When Edgar Allan Poem Met Elizabeth Barrett Brownie

The mansion was dark.

From dusk until dawn, virtually none of the thirteen rooms were ever lit, even though both residents were routinely up all night.

In his dark recherché study, a figure wearing red silk pajamas sat in the shadows behind a black walnut desk.

The heavy red velvet curtains were always closed. Behind Adam was a single bright floor lamp with a red velvet shade. A spiraling black and red Persian rug was in front of him, woven to look like a flaming abyss. Across the room, tall Carpathian elm bookcases were filled with dusty novels and carefully preserved grimoires, some so venerable they were kept under glass.

A human skeleton stood erect in a corner, held together by a complex scaffold of thin iron rods.

As was his habit lately, Adam signed online, pulled up his browser, and clicked on the shortcut to Vocal.media.

Much to his delight, he found a new creepy haiku by Rachel.

He read it in a split-second, then slowly read it again and again and again, in order to savor the taste.

Syncopated Savagery

🎼 Murder is Music To Your Ears

Cutting uplifts you.

Your victim's screams make you sing.

🩸 Knives are your drum sticks.

🩸

🩸

Her blood emojis captivated him.

Adam couldn't carry a tune for shit, but the idea of singing while someone screamed made him laugh.

He licked his lips.

When Rachel exhibited her morbid imagination & dark sense of humor, it was like she was unknowingly flirting with him.

Adam knew Rachel had the Soul of a Poet.

But did she have a virgin soul?

Was she pure of heart?

He was frustrated that he hadn’t been able to read her mind yet.

Until he read her mind, he couldn’t know if she was right for him.

Was a breakthrough imminent tonight?

After they met through Vocal, after he left comments on some of her poems, they enhanced their association by becoming Facebook friends.

She worked second-shift and was often up until 2-3 AM. Not exactly all night long, but Adam took what he could get. It was certainly more convenient than if she worked first-shift.

Recently, they had been chatting for hours using Messenger. He was honest about his appreciation of her poetry, and she responded enthusiastically to both his praise and his suggestions (minor criticisms).

Rachel was twenty-seven-years-old, an attractive blond divorcee living in Muncie, Indiana, with her eight-year-old daughter, Deborah.

Rachel was three months pregnant when she married her high school sweetheart, Michael Rutherford. They settled into a rat-hole apartment when Debbie was born. Mike worked at Walmart. Rachel worked at Taco Bell.

The bills mounted up, finances got tight, and Mike often drank. His temper got worse and worse. Finally, his abuse went beyond belittlement.

He started hitting her.

Rachel took his beatings twice, but when he did it a third time, she left him for good.

Rachel now worked 2nd shift as a cheerleading coach & dance instructor. After Deborah went to sleep, she often wrote ballads, acrostics, & haikus, publishing them in Vocal's Poets Community under a nom de plume.

Adam wished he had a talent for poetry.

He was silver-tongued and cunning, but he was not creative.

Destruction was his forte.

He plagiarized poetry from Medium, posting it on Vocal to maintain the facade that he had talent.

It was 10:27 PM when he signed online.

Rachel had inspired him with her screen name. She was Elizabeth Barrett Brownie.

So he became Edgar Allan Poem.

He smiled when he saw Rachel was also live on Messenger. He began their private chat by writing,

How are you tonight, gorgeous?

• >Elizabeth Barrett Brownie: Friday night. No work tomorrow. I’m great! You?
• >Edgar Allan Poem: Magnificent. So… no regrets about last night?

• >Elizabeth Barrett Brownie: No.
• >Edgar Allan Poem: You’re not going to disappear on me again?
• >Elizabeth Barrett Brownie: No.

⚡

Nearly a month ago, Adam and Rachel discussed sex for the first time. The conversation was raunchy, and Rachel became aroused.

Then, for about a week afterwards, she ghosted him.

Her defensive mechanisms had kicked in.

When she eventually broke the silence, she was still distant and cold.

But he had the patience of an undiscovered ancient artifact.

He simply waited. The thaw wasn’t long in coming.

She finally apologized for being so standoffish, admitting she missed him.

