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Can you hear the heart beating? Can you feel its hot breath on your neck? Someone is watching us. Somebody knows!


Poor Edgar Allan Poe. I begin to think I understand why he may have gone a little mad.

A black cat on your shoulder. The blood moon rising behind you. That bleeding heart in your hand.


What is a horror writer to do?

The Tell Tale Poe Heart aka Edgar Allan Poe with Black Cat

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