Picture it: It was Sunday March 22, 2015 and I was twenty one and a half years old. I literally rolled out of bed and on to the floor so that my day could start. Normally on Sundays I sleep in and then stumble my way through work but this Sunday was different. I was to visit the Edgar Allan Poe House on 7th Street and then stumble my way through work. I walked the dogs, downed a Rice Krispy treat, and made my way to the bus at around 9:20am. All I could think about was how the sunny weather was so inappropriate and how I really needed an overcast sky or rain to truly get into the gothic state of mind Poe occupied. From the bus I went to the El and soon enough I was at the Spring Garden stop. The streets were somewhat empty of pedestrians and so I had a lot of time to think about what was about to happen. These thoughts left my mind when I saw the Raven statue outside and I knew I was in the right place. I walked up to the door, knocked once, and was let inside by the Ranger.
The first thing you see when you walk in is a gift shop full of Poe books and memorabilia. I own a Complete Tales and Poetry by Poe so none of this was of any particular interest. The Ranger informed me that the information movie was just beginning and then after that I could take the self-guided tour. The movie was informative and helped get me even more acquainted with Poe. The Ranger handed me a laminated self-guided tour sheet and told me which stairs to avoid and which direction to go. She told me I could start or end with the cellar saying, “It’s like dessert because it is the best part.” I chose to go to the cellar first. I walked down the steps, opened the door, and went inside. The door shut behind me.
My first real encounter with Poe was in 8th grade. It was his birthday and so to 
celebrate him, our principal read us “The Raven” and “The Tell-Tale Heart” on the top floor of our old school building which was still decorated for the Haunted house we throw every year. Each of us had to move old leaves off the ground and sit Indian style as we were read these horror tales. Nothing struck me as particularly but this started an interest in Poe that I have not been able to shake. I bought a book, watched any special I could about him, and reveled any time that we discussed a story of his in high school English. I enjoyed him immensely but I was never scared of him. Then the door shut behind me.
It was an old school cellar. It was all stone and a lone staircase sat in the middle of the floor. I could see storm doors on the opposite side of the room but they were shut tightly. Everything was quiet and the only light was from two tiny windows on my right. I looked around and at this point, everything in my body was telling me to leave. I don’t know about ghosts or the supernatural, but I felt something in that cellar that scared the hell out of me. The rest of the house seems like a blur and it makes me wish that I saved the cellar for last because it wouldn’t have ruined everything else for me. Dessert should always follow dinner.
I spent the ride home texting my mom to try and calm myself down. I went into the basement of a horror icon and I finally felt the horror that inhabited most of his stories. I do not want to go back again.
Image Credits:
http://media-cdn.tripadvisor.com/media/photo-s/05/fe/c3/d3/edgar-allan-poe-national.jpg
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/2/24/EAP-NHS–Exterior.jpg