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Edgar Allan Poe had always grown up with death.
Back then, his name was only Edgar Poe. He had a normal family. His mother, his father, and his younger sister. He thought that it was gonna be like that for the rest of his life, just the four of them living in harmony.
Though as a wise man once said, “Nothing good can stay forever.”
It started when he was just two years old, he remembers a window breaking, his mother putting him, and his younger sister Annabel in a closet. He might’ve not have remembered much that day, but he will always remember the screams.
Oh god the screams.
Those screams haunt him every night when he goes to bed. The blood-curtailing screams of someone in true pain. He could never get them out of his head, even after he got sent to a foster family.
This foster family in question seemed great in the outside, but just as every dysfunctional family there is, there was always an evil lurking somewhere close.
“Get away from her!” He had yelled, yanking his sister away from the wrath of his step-father, John Allan. Edgar hated him with every inch of his being. Well, as much as an 8 year old can.
John wasn’t always an abusive asshole. Once upon a time, he had actually loved the two siblings. But it had all changed when his step-mother died. Tuberculosis was a common disease that his step-mom had fallen victim too. Yeah, vaccines were invented, but they couldn’t afford it.
His step-mother meant everything to him. She was the light to his darkness. The mother figure his own mother tried to to be. She would comfort him when he had a nightmare. She would tell him stories to make him feel safe. She would hum her favorite songs to him.
Though that was all before.
He still remembers standing by her bedside, her mouth covered in a breathing mask, giving her the oxygen she needed. “Remember this Edgar,” She had said, turning her diamond orbs toward him, “You are in charge of what you strive to do.” Then her eyes closed.
He could remember the loud beeping sound slowly fade into a flatline.
He remembers coming home. Holding his sister’s hand comfortably. He could remember her crying, he could remember the warm tears running down his own face. He gently put his other hand around his mouth in an attempt to quiet his sobs.
He remembers his step-father going out that night. He remembers him saying something before closing the door, but his ears were to fuzzing to know what he had said.
After that grueling day. His step-father became more and more aggressive. It started as a stern tone everything he would talk to him, to him flat out abusing them. He remembers the first time he had hit him.
He remembers coming home from school, only to find John laying on the floor, as if he had passed out. He quickly checked to see if he was breathing, only from John to slap his hand away as it got closer to his neck. He remembers it stinging for a little bit, before it calming down, but he stood there in shock, he had never done that before.
He remembered when the abuse had started to get more extreme. It was a peaceful day, Poe and his sister had been playing in the garden all morning, laughing their cares away while playing tag, (aka their favorite game.) when John had stumbled out of the back door, obviously suffering from a hangover, yelled at them to come inside. Scared of what he might do to them if they hadn’t, they quickly and quietly came inside, John slamming the door behind them, making them wince.
He remembers him yelling the two young sibilants for being too loud.
He remembers him pulling out something sharp.
He remembers feeling scared.
He remembers John pulling him harshly towards himself.
He remembers John pulling his left arm sleeve up.
He remembers feeling pain.
He remembers someone screaming. He couldn’t tell if it was himself or his sister.
He remembers his skin feeling numb, but also feeling the pain.
He remembers his vision becoming blurry.
He doesn’t remember anything past that point.
He woke up on something hard. Sitting up, the smell of pure bleach hit his nose. Holding his nose with his hand, he looked around his surroundings, he recognized it as the kitchen floor. The memories of what happened came back flooding his brain.
He wanted to check his arm. But his fear consumed him. ‘What if he knows that I checked it?’ He had thought, he didn’t want a repeat of what happened.
But the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to see it. Excruciatingly, he raised his arm up.
Immediately, he wished he didn’t.
There was dried, crusted blood around what looked like to be words spelling out, ‘BE QUIET’.
The bastard had carved words into his skin.
It took him awhile to realize that it wouldn’t go away. Those words will forever haunt him. He would always be reminded of them when he wore short sleeves. He will always be reminded of it whenever he looked down at his arm.
He quickly snapped out of his trance when he heard a whimper.
His sister.
He had completely forgot about Annabel. The only person he cared for. He was so wrapped up into his own pain, he had forgotten about hers.
He thought he was selfish.
He quickly sprung on his feet, holding his left arm close to his chest, as if it was going to fall off if he didn’t.
