A while later, my eyes shut in defeat of my long battle with my haggard body. My mind remained conscious, however, of the dark and mysterious noises around me for a long while after my surrender. I felt as I was asleep, but in a trance deep within restless fancy. I could feel myself become at one with masses of fog around me. My body and countenance drifted into a state I had never experienced before. All suddenly became dark and quiet around me and I neither felt nor saw anything for a length of time that I cannot, to this day, measure. For these was no sense of time or being in the trance I was being pulled into.
When I thought I had returned to myself and became once again aware of my surroundings, it was to a startling sight. My eyes opened to note the presence of a dark figure standing before my knelt body. It was completely covered in long, billowing robes that hid any natural shape the figure may have had. A soft gasp escaped through my pressed, chilled lips. I had not heard or saw anything before to foreshadow the phantom's presence. The convulsions of my frightened body returned in an instant. The sight of the figure frightened me beyond anything I had ever seen in the course of my being.
Upon hearing another gasp from my startled countenance, the phantom turned downward toward me. Two black, fierce orbs met my frightened gaze. I felt burned by the smolder present in the orbs of the phantom, as if a fire has began in the pit of my stomach. Never before had I seen such ghastly things intent on looking at me. I was in shock, almost hypnotized by the fire in the figure's eyes. Unable to speak or to move, I looked helplessly back into the pits of fire fixed upon me.
I watched as the phantom laid three single blood red roses on the grave of my cousin and the two smaller stoned next to it, which were meant to symbolize his beloved wife Virginia and his mother-in-law. The figure poured itself a glass of a golden liquid from a bottle that it held in what appeared to be a hand. The moon reflected its hidden silver glow momentarily upon the cemetery as the figure held a glass up to the black evening sky.
"To the pen," I heard the phantom whisper as if making a toast, "And to all who yield its power." In an instant, the glass was pulled back down from the sky and the cognac was drained from sight. Upon completing this, the figure knelt down upon the ground and poured the remainder of the brandy onto the ground. The attention of the phantom then sifted to me and still full bottle at my side. "Have you come to toast with me?"
"Yes." I answered finally out of my trance and suddenly able to speak, "And to learn who you are."
"Toast first," quoth the phantom. "All will be revealed in time." I nodded and obeyed the phantoms ordered. The liquid of my bottle soon mingled with that of the figures into the earth above my cousin's coffin. Upon completing this ritual a, pale, ghastly hand became extended in my path. Without contemplation, I grasped the ligament and rose myself off of the ground. The feel of the hand was as stiff and cold as any corpse I had ever felt. My grip quickly loosened on the phantom's hand once I was off the ground.
"Now the toast is made." Said I, "Who are you?"
"What reason have you to know?" Implored the phantom, "you are neither related to the great author nor a yielder of the pen."
"But I am," I countered. "Edgar Allan Poe was my distant cousin. I am descended from his father's brother."
"Then you are not how I expected," quoth the phantom thoughtfully. "Tell me, cousin of Poe, what is it you do?"
"I am a professor of English." I answered, suddenly ashamed," at the same school that my cousin attended."
"Things are not as they were before." The phantom observed, "can you not just simply write to make your living?"
"I cannot," I answered meekly. "My books are not widely accepted."
"It is a curse," sated the figure. "It was passed on you by your ancestor. The urge of the pen is strong inside your family's blood. Yet poverty is as well."
"Indeed," I said with a heavy sigh. "but…how do you know all this?"
"The curse is mine as well," replied the phantom." In the days before my death. Now I stand here, on the anniversary of my birth. Here, before my grave, I watch my fame from a distance. Yet, I shall never know its yield, such is my curse…." The words sent a fresh set of chills down my spine.
"You cannot be…." I gasp
"I am." Quoth the figure, "your unfortunate cousin. Now, a mere phantom who walks the earth in ignorance of his own fame."
"Cursed?" I implored, at last allowing the words to sink into my head.
"Cursed," my cousin repeated. "Just as those before me and those who will come after."
"Not I." I said quickly, "I don't write anymore."
"You will," said he. "Dear cousin, you will until your cursed existence is ended. Then you too shall haunt the earth, but fear not. Death is not as frightful as the living believe nor, truly, is this existence." His words were smooth and I did not doubt their truth. I found myself more at ease, but with hundreds of questions pervading my mind.
"Then if you are so wise in matter of both life and death now," Began I. "Tell me, why do we toast that which has cursed our existence for so many dark ages?"
"You shall know when the time comes," answered my cursed cousin. "Why does the rich man toast his gold? For surely it destroys him. Why dose a murder thirst for his victim's blood? Will not the taste drive him mad?"
"I'm afraid I shall never know." I said desperately. "I fear ignorance now, even as I fear this curse."
"Fear nothing," said he. "For all that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream."At that moment, a rush of chilled air rushed upon me and when it ceased, the phantom was gone.