Last night, the subject of sex came up again. Rachel was drinking red wine and smoking Indica, which she freely confessed made her horny.

Adam took control, dominated her, told her exactly what to do, and, with the help of a vibrator, he brought her to climax.

He lied: saying he had an orgasm too.

⚡

• >Edgar Allan Poem: Excellent! I almost went mad when you gave me the silent treatment.
• >Elizabeth Barrett Brownie: You know I regret that.
• >Edgar Allan Poem: I know. You were feeling vulnerable.

There was a lengthy pause. Finally, she wrote, Yes.

Devilishly, he responded...

• >Edgar Allan Poem: But last night wasn’t so scary, was it?

He never tired of the irony of telling a woman not to be afraid of him.

• >Elizabeth Barrett Brownie: No. It was wonderful.
• >Edgar Allan Poem: If I'm lying, I'm dying.

He laughed aloud.

• >Elizabeth Barrett Brownie: No. It was wonderful.
• >Edgar Allan Poem: I know you think all men are pigs and you’re absolutely right.
• >Edgar Allan Poem: That's why I was so nervous when we started having cybersex.
• >Edgar Allan Poem: I'd never want salacious talk to get in the way of our developing relationship.

• >Elizabeth Barrett Brownie: You know what I like about you, Adam?

Breathlessly, he said/wrote, “What?”

• >Elizabeth Barrett Brownie: You’re a pig who doesn’t deny he’s a pig.
• >Edgar Allan Poem: 😂

• >Elizabeth Barrett Brownie: Not every man will admit that.

He informed the computer screen, “I’m not precisely a man anymore.” What he typed was, I’m not your typical man.

• >Elizabeth Barrett Brownie: I’ve gathered that.
• >Edgar Allan Poem: 😁
• >Elizabeth Barrett Brownie: So are you ever going to have a picture taken that you can send me???
• >Edgar Allan Poem: How many times have we discussed this? You know I have my reasons for remaining somewhat anonymous.
• >Elizabeth Barrett Brownie: I'd guess we’ve discussed this at least a dozen times. If memory serves, we’ve determined that, despite your claims to the contrary, you’re either scarred, ugly, or both.
• >Elizabeth Barrett Brownie: Or you’re married. Or…
• >Elizabeth Barrett Brownie: A new theory here...
• >Elizabeth Barrett Brownie: You’re one of America’s Most Wanted.
• >Edgar Allan Poem: Close. I’m one of Columbia’s Most Wanted. I operate a combination drug cartel and brothel out of Bogotá.
• >Elizabeth Barrett Brownie: 🤣😂
• >Elizabeth Barrett Brownie: So what is up with the picture thing???

• >Edgar Allan Poem: I told you all you need to know about me. I’m suave, sophisticated, sensitive, and sexy.
• >Elizabeth Barrett Brownie: And rich.
• >Edgar Allan Poem: Filthy rich people prefer to be called 'independently wealthy.'
• >Elizabeth Barrett Brownie: You’re modest too.
• >Edgar Allan Poem: Do you think so?
• >Edgar Allan Poem: I’ve never thought so myself... but I’m much too modest.
• >Elizabeth Barrett Brownie: You hiding what you look like makes me very nervous.
• >Edgar Allan Poem: I'm not hiding anything. I'm maintaining the mystery. I guarantee it will be worth the wait.
• >Elizabeth Barrett Brownie: And why don't you want to talk on the phone again?

• >Edgar Allan Poem: Hearing your voice would be torture, Rachel. You truly don’t understand how much I want you— how much I long to be with you. I think about you all the time.
• >Edgar Allan Poem: If you want to know the truth...

He waited six seconds, grinning wickedly, then calculatingly wrote, NM, meaning “Never mind.”

• >Elizabeth Barrett Brownie: What?
• >Edgar Allan Poem: Nothing.

He made her beg for it.

• >Elizabeth Barrett Brownie: Tell me.
• >Edgar Allan Poem: You don’t want to hear this.
• >Elizabeth Barrett Brownie: How do you know? Are you a mind-reader?

He answered aloud, “Yes, I am, but only under precise conditions.”