He embraced his sister between his arms, ignoring how she violently tensed up. After a few seconds, he could feel her shoulders shake, she was crying. She clawed at Edgar’s back, almost like she thought he was going to run away.
They sat on the floor of the kitchen embracing each other until her sobs quieted down. Gently letting go of her embrace, he studied her face, her muddy purple eyes were red and puffy (which could be chalked up to her crying), but she had a very noticeable bruise on her right eye, and her cheek. He felt the anger stir within him. He hated John. He hated him with his entire being.
But it’s not like hating would do him any good. Hate couldn’t bring his step-mother back. Hate couldn’t bring the patch of skin on his arm back. Hate couldn’t revert his sister’s skin back.
Hate couldn’t bring his happiness back.
-
The first time Edgar had picked up a pen, it was like love at first sight. He could indulge himself in a world where only he lived in. He could write scenarios where his life took a turn for the better. He could write add-ons to stories, or movies.
He could do anything.
He primarily took interest into poems. The way authors could write 4 lines and have meaning in each word.
He loved it.
He started to write his own poems. It was his escape from reality. He remembers staying up late each night, writing them until he heard the front door open, signifying someone was home. To which he quickly, but quietly blew out the candle, and hid underneath his worn out mattress, where his sister slept.
Speaking of which, his sister loved his poems more than he thought he loved them. She would always find a way to snatch a story of his, and read it for herself, only to be caught moments later. She always flashed him her sweet smile before saying, “You always get to have them!” “Yeah, because I write them.” He would answer back, a taunting smile on his face, her cheeks would get red out of embarrassment, which would make Edgar silently giggle. She then would hand him the story, and ask, “Well since your so… Writefully gifted, read it to me!” Edgar would them smiled at her, and say, “Of course Annabel.” He remembers that he would read her his story until she fell asleep, her long, dark, plum purple hair falling like a waterfall down her back. Edgar smiled gleefully at his sister.
-
He remembers the day he realized death would always follow him wherever he went.
He remembered walking home with his sister, hand in hand, a habit that installed out of comfort. Looking up at the sky, he saw a black bird, seemingly to be following them. His sister gasped, “That’s a raven!” She excitedly said, contrasts to her soft tone, “We read about them in English class!” “Oh really?” He said, interesting lacing his voice, he could write a pretty good story out of the bird. “Yeah! Apparently they signify death, or despair.” Poe sputtered, completely caught off guard by the meaning.
-
Quietly stepping into the definitely-need-some-repairs house, the two were greeted by a seemingly empty house. They both sighed out in relief.
He remembers that it was the middle of night. He was awakened by someone dragging him out of his room. He didn’t know who exactly it was, though he had a suspicion.
“Get off of me!” He had said angrily, squirming to try and get out of the grip this person had on him, which made the person squeeze harder on his leg.
He got dragged to the living room, where he saw his sister. Her big, dull, purple eyes screamed fear, Edgar saw that her hands were tied behind her back, making her immobile to move. He glanced up at the perpetrator, of course, John.
“What do you want?” He screamed, fighting against the bounds that kept him away from protecting his sister. “I’m tired of you.” John said, his dead, sharp, green eyes glaring at Poe, as if it could kill him. “I’m tired of you brats.” He stepped closer to Edgar, taking out a razor from his pocket. “I’ll make sure you won’t survive this.”
He doesn’t remember what happened there on. The only thing he could remembers are the screams. More correctly, his sister’s screams.
Somehow screams always come to haunt him.
-
He doesn’t remember what day he woke up, nor what time.
All that he knows was that it was dead silent.
He could feel himself in pain
He felt sticky.
He tried to sit up, but was greeted with even more pain. He grunted. He had to sit up.
Where was Annabel?
His remaining blood ran cold, where was she? His eyes dotted around, trying to see if he could spot her.
He saw a figure in the room, hunched over.
He rolled onto his feet, ignoring his body futile screams at him to stop.
He had to get Annabel.
His eyes were blurry, but he could still see the body of a young girl, he stumbled toward her.
Then he realized.
She was covered in stab wounds. Some in her head, some in her torso, just on around her body.
He throat clogged up. He felt nauseous.
There was no way this was happening right now. He didn’t want to believe his candlelight was gone. The only person who made him happy.
