Sunday, August 26, 2012

Dark Shadows

Last weekend I was in the public library looking through the movie section when I found a DVD that I hadn't seen there before. It contained nine episodes of the original Dark Shadows serial, which showed most weekday afternoons from June 1966 until April 1971. As I looked over the cover, I saw that these original broadcasts were not listed in exact chronological order but rather, were carefully selected because of their uniqueness and significance to the overall story line. What a treat! I thought to myself, and I quickly checked out my exciting find and headed out the door with it. 

That evening I turned off the lights (something I like to do anyway) and jumped into the first episode, during which the vampire Barnabas Collins, recently released from the mausoleum by accident, shows up at Collinwood in order to introduce himself to the Collins family as a relative from England. From that point on, each subsequent episode provided me with some amazing insight into the nature of the program. I say amazing insight because although I've seen my share of the original broadcasts, I never fully grasped the beauty and complexity of the program's overall narrative. Maybe that's because I was younger at the time and didn't look into things as deeply as I do now. Also, I never did get to see most of the program's offerings. 

As I spread out my viewing of the nine episodes over the course of three or four nights, I came to realize just how totally Gothic the program truly was, and how many concepts were introduced throughout the serial's lifespan. Of course, Barnabas was likely the first vampire to stir the viewer's sympathy; a first in and of itself. Equally important however, is the fact the Dark Shadows also touched on such things as ghosts, possession, werewolves, time travel and even alternative realities. The Collins family, even when depicted in the so-called present, had a certain Victorian feel to it. Then again, when Barnabas and Doctor Hoffman, the one person who knows of his vampiric nature, travel back through time to the 1890's, the story actually transports the viewer to that time period. 

Not surprisingly, by the time that I had finished with the DVD I realized that I wanted to see more of this classic TV series; and I wanted to watch it in the right sequence. So, I've added several of the discs to my Netflix queue. I plan on starting with episode one and taking it from there. Since well over 1,000 episodes were produced, I can't say just how far I'm going to go with this, but it's going to be a lot of fun anyway.  

       

   

Monday, August 20, 2012

Dressing Safely

Discussion on the aesthetics of dress and style are everywhere in the Gothic blogosphere. Hardly a day goes by during which I don't find at least one such conversation at the places I visit. Among the articles I find interesting are those discussing the compromises in style darkly inclined folks must make; this, in order to satisfy the requirements of society or blend into the workplace. Fitting into a work setting while still maintaining a bit of Gothic flavor can be challenging indeed. It's also an opportunity to use a bit of that creativity that we all talk about.

Many darkly inclined folks are isolated in their communities and without the internet, would have no contact with other like-minded people. Here in the American South many people are religiously conservative and in communities where these views are prevalent and people falsely believe that Goths are agents of the Devil, the daily life of a such a person, one who dresses the lifestyle can become somewhat perilous. I personally feel fortunate in that I live in an open-minded community that is for the most part, accepting of alternative people. Still, there are places not very far from here where I would be much more cautious with my clothing choices. Trust me, wearing vampire-themed T-shirts would likely, not go over very well in small town Arkansas; neither would a guy wearing black nail polish or in general, any public display of the dark aesthetic we appreciate. For the isolated individual, potential dangers are not only posed by fearful or hateful residents, as was the tragic situation with Sophie Lancaster, but they may even come at the hands of law enforcement and the legal system.

One case in point regards three 1994 murder convictions that were obtained against Damien Echols, Jason Baldwin and Jessie Misskelley Jr., otherwise known as the West Memphis Three, who lived on the other side of my state. The three were convicted for what were called "Satanist cult killings" of three eight-year-old boys on less than reliable evidence and were only released from prison in August of last year; this, due to DNA evidence that exonerated them. Why the accusations of Satanist cult killings, you might ask. Damien Echols, who had received the death penalty use to claim that he was Wiccan, dressed in dark clothing and listened to heavy metal music--most heinous activities here in the Bible Belt. You can read their story by going here.