His smile faded. “Which is why we need to get together.”

• >Elizabeth Barrett Brownie: Tell me.
• >Edgar Allan Poem: :::sighs::: Okay. But you asked for this...
• >Elizabeth Barrett Brownie: Yes, I did.
• >Edgar Allan Poem: I wonder if I’m falling in love with you.

He expected a pause, and he got a long one.

Finally, she wrote...

• >Elizabeth Barrett Brownie: Sometimes I think I’m falling in love with you too, Adam.
• >Edgar Allan Poem: So why not meet me? Let’s get together.
• >Edgar Allan Poem: You know you want to.
• >Edgar Allan Poem: 😁

• >Elizabeth Barrett Brownie: What? Me fly out to your place in Beverly Hills?
• >Elizabeth Barrett Brownie: No, wait! The Chicago mansion is closer, right?

While he hadn’t sent her photographs of himself, he had sent her pictures of three of his six homes.

She accused him of scarfing the photos off the Internet.

She had difficulty believing anyone could become as wealthy as Adam without selling his soul to the devil.

He once told her, “I have no soul.”

She had rolled on the floor laughing (ROTFL) at that.

Adam knew Rachel wouldn’t be comfortable if their first date was at one of his estates.

• >Edgar Allan Poem: Since I stole my houses off the Internet, I don’t think that’s such a good idea. What if the real owners come home?
• >Elizabeth Barrett Brownie: That could be a problem.

He didn't expect to go this far tonight. He intended to tell her he thought he might love her and then let her sit on that admission for a couple days.

But he felt the time was right to seize the moment.

And Adam always trusted his instincts.

• >Edgar Allan Poem: Yes, it could. That’s why we should get together at your place. That way I could meet both you and Deborah.

Adam had no concerns about Deborah. He knew the brat would take one look at his handsome face and fall hopelessly in love.

Another quiet moment played out, while he waited for Rachel’s response. When it finally came, he was pleasantly surprised.

• >Elizabeth Barrett Brownie: When?

He needed confirmation...

• >Edgar Allan Poem: Are you serious?!? We can get together? I can come there, no problem. I’ll fly into Indianapolis and then drive up to Muncie. If you’re not comfortable with me coming to your house, I can meet you somewhere for dinner.

He didn’t know why he was saying that. Dining out was always problematic for him, but he was barely aware of what he was speed-typing, he was so thrilled by her answer.

• >Edgar Allan Poem: Whatever you want to do, Rachel. Just tell me when.

He waited anxiously for her response. When it came, he slapped his hands together with glee before returning them to the keyboard.

• >Elizabeth Barrett Brownie: How about a week from tomorrow?
• >Edgar Allan Poem: That sounds wonderful!
• >Elizabeth Barrett Brownie: I eventually want you to meet Deborah, of course. But I think the first time we get together should just be you and me.
• >Edgar Allan Poem: I like the way you think!
• >Elizabeth Barrett Brownie: And I don’t need to meet you someplace. You can come here.
• >Edgar Allan Poem: Marvelous! I really didn’t want to do dinner anyway. I’m going to be entirely too nervous to eat.
• >Elizabeth Barrett Brownie: You’re going to be nervous? I’m already a nervous wreck! 😂🤣
• >Edgar Allan Poem: I can’t believe you just invited me into your home. You did just invite me into your home, didn’t you?
• >Elizabeth Barrett Brownie: Yes. Deborah can stay with my mom. We’ll have the whole weekend to ourselves.

Adam could barely able to contain his impish glee. “The brat’s out of the way and she is not ruling out the possibility we’ll have sex! Perfect!”

• >Edgar Allan Poem: That sounds perfect!
• >Elizabeth Barrett Brownie: Okay. I’ll email you directions to my house. Let’s say next Saturday night at 8:00? Is that okay with you?
• >Edgar Allan Poem: Let’s make it 9:00. 😁
• >Elizabeth Barrett Brownie: 9:00 it is. 👱‍♀️

When Rachel signed offline not long after that, Adam rushed downstairs to inform Byron. He found his manservant in the dark living room, kicked back in his La-Z-Boy, watching The Late Show.

