The Raven’s Binding

A special copy of Edgar Allen Poe's collected works brings more than just words

In the foggy town of Willow’s End, Wowser Book and Video was a cozy haven for book and movie buffs, its shelves packed with dusty tomes and VHS tapes. One crisp October evening, a strange book arrived—a black-leather volume of The Collected Works of Edgar Allan Poe. It came with no sender’s name, just a note in spidery script: “Handle with care, for I am within.” The staff, intrigued but swamped, shelved it in the Classic Literature section and moved on.


That night, as Em locked up, they spotted an older man in the dim aisle near the Poe section. He was gaunt, white-haired, with a lined face that could’ve belonged to the father of a poet or a rapper—intense, wild-eyed, in a frayed, old-fashioned coat. Em called out, but he vanished around the corner. A quick search found no one. Assuming it was a trick of the light, Em left.


The next night, Lopez saw him—same man, same spot, thumbing through the Poe book. “Hey, we’re closing,” Lopez said, but the aisle was empty when he approached. The sightings continued. Ryan caught him one evening, standing silently by the book. Nate swore he saw him flicker like a bad VHS tape. Emileigh felt a chill when she passed the Poe section, the air heavy with unspoken words. Night after night, the figure lingered near the book, always gone when approached, his sorrowful eyes leaving an eerie weight.


Unnerved, the staff talked it over. After two weeks, Lopez, the head manager, installed a security camera aimed at the Classic Literature aisle. The footage was unsettling: the man appeared from nowhere, stood by the Poe book, and faded like fog, multiple times daily. Sometimes he’d trace the book’s spine, lips moving as if reciting poetry. The staff watched, mesmerized, as he appeared even in daylight, unseen by customers.


Word spread. Wowser Book and Video became a phenomenon. Paranormal fans, Poe scholars, and tourists swarmed the store, hoping to see the specter. Some heard faint whispers—“Nevermore” or “All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream”—near the book. Others saw its pages flutter without wind. Lopez capitalized on the buzz, setting up a display around the book, though no one dared move it. Visitors from Berlin to Beijing flocked to Willow’s End, cameras in hand.


But the staff grew uneasy. Em noticed the store’s warmth faded when the figure appeared. Ryan found ink stains on his hands after shelving nearby, despite not touching the book. Nate heard soft tapping, like a raven at a window. Emileigh felt watched, her skin prickling. Lopez, despite the profits, sensed they were meddling with something sacred.


On a dreary November afternoon, a quiet woman in her forties, scarf tightly wound, entered. She browsed silently, drawn to the Poe section, and bought the black-leather volume with cash. The staff barely noticed. That night, the figure didn’t appear. Nor the next, nor the one after. The camera showed an empty aisle. The whispers stopped. The air lightened.


Wowser Book and Video’s fame lingered, but the magic vanished. Em, Lopez, Ryan, Nate, and Emileigh never spoke of it openly, though they wondered about the woman and where she’d taken the book. They suspected a fragment of Edgar Allan Poe had been bound in those pages, tethered to the store until someone claimed him. Somewhere, perhaps, he was at rest—or weaving new tales in a realm beyond.