AN: This story is (extremely) loosely based on the writing style of Edgar Allen Poe; therefore it's not exactly his style. This was written a while ago and I thought why not see what others think of it.
Hope you enjoy.
The Dreadful Song
It was a dark, dank, dreary December evening. The only sound in the room was the crackling of the flames in the fireplace. Edward sat in his favorite chair, comforted by the quiet which settled on him, soft, like a raven's wing. Finally the peace he had never known was his to enjoy. Edward looked forward to a future, his future filled with quiet evenings, his books and Aristotle curled up in his lap, purring softly.
On this particular evening, Edward felt especially tired. His eye lids were heavy; he began to slowly drift towards sleep. Edward thought he must be already sleeping for he heard music in the background, very faint and with no recognizable melody or words. Suddenly the volume increased, the music was no longer dreamlike. With each additional note Edward began to recognize the tune. It was that song, the song he had heard thousands of times and thought he would never have to hear again. It was her song. Just the thought of it made his blood boil, but hearing it caused his heart to race. His anger was so great all he felt was his heart. Thump, thump, thump.
Edward realized he was not dreaming, but was awake. The music was real. It was coming from her bathroom. The room he avoided. It was the room she loved. The room she spent hours in, relaxing in the tub and listening to that song, over and over again. In a way that room had been the death of her. Everyone thought she had committed suicide in the tub, but Edward knew better.
Edward sat in his chair, listening to that dreadful song. He thought it must be his imagination, for how could the music turn itself on. She was gone and she was the only one who played that dreadful song. Edward did not move for some time. Each time the song began to play again, his anger grew. He knew the only way to stop that song was to stop it himself.
Edward put Aristotle in the floor as he stood up. Aristotle ran ahead towards the bathroom. Edward followed. With each step, his heart beat stronger. Thump, thump, thump. As he approached the bathroom, he noticed the door was slightly ajar. The door creaked as Edward slowly pushed it open and the music grew louder. Edward stepped into the room. His socks immediately became drenched. Edward realized the tub was overflowing. He had not heard the running water because of the loud music. As Edward tried to make sense of what was happening, Aristotle hissed. The cat moved towards the radio, knocking it over. As it fell towards the floor Edward thought, her song, her radio, her tub, her cat.
Avoiding the wet floor, Aristotle left the bathroom. He turned up his nose at the smell of burnt flesh that hung in the air.