The moment Byron saw Adam, he picked up the remote to mute their giant plasma TV.

“Pack our bags, Byron,” Adam commanded. “We’re going to Indiana!”

⚡⚡________________⚡⚡

They flew out to the Circle City four nights later.

It took Byron that long to make the arrangements. Never one for hotels, Adam purchased a condominium on the north side of Indianapolis.

Meanwhile, Adam and Rachel continued to talk nightly on the Internet. They were eager to be together.

Finally, the fateful Saturday night arrived.

Adam had Byron drive him to Rachel’s home in a newly purchased limousine. He arrived at her house at precisely 9 p.m..

Adam asked his faithful butler, “How do I look?”

Since Byron couldn’t use the rear-view mirror to answer that question, he turned around to gaze at his boss. With his slight English accent, he said, “Smashing, sir, as always.”

Picking up the two small gift bags that he’d brought Rachel, Adam got out of the stretched luxury. Walking up to her modest little home, he muttered, “You won’t be living in squalor much longer, my dear. Not if you’re a virgin.”

He wasn’t referring to celibacy, of course. With a seven-year-old child, that issue was obviously settled years ago. Adam couldn’t care less about her carnal history.

He was wondering if she was a virgin in another way.

And he couldn’t imagine she wasn’t!

Instead of ringing the doorbell, Adam lightly knocked on Rachel’s front door— rap, tap, tapping. He licked his lips, running his tongue over his teeth. He was so hopeful, he was almost giddy.

Finally, the door opened.

He beamed at her, and she smiled back.

Rachel stepped across the threshold, taking him into her arms. He concentrated on reflecting her own soft heat back at her, so she didn’t feel how hard and cold he really was.

He was thrilled to finally touch her, to smell her, to hear her rapid heartbeat.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi,” he responded, breaking the embrace. He stared intensely at her face, his green eyes blazing. “Your photographs don’t do you justice. You’re stunning.”

Adam almost lost control when Rachel blushed. His dark heart swelled with an unholy ardor.

Batting her long lashes at him, she said, “Well, you are certainly tall, dark, and handsome, exactly as promised. Incredibly handsome! It was worth the wait!”

“I have something for you.” He held out the two gift bags.

“Adam! I told you no presents!”

“It’s just a small token of my affection.”

She opened the heavier bag first, pulling out the book. She squealed when she saw it was Poems Before Congress, by Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

He told her, “It’s a first edition."

“I don’t believe it!” She clutched the book like it was already dear to her. “This is so sweet of you! It must have cost a fortune!”

He shrugged. “Not really. It’s certainly not as expensive as the diamond necklace I would have liked to have bought you.”

She looked at him with awe. “You really are rich, aren’t you?”

He shrugged.

She shook her head. “This is unbelievable! Things like this never happen to me!”

“Look in the other bag.”

When she saw what was inside, she laughed. “Brownies! I should have known!”

“Do I know you or do I know you?”

“You certainly know what I like!” She peered up at him with open gratitude. “Did you make these yourself?”

“Of course,” he lied. In truth, Byron made them. Adam had never created anything in a kitchen except bloody disasters.

“Come on in,” she invited.

Following her inside, he couldn’t truthfully say he liked her pedestrian house, but he could say, “I like what you’ve done with the place.”

“Thanks.” She beamed again at him, then gushed, “I can’t get over it.”

“What?”

“You said you were handsome but wow!” She laughed. “You’re gorgeous!”

He held up his hands as if to say, I told you so.

“I want to put these brownies away. Can I get you anything? I know you don’t drink alcohol, but I’ve got sodas, sweet tea, bottled water.”

“No, thank you. But feel free to have a glass of Merlot if you want.”

She gave him an uncertain look. “Are you sure you wouldn’t mind?”

“Not at all.”

"Okay. Make yourself at home." She clutched both gift bags to her bountiful chest. "And thank you again for the presents!"

“You’re most welcome.”

When she left him alone, he scrutinized his surroundings.

On an end table, in addition to a stack of Good Housekeeping magazines, there was a Nancy Drew book that surely belonged to the brat. He loved that Rachel was cultivating a love for reading in her daughter.

