twenty minutes of hard labor and their shovels struck solid wood. Clearing the remaining dirt revealed the lid of a plain pine coffin, free of adornment. Using a crowbar, they cracked the box open with a sustained creaking and splintering of wood.
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In the wavering light of their lantern, the corpse of a woman was revealed, her eyes closed, arms crossed over her chest. She was clad in a simple gray dress, her skin waxy and pale in death. Her dark hair was gathered under a white cloth cap. A small silver locket on a chain rested just below her interlocked fingers.