He tried to reach out to grab her hand, only to realize his own hands were covered with dry blood. He made the mistake of checking up his arms. His heart stopped. All up his arms were words carved in. It reached to his shoulders, all degrading words. Some read, “MONSTER”, some read, “MINDLESS”.
He felt suffocated. He couldn’t believe this was happening. He need out of this house. He could feel himself stumbling out of the door, the coldness of the air hit his face. But he didn’t care, he needed to get away from here.
-
He didn’t know where he was, all that he know was that he was surrounded by tall, dense trees. He remembers collapsing out of exhaustion, he put his back a tree. Surprisingly, he felt a sense of peace flow through him. He closed his eyes, only to see his sister’s mangled body behind his eyelids. He quickly opened them again.
Nope. Not closing them again.
He heard a small squeak behind him, he jolted, and turned around, only to see a small raccoon. They stared at each other for awhile. The small animal slowly approached Poe, sniffing for any traces of food, and or danger.
He just let it happen. If this is how he dies, he would rather it be to an animal in need, then a monster with no remorse.
To Poe’s surprise, the raccoon jumped up into his lap, and laid on it, as if it was comforting him. Poe let tears prick the sides of his eyes.
-
It seemed like he was getting his life together. He got a steady job as an author, publishing his works for the whole world to see. After awhile, he had gotten his own apartment.
Its what he and his sister had been dreaming about ever since the beginning. Having their own place to stay, and to be as loud as they could be.
Unfortunately, only one out of the two had gotten there.
After the first month of him settling into the apartment, he had grown to hate looking into mirrors. All that he saw with his reflection was his sister. She had the same eyes as he had. The dried out, plum purple, only hers looked more alive. All that he saw back in the mirror was how he failed to protect her. He decided to grow his bangs out to cover his eyes. He couldn’t stand to look at them.
He heard scratching from the outside of the bathroom door, knocking him out of the trance. Oh right, he had forgotten about Karl, he need to get his shots.
-
The couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw that he got accepted to do a real life murder case.
Ever since his sister’s passing, he had inclined himself to be a detective, he wanted to bring peace to his sister when he caught his step-father.
But that’s for another time.
He had learned that the case was of a delivery driver accused of murdering one of the people he was delivering too using a type of gas-poison.
When he got to the crime scene, he saw another male there. He had raven-black hair with a brown hat perched upon his head, his eyes were closed. Poe wondered at first what color they were, but quickly shoved away those thoughts once the head police chief started speaking.
—
Poe couldn’t believe it. No way.
The male with raven-black hair solved the case within 2 minutes, maybe even less. Poe had thought that he stood a chance against him.
But he was wrong.
It seemed like nothing he did was ever going to be good enough. He left the scene with self-pity, while the police encouraged the ravened hair male.
He quietly said his sorries to his sister under his breath. She didn’t deserve a pathetic brother like him.
He was so wrapped up in his thoughts, he didn’t see the other male turned around to look at him leaving.
-
“Join The Guild?” Poe questioned, Karl bounced around on his shoulders.
“That’s correct!” A blonde male said, his turtleface smile looking evil, “We plan to seek an ability in a city in Japan!” That caught Poe’s attention. He had heard that the person who defeated him in the Battle of the Witts was Edogawa Ranpo, he works at an agency in Yokohama.
“Where in Japan?” He said, turning his head curiously.
-
He thought that he finally got his revenge. His rival was successfully locked in a book he spent 6 years to make. He thought he could finally make his little sister proud of him.
Until he saw the flash of yellow light coming from the book. His heart stopped.
No. No. No. No.
This was not how this was supposed to end.
He didn’t want to feel like a failure again.
Please not again.
Annabel’s body flashed in his head again.
He spent 6 years on something that was bound to failure. What was he expecting? They don’t call Ranpo the greatest detective ever for nothing.
Poe felt like the greatest negligence ever.
“You’re the only detective ever to give me chills.” Ranpo admitted, opening his eyes for a split second. “Come by the agency to give me more stories to answer!” He said as he yoinked the manilla folder off of the desk as promised.
At that moment. Edgar Allan Poe remembers feeling happy.
Something only few things could give him. He cracked a smile, feeling content with himself after 10 years.