| abstract | - Delirious, I am not, nor am I a victim of trickery or credulous upon misapprehensions performed by deluders. Of course, this was indeed actuality! This is an accumulation of nonfictional accounts and there is a collection, an anthology of bizarre vocalized tales. I tell of the numerous commoners who revel over the clandestine occurrence of the Poe Toaster. Ha! Ney, I care not of an appliance that crisps the grain. This dubious stranger is sentient, very much of terrestrial origin. He (or at least I thought he was a male) didn’t have atrocious extremities or bizarre appendages. It was just a normal entity whose intentions remain secluded in the shrouds of mystery. No man, animal, perhaps even the trees and grass themselves have seen the visage of this discrete stranger. Therefore, most gullible individuals assume a very repugnant appearance. Others suggest that the Toaster’s face was so captivating that humans cannot comprehend and adapt to such blinding excellence. But of course, the skeptics in the other hand believe on contraire, he was just nothing but a prudent and surreptitious figure of the day of Edgar Allan Poe’s bereavement. My goodness, a tale of such audacity and fascination! The Poe Toaster has been consistently appearing and disappearing for almost half of a century. October 7th, of every consecutive year, is the illustrious and fateful date in which this [somewhat] mythological figure pays homage to the great American author Edgar Allan Poe. Poe was indeed a genius who composed dashing stories associated with an entertaining twist towards the conclusion. Examples, such as Metzengerstein and the Tell-Tale Heart, expressed the fall of the protagonists, a malicious stallion that expels the wicked and guilt can drive a man to his breaking point. Let us not disregard the poems of this master, a Sonnet- to Science and sweet Annabel Lee. Yes, the absolute ultimatum is that Poe was one of the greatest authors in human record. But the incredible and prestigious Poe, albeit vigorous in the power of the pen, cannot transcend that of his favorite factor, death. Poe withered at a considerably young age. His cause of death, disputed from rabies to alcohol intoxication, remains indistinct. Ever since his demise, the Poe Toaster will venture off to his tombstone and discard three roses in a particular position. He will then excuse himself to inebriation by drinking cognac and leaving the remainder to the ethereal Poe. This eccentric man of Poe’s tombstone is quite a nuisance. Nein, he is not a public disturbance whose disposition would bring bedlam here to benevolent Baltimore. Instead the Poe Toaster pesters me and every other civilian or conspiracy theorist who seeks his confidential identity. There was never any media (newspaper or daguerreotype) documentation on this illusive entity, only the oral tradition of a vague figure remains consistent every year. Let us not forget that he is neither a murderer such as John Wilkes Booth nor vigilante such as Guy Fawkes. It is just the suspenseful sentiment that makes him captivating and notorious in the eyes of the reveler. Numerous people have attempted to pursue this man and most neglect to return (my supposition was that it was involuntary). Some people revisited Baltimore but only to be discovered that they’ve emotionally been distraught. Accounts also explain how some ramble lines off of Poe’s literary works. This however is just murky anecdotes, I’ve seen those who have returned and they’ve expressed that the Poe Toaster is just too illusive. I came to the conclusion that he could indeed be followed and that I could potentially capture him and reveal his hidden façade. Training is not required for I am not joining a guild. It is just a simple apprehension, just to uncover the captivating visage. I admit I am obsessed! However this endeavor is a mystery waiting to be solved and therefore, it’s for the common good. For whom you might ask? I would name such people such as the beholders, the commoners, the mystery adorers, and the spurious cult of Poe! Nevertheless, I have taken the liberty of investigating and vowed to become successful in such an escapade. I listened to the eerie church bell from the nearby cathedral. The sound has inadvertently told me that it was the moment. At the time I enjoyed a little tea at the tavern but now it is time to approach the infamous site of visitation. As I strolled along the cobblestone pavement, I spotted a quintet of ravens which perched athwart a set of lamp posts. They all monitored my movement, glaring at me as I walked across to the gravesite. With a sudden turn all the ravens started to soar, one by one comparable to that of the domino effect. The group of avians spontaneously turned and glided above my head, imitating that of a falcon trying to neutralize a prey. With a ferocious screech, the ravens departed leaving only bemusement behind. I thought of the obvious sign, a sign of regret and admonition. I did not heed the warning and proceeded to the Poe’s gravestone. If Poe or the