Clearly, there are places where being visibly Goth or alternative can be a dangerous proposition. If any of you readers live in such places, I'd be curious to know how you sidestep the potential dangers. And if you don't, I'd like to know how you'd handle your clothing choices if you were in such a place.       

       

     
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Monday, August 13, 2012

Creepy Doll Haunts

As I've mentioned before, I'm quite interested in creepy dolls and strongly feel that keeping company with them not only helps create a wonderfully macabre ambiance around the home, but also allows the enthusiast to keep company with marionettes that visibly represent the darkness that we embrace. As far as I'm concerned, they're just plain fun to have around and they make great conversation pieces.

There are quite a few commercially produced specimens on the market today, which include Mezco Toyz' Living Dead Dolls and Mattel's Monster High Dolls. While I don't consider the latter to be particularly dark or Gothic, they are enjoying a considerable amount of popularity at the moment.

It's not the commercial or popular specimens that I wish to discuss in this article though; instead, I'd like to highlight some amazing artists who hand craft their grotesque creations, which they make available for purchase and also some creepy-doll collectors who fill their web pages with some amazing galleries. At the very least, you the reader might get a chuckle from browsing through photos of these unusual specimens. On the other hand, your dark soul just might cause you to fall in love with an artist's one-of-a-kind creation, in which case you might not be able to resist ordering the object of your affection and having her/him delivered right to your home. In any event, a short list of artists, collectors and their web pages follows. I hope you'll enjoy checking out these creepy-doll haunts as much as I have.

The Morbid Dollhouse: Since 2006 artist Jade Perez, of Edmonton, Alberta, has been creating a yearly gallery filled with spooking-looking and tormented personalities--characters that have provided me with a good laugh at times when I most need it. Most of Ms. Perez' creations are one of a kind, but she is open to taking requests and doing remakes. All of her galleries and contact information are available at Morbid Dollhouse
website.  The accompanying photo is an example of the artist's craftsmanship.
Shelter for Misfit Dolls: Home of Little Dead Gyrl
Little Dead Gyrl explains the purpose of the Shelter for Misfit Dolls as "a tribute to Weird Grll Artists who love to make weird creepy dolls." She goes on to describe it as "a shelter for misfit dolls, so they will at least have an orphanage to live in while they are waiting for new parents." Offered on her site are plenty of galleries featuring both creepy orphans and her own personal collection. Unfortunately, Little Dead Gyrl's website seems to have been inactive for quite some time. Contact information is still provided on the ordering page however, and if the shelter is no longer functioning you can still take a look around through the galleries and even tour a Victorian Doll House.
Holly's Creepy Dollies:
The last update on this website dates back to the spring of 2006; so as with the previous entry, there's no guaranteeing that Holly is still in business; especially, since she mentions that writing is her primary interest. Still, contact and payment information is still available and visiting her galleries alone is definitely worth the time.I especially enjoyed browsing through her rag doll gallery and finding both a Two Headed Freak Gothy Rag Doll and another called the Vampire Vengeance doll. Holly's Creepy Dollies is a great place to visit. 
Susan's Custom Creepy Dolls:
Susan is a self-described ex-mortician and taxidermist who specializes in "artistically macabre creations." Susan explains on her homepage that she will create whatever type of figurine a customer desires based upon a picture or description. Her gallery of previous creations includes a neat Psycho Clown Doll and even an Autopsy Figurine. A contact email address is provided on the main page.
Creepy Art Dolls of Christie Bastert:
I first became aware of Christie Bastert's work when the Gothic Tea Society ran a story about a creepy doll exhibit at Hollywood's Museum of Death back in 2009. Although Ms. Bastert, also from Southern California, specializes in what she calls "one of a kind horror art dolls," she creates on the lighter side of things as well. Still, she seems to delight in the creation of clown and vampire dolls, zombies and mourning dolls. Contact information is provided and as far as I know, Christie Bastert is actively creating and selling.
As I mentioned earlier, some of the above mentioned creepy doll haunts may now be inactive and available for viewing only. Others I'm quite sure are open for business. Either way, potential buyers might want to consider contacting the artist before making any purchases.  