One wall behind the banal couch was devoted entirely to pictures of Deborah. Adam walked over and looked at the little girl’s life, from her baby pictures, to grinning photographs where she was missing teeth, right up through a picture of her laughing at her last (seventh) birthday party.

“Pretty eyes,” he muttered. “ Just like her mother’s.”

With his preternatural senses, Adam could hear Rachel in the kitchen. He smiled when she said to herself, “Oh my God, girl! I think you just hit the jackpot!”

He could smell the wine the moment she uncorked the bottle. He could also smell her perspiration, despite her Secret deodorant and Red Giorgio perfume.

Knowing she was nervous took the edge off his nervousness. Now that he was with her, now that he was inside her home, Adam felt completely in command of the situation. And yet there remained a wound-up spring of tension that wouldn’t be released until he read her mind.

He needed to know her deepest secrets.

He smiled, knowing her worst transgressions would be trivial.

Maybe lied to someone, maybe hurt someone she loved (probably Deborah). Maybe she stole something during a time of desperation. Maybe she liked kinky sex.

Whatever it was she felt most guilty about, he would know it soon. And once he did— once he knew she was virgin in the only sense that mattered to him— only then would he be free to be himself.

Only then would he be free to corrupt her.

He heard her returning to the living room, but pretended he didn’t, giving her time to check out his butt. After a minute, she told him, “Okay. I’m back.”

Turning around, he saw her sit her glass of wine on an end table, nearly knocking it over in the process.

He smiled. “There’s no need to be nervous, darling.”

She avoided eye contact. “I can’t help it.”

“I promise I won’t bite.” His smile broadened. “Not yet, anyway.”

She looked at him suddenly and said, “So, would you like the grand tour?”

“Please.”

“This will take all of about two minutes.” Rachel led him down a short hallway, showing him first the bathroom, then Deborah’s room, then her bedroom.

In her boudoir, he shot her an sensual gaze and she blushed again.

Once again, he nearly lost his mind.

Breathless, Rachel quickly led him back down the hallway.

Following her, he stared at the back of her neck, struggling to restrain his wantonness.

When they entered the kitchen, they were both utterly unprepared for what happened next.

Adam looked up from her neck and saw the sign above the stove that read…

GOD BLESS THIS KITCHEN,

AND GOD HELP THE COOK!

Beneath the sign was a silver crucifix.

Rachel told Adam that she was raised a Catholic, but she’d also told him she hadn’t been to church in more than a decade.

He never dreamed she would have a religious icon in her home!

He knew the sign was meant as a joke. But in this moment, he also knew that Rachel did believe in the power of the cross.

Eyes flaring bright red, Adam recoiled, howling an inhuman cry— a wail like that of a wounded wolf. Turning away from the repellent talisman, he shuddered uncontrollably, all his fingernails becoming three-inch talons.

That's when Rachel screamed.

Eyes closed, he located her by her shriek. Seizing her by the arm, he dragged her from the kitchen, back into the safety of the living room, away from that accursed crucifix.

When Adam finally looked at her again, he saw exactly what he hoped he wouldn’t: Rachel was terrified of him.

Everything had been going so smoothly!

“Nooo,” he moaned, terribly disappointed. “It’s too early for that! You're supposed to look at me with love first, then fear!”

Rachel tried desperately to pull free of him, but she couldn’t budge him. Her shrieks sounded like a dozen cats in a burlap bag.

“Damn.”

Adam pulled her close, grabbing her by the sides of her head.

She screeched still louder, and he did enjoy the sound & scent of her terror.

“Don’t worry,” he assured both himself and her. “We may have gotten off to a bad start, but it’s not too late to salvage this.”

He opened his mouth and caused his fangs to grow. As he did, all his zeal, all his desire for her, all his bloodlust was set free. And then he did lose control, surrendering to the terrible thirst.

Adam plunged his fangs into Rachel’s neck.

The blood brought euphoria. Her scarlet juices didn’t just sate his physical appetite, her life-liquid also nurtured his sinister soul.

Her blood instilled in him a blasphemous ecstasy undreamed of by mortals.

It also allowed him to read her mind.

