The beating of his hideous heart

“Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night.”

“Believe nothing you hear, and only one half that you see.”     

“Years of love have been forgot, In the hatred of a minute.”     

What do these three quotes have in common? They are all attributed to Edgar Allan Poe. 

No matter how the story begins, once upon a time or while down in the trenches, the lessons remain the same. The proliferation of ignorance to an apathetic and starved populace is no great feat. The publication of horrors without punishment is not justice. The complete erosion of a people’s trust is not clever. The blind conviction of moral superiority is not nuanced.

The bombardment of depravity is not unintentional. The cruelty is not accidental. No!

For some, it is a maniacal and incestuous unending search for power and the tools to retain it. Yet for others, it is the search for the passion and fury and unwavering determination to fight back, no matter the cost.

On this past Friday the 13th, the macabre stories of Edgar Allan Poe were recounted in the perfect setting, by candelabra, at the Merchants and Drovers Tavern, in New Jersey.

The host, Lady Prospero, a distant cousin of Prince Prospero catered to her guests and provided spirits and food to all.  

Here, everyone congregated together, irrespective of their differences, for I Heart Horror, an in character literary event.

In this space, the walls were filled with secrets we may never know. The Merchants and Drovers building dates back to 1795, and was a hotel and tavern from 1797 until the 1920’s.

On this night, the uneven floors creaked beneath the feet of visitors,  impassioned voices echoed, and imagination ran wild.  

The stories began with Edgar Allan Poe’s famous poem, “The Raven.” One by one, we marched into the blue room, sat down, and listened to the haunting tale of loss.

The emotions of grief and despair were eloquently conveyed by Margaux Braun. Here, we sat transfixed and trapped by the heaviness of death, love lost, and the aftermath.

The intensity of this performance did not disappoint and left us wanting more, and there was plenty.

In the green room, Poe’s masterpiece “The Tell-Tale Heart,” was read with a most admirable ferocity. The quivering onlookers palpitated with anxiety, as they digested the familiar narrative.  

“The Pit and the Pendulum,” (within the yellow room), impressed observers with its gothic claustrophobia and enduring torment.

The black & red room concluded everyone’s evening with “The Masque of the Red Death.” Gratefully, sharp pains, sudden dizziness, and profuse bleeding at the pores, did not accompany this lively retelling of Poe’s signature work.   

Visitors in centuries past would have gathered in taverns on cold winter nights to be entertained. It is a wonderful custom to preserve traditions. 

In a world where chaotic illusions are becoming habitual, spending a night with the “Tomahawk Man,” helps us momentarily escape the intellectual shallows we quietly struggle against, in our new norm.

Thank You Mr. Poe, for the divine madness you bestowed. 

Did You Know? Edgar Allan Poe died on October 7, 1849, at age 40 after being found delirious, incoherent, and wearing mismatched clothes in a Baltimore gutter. Officially cited as “congestion of the brain,” the true cause remains unknown due to lost records, with theories ranging from cooping** (election fraud), rabies, and alcohol poisoning to brain tumors or syphilis. 
**Cooping was a 19th-century electoral fraud practice, particularly in Baltimore, where gangs kidnapped vulnerable individuals—often the homeless or intoxicated—and held them in “coops.” Victims were forced to vote multiple times for a specific candidate, often drugged or disguised to avoid detection, which is a leading theory regarding the death of Edgar Allan Poe.