   

       

                

Sunday, August 5, 2012

The Black Cat - by Edgar Allan Poe



I haven't been feeling very well this week and the extreme heat we've been forced to deal with hasn't helped. In other words, I'm not feeling very motivated; so I came up with the idea of posting a most entertaining story by Edgar Allan Poe called The Black Cat. I hope you'll all enjoy it as much as I did. Here it is:

FOR the most wild, yet most homely narrative which I am about to pen, I neither expect nor solicit belief. Mad indeed would I be to expect it, in a case where my very senses reject their own evidence. Yet, mad am I not - and very surely do I not dream. But to-morrow I die, and to-day I would unburthen my soul. My immediate purpose is to place before the world, plainly, succinctly, and without comment, a series of mere household events. In their consequences, these events have terrified - have tortured - have destroyed me. Yet I will not attempt to expound them. To me, they have presented little but Horror - to many they will seem less terrible than barroques. Hereafter, perhaps, some intellect may be found which will reduce my phantasm to the common-place - some intellect more calm, more logical, and far less excitable than my own, which will perceive, in the circumstances I detail with awe, nothing more than an ordinary succession of very natural causes and effects.

From my infancy I was noted for the docility and humanity of my disposition. My tenderness of heart was even so conspicuous as to make me the jest of my companions. I was especially fond of animals, and was indulged by my parents with a great variety of pets. With these I spent most of my time, and never was so happy as when feeding and caressing them. This peculiarity of character grew with my growth, and in my manhood, I derived from it one of my principal sources of pleasure. To those who have cherished an affection for a faithful and sagacious dog, I need hardly be at the trouble of explaining the nature or the intensity of the gratification thus derivable. There is something in the unselfish and self-sacrificing love of a brute, which goes directly to the heart of him who has had frequent occasion to test the paltry friendship and gossamer fidelity of mere Man .

I married early, and was happy to find in my wife a disposition not uncongenial with my own. Observing my partiality for domestic pets, she lost no opportunity of procuring those of the most agreeable kind. We had birds, gold-fish, a fine dog, rabbits, a small monkey, and a cat .

This latter was a remarkably large and beautiful animal, entirely black, and sagacious to an astonishing degree. In speaking of his intelligence, my wife, who at heart was not a little tinctured with superstition, made frequent allusion to the ancient popular notion, which regarded all black cats as witches in disguise. Not that she was ever serious upon this point - and I mention the matter at all for no better reason than that it happens, just now, to be remembered.

Pluto - this was the cat's name - was my favorite pet and playmate. I alone fed him, and he attended me wherever I went about the house. It was even with difficulty that I could prevent him from following me through the streets.

Our friendship lasted, in this manner, for several years, during which my general temperament and character - through the instrumentality of the Fiend Intemperance - had (I blush to confess it) experienced a radical alteration for the worse. I grew, day by day, more moody, more irritable, more regardless of the feelings of others. I suffered myself to use intemperate language to my wife. At length, I even offered her personal violence. My pets, of course, were made to feel the change in my disposition. I not only neglected, but ill-used them. For Pluto, however, I still retained sufficient regard to restrain me from maltreating him, as I made no scruple of maltreating the rabbits, the monkey, or even the dog, when by accident, or through affection, they came in my way. But my disease grew upon me - for what disease is like Alcohol! - and at length even Pluto, who was now becoming old, and consequently somewhat peevish - even Pluto began to experience the effects of my ill temper.

One night, returning home, much intoxicated, from one of my haunts about town, I fancied that the cat avoided my presence. I seized him; when, in his fright at my violence, he inflicted a slight wound upon my hand with his teeth. The fury of a demon instantly possessed me. I knew myself no longer. My original soul seemed, at once, to take its flight from my body and a more than fiendish malevolence, gin-nurtured, thrilled every fibre of my frame. I took from my waistcoat-pocket a pen-knife, opened it, grasped the poor beast by the throat, and deliberately cut one of its eyes from the socket! I blush, I burn, I shudder, while I pen the damnable atrocity.

