To unravel that life of mystery and imagination, we have to start at the beginning, when the man was just a boy, and when Edgar was called Eddie.
Eddie: The Lost Youth of Edgar Allen Poe
“Won’t be a moment, madam. Just looking for residual traces of paranormal malignance, something indicative of heinous moral grotesquery.”
An onlooker, recognizing us as psychic investigation agents, would have assumed that the bags were filled with the equipment of our trade: salt-bombs, lavender, iron filings, silver Seals and chains. This was in fact quite true, but I also carried a skull in a jar, so we weren’t entirely predictable.
The Hollow Boy
Grunchgirdl’es World of Curiosities perched at the end of the rickety Little Pilchton pier, like a jackdaw on a branch … Besides Sheba, the other attractions were a stuffed squirrel with a carp’s tail sewn where its legs should be (“the world’s only true mermaid!”) and a two-headed lamb called Flossy.
Monsters were crawling from the ruins of Bath, the whispers said, bone-thin fiends and giants as tall as the hills. On the nearby farms, people nailed herbs to their doorposts and tied their shutters closed with red ribbons.