Halloween is coming, which means its time for my annual dip into the literature of the uncanny. In the past I’ve turned to Dracula, or one of the various Lovecraft compendiums on my shelves. However, I’m currently fighting off an infection so I have enough sharp pains in the throat and shapeless congeries of protoplasmic bubbles to deal with already, thank you. (*hawk, ptooie!*)
So, this year I shall disinter my Works of Edgar Allan Poe — sixty-seven short stories, one complete novel, and thirty-one poems! That might see me through to Thanksgiving.