Toaster wanted to impede my intentions then may he (or they) cometh and strike me down! I came to the prominence of the evening ever so eager. The civilians of Baltimore did not crowd nor were they in a state of pandemonium. They are a quiet and civilized folk who only wanted to witness the events of the dusk. As I neared the original burial grounds I stopped to reflect over the bizarre occurrence with the ravens. The ravens were acting aggressive and wrathful. After a while I thought to myself, what a useless ephemeral monologue, and started to wait for the stranger. To pass the time, I enjoyed a game of chess with an old man who brought entertainment whilst watching for the obscure male. Over a couple hours, many failed to become patient and others succumbed into a slumber. As the Lunar brilliance settles at its peak, there was still no sign of the illustrious man. With lack of much needed sleep, my eyes began to perceive alterations of the environment. At some instances, I thought the inexplicable figure showed up, but it was nothing but a false perception. After a while whereas the hour continued on to the next day, I thought that it was hopeless and started to go home. Ironically, as I turned the Poe Toaster revealed himself after so long! His usual procedure was to place the roses and drink the cognac, which he did. And after the ritual was fulfilled he descended his topper and advanced into the darkness. I thought to myself, he cannot escape, not now, not yet. The dashing anecdotes of this deceptive man is true, however it’s time that such a title of ‘escapee’ should cease to exist. I caught up to the Toaster for about five meters until he noticed my unwanted presence. He ran which mocked my exhausted breath. Nevertheless, I chased after the eccentric figure as I have vowed to come triumphant at the conclusion of this journey. His mobile abilities were nimble and swift and rivaled that of simians which riddled the forests of jungles. A dense fog descended the stagnant streets of Baltimore which hindered my view of the evasive legend. It’s as if Nature intended for me to halt, for knowing the identity of the stranger would be typically dangerous to the psychology of man. Bah! I chuckled before such a capricious hesitation. Like I said before I will not falter until this man is identified by primary accounts. I reiterated this creed, oh so quickly, with much candor. Miraculously, the dense fog parted and I found myself near a dwelling. The Poe Toaster rummaged his pockets to locate his keys and proceeded to open the entrance. As he walked in, he left the door open, but only a slight crevice. I took advantage of this situation and hurriedly walked towards the grim prowess of the door. I looked if it belonged to a series of residences found in the area. To my astonishment, the apartment’s (or suite’s) address, is a number forbidden, a numerical value that used to describe Nero and the Beast of the Bible. Despite the constant forewarnings, I pressed on. I could still capture him, for he is within my line of sight. I continued to follow him to what seems like an elongated hallway. After five minutes, the corridor seemed to be consistent, never-ending like the temperament of light. It is until now that the Poe Toaster opened a second door (which was strikingly familiar). This door was of comparable state to the first, opened but only a miniscule fissure. I commenced my journey and what do I discover? An adorned room which tapestries mimicked the hues of the night sky. A tripod brazier illuminated the quarters while the windows of crimson loom over three sides. Many artifacts were contained, a fiery and hellish statue of a stallion, a picture of a sovereignty near the ocean, an eye which seemed to suffer a cataract, and a temporal device whose deathly tones only ravage the joyous portions of the soul. An entrance is found opposite to the corridor’s access way. I entered leaving no heed to any of the relics. Shockingly, I found myself at the entrance to the dwelling. I turned around to confirm such an assumption, but no it seemed as if I was now at Poe’s gravesite, only without any indications of the reverent townsfolk. The Poe Toaster turned to my direction at this instant. His very portico hypnotized me, it told me to uncover his unbearable hood and discover the truth to this damnable investigation. As I made a gesture that looked like a threat, the Toaster quickly dodged and summoned a dagger. He tried to pierce my heart or slice the jugular but my agility surpassed (or at least rivaled) his. I then became successful in removing the hood. Oh of all the grotesque and bewildering things! I was distracted enough for the Toaster to finally puncture my beating heart. It makes sense, the curios within the emblazoned room, the crimson color, the crevice, and the ravens were all attributes to Poe’s work. I lay dying knowing that the Poe Toaster was no supernatural entity, a ravenous hybrid, or mythological creature, but only Poe himself. ~Y
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