Adam sucked up her memories. And he was shocked to his core by what he discovered!

Yes, Rachel’s husband beat her, but she lied about how often! It wasn’t three times; it was more like thirty! She finally reached her breaking point when Deborah was three, after Mikey smacked her around and cracked one of her ribs while raping her.

When he passed out, Rachel went and loaded Mike's gun, a 9mm pistol. Then she woke him up.

Still inebriated, he wasn't scared when he saw she had his Beretta. He was angry. He tried to take the pistol away from her.

That’s when she shot him in the face.

Later, she claimed he threatened her. She said she believed he was going to kill her and, without thinking, she acted in self-defense. Her broken rib lent credence to her story.

Adam couldn’t believe it! Rachel— sweet, domestic, innocent Rachel— she had gotten away with murder!

No wonder her poetry was so dark!

Adam had barely begun to drain her, he hadn’t even consumed a half pint of blood yet, but he suddenly yanked his fangs out of her neck.

Holding her head in his hands, he looked at her like she was a traitor.

He couldn’t believe this!

This was disaster!

He couldn’t corrupt her! He couldn’t turn her into a killer! She had already taken human life!

He raged, “YOU’RE NOT A VIRGIN!”

Tears spilled down her face. Blood oozed down her neck. Looking up at him with terrified eyes, she muttered,

“You’re a vampire.”

That was how the Drink worked. The Nosferatu and his victim shared minds.

Rachel knew Adam had no picture to offer online because he couldn’t be photographed, just like he had no reflection in a mirror.

She knew he couldn’t talk to her on the phone because his supernatural voice couldn’t be electronically reproduced.

She knew he couldn’t be here, right now, if she hadn’t willingly invited him (repeatedly) into her home.

His infernal kind had limitations.

Rachel also learned that Adam hadn't had a mate in nearly two hundred years. He had intended to make Rachel his consort, to bring her into the Blood, to make her a vampire if he found her deserving of his tutoring.

But he judged her now and found her to be wanting, because of her unforgivable sin.

Her head still in his hands, Rachel glowered at him. Knowing she was going to die made her furious.

She screamed, “DO IT!”

Adam’s rage exploded. Roaring like the feral monster he was, he acted without thinking, squeezing his hands together.

Rachel’s head shattered between his crashing palms like an overripe gourd. Blood, brains, and bone flew in every direction, drenching him, spraying the walls, splattering the ceiling, raining to the floor. A chunk of blonde’s scalp dangled from one of Adam’s talons.

The vampire plopped some of the bitch’s brains into his mouth, sucked the blood off them, and then spat them out.

He then picked up Rachel’s corpse and drank from the top, flipping her body upside down, the way a man would turn up a beer bottle.

When his thirst was slaked, he cast her remains aside.

Adam wept.

He wandered into the living room, where he stopped to gaze at the pictures of Rachel’s little girl. Thinking about the grief he had just caused the child brightened his mood a little.

He wiped away his blood tears.

Looking at Deborah’s birthday picture, seeing the child laughing. He thought he might return in twenty or thirty years to see if she had maintained her innocence, or if she took after her slutty stupid pusillanimous mother.

He was sad for a moment more and then easily shook it off.

"It's not like this hasn't happened a million times before."

When he left the dead woman’s house and slipped into his limousine, he was covered in gore. Byron looked back at him and said, “I’m sorry it didn’t go well, sir.”

Looking down at his drenched clothes, Adam sighed.

Byron asked, “ You know, sir, Ball State University is in this town. It’s where David Letterman went to school.”

Adam rolled his eyes. “You and your late-night TV. I thought you liked Jimmy Kimmel.”

"Oh, I do! And Stephen Colbert! But they didn't go to school here." Byron cheerfully suggested, “Stalking some college girls might do you some good.”

“No.” Adam slipped off his shoes and kicked back, sucking some of Rachel’s blood off the cuff of his sleeve. “I think I’ll just head home and see who's online."

"Are you certain that's wise, sir?"

The predator took a moment to ponder it. "I think I'm done with the Poets. I'm long overdue to check out the Horror Community."

~

_____________Bolt ⚡