Edgar Allan Poe and the Case of the Boarding House Blaze

A Quiet Moment?

As the vibrant hues of the setting sun spilled into the room, casting a warm glow over the worn hardwood floors, Edgar Allan Poe found solace in his modest Baltimore apartment. Nestled in the heart of the busy city, intent with its proud tradition of seafaring trade, busting at the seams with sailors and salesmen, Edgar’s small lodging was a sanctuary, shielding him from the clamor of the outside world. The year was 1843, a time when Poe’s creative mind was both revered and haunted by the demons that inspired his spooky tales.

The room itself was a testament to Poe’s eccentricities and his fascination with the gothic, the oriental, the dark…the perverse. In the hidden corners of his imposing mahogany desk were satchels of herbs, talismans, the odd Evil Eye. the surface of this scratched and dented table bore witness to his erratic scribblings…and his authorial frustrations with its litter of crumpled parchments and the veins of ink that smeared its surfaces, like the vascular of a slumbering beast.

The room’s walls were coated in a shade of midnight blue that mirrored Poe’s brooding temperament. Yet, their surface was not left unadorned. Strange, interlocking geometric patterns traced their way across those walls, like interlocking fingers, laced in thought. At this hour, the lengthening shadows crossed and re-crossed those tessellated polygons, like a portcullis, and Poe within, the king of the castle, the lord of the manor.

In this meditative…