When reason returned with the morning - when I had slept off the fumes of the night's debauch - I experienced a sentiment half of horror, half of remorse, for the crime of which I had been guilty; but it was, at best, a feeble and equivocal feeling, and the soul remained untouched. I again plunged into excess, and soon drowned in wine all memory of the deed.

In the meantime the cat slowly recovered. The socket of the lost eye presented, it is true, a frightful appearance, but he no longer appeared to suffer any pain. He went about the house as usual, but, as might be expected, fled in extreme terror at my approach. I had so much of my old heart left, as to be at first grieved by this evident dislike on the part of a creature which had once so loved me. But this feeling soon gave place to irritation. And then came, as if to my final and irrevocable overthrow, the spirit of PERVERSENESS. Of this spirit philosophy takes no account. Yet I am not more sure that my soul lives, than I am that perverseness is one of the primitive impulses of the human heart - one of the indivisible primary faculties, or sentiments, which give direction to the character of Man. Who has not, a hundred times, found himself committing a vile or a silly action, for no other reason than because he knows he should not? Have we not a perpetual inclination, in the teeth of our best judgment, to violate that which is Law , merely because we understand it to be such? This spirit of perverseness, I say, came to my final overthrow. It was this unfathomable longing of the soul to vex itself - to offer violence to its own nature - to do wrong for the wrong's sake only - that urged me to continue and finally to consummate the injury I had inflicted upon the unoffending brute. One morning, in cool blood, I slipped a noose about its neck and hung it to the limb of a tree; - hung it with the tears streaming from my eyes, and with the bitterest remorse at my heart; - hung it because I knew that it had loved me, and because I felt it had given me no reason of offence; - hung it because I knew that in so doing I was committing a sin - a deadly sin that would so jeopardize my immortal soul as to place it - if such a thing wore possible - even beyond the reach of the infinite mercy of the Most Merciful and Most Terrible God.

On the night of the day on which this cruel deed was done, I was aroused from sleep by the cry of fire. The curtains of my bed were in flames. The whole house was blazing. It was with great difficulty that my wife, a servant, and myself, made our escape from the conflagration. The destruction was complete. My entire worldly wealth was swallowed up, and I resigned myself thenceforward to despair.
I am above the weakness of seeking to establish a sequence of cause and effect, between the disaster and the atrocity. But I am detailing a chain of facts - and wish not to leave even a possible link imperfect. On the day succeeding the fire, I visited the ruins. The walls, with one exception, had fallen in. This exception was found in a compartment wall, not very thick, which stood about the middle of the house, and against which had rested the head of my bed. The plastering had here, in great measure, resisted the action of the fire - a fact which I attributed to its having been recently spread. About this wall a dense crowd were collected, and many persons seemed to be examining a particular portion of it with very minute and eager attention. The words "strange!" "singular!" and other similar expressions, excited my curiosity. I approached and saw, as if graven in bas relief upon the white surface, the figure of a gigantic cat. The impression was given with an accuracy truly marvellous. There was a rope about the animal's neck.

When I first beheld this apparition - for I could scarcely regard it as less - my wonder and my terror were extreme. But at length reflection came to my aid. The cat, I remembered, had been hung in a garden adjacent to the house. Upon the alarm of fire, this garden had been immediately filled by the crowd - by some one of whom the animal must have been cut from the tree and thrown, through an open window, into my chamber. This had probably been done with the view of arousing me from sleep. The falling of other walls had compressed the victim of my cruelty into the substance of the freshly-spread plaster; the lime of which, with the flames, and the ammonia from the carcass, had then accomplished the portraiture as I saw it.
Although I thus readily accounted to my reason, if not altogether to my conscience, for the startling fact just detailed, it did not the less fail to make a deep impression upon my fancy. For months I could not rid myself of the phantasm of the cat; and, during this period, there came back into my spirit a half-sentiment that seemed, but was not, remorse. I went so far as to regret the loss of the animal, and to look about me, among the vile haunts which I now habitually frequented, for another pet of the same species, and of somewhat similar appearance, with which to supply its place.

One night as I sat, half stupified, in a den of more than infamy, my attention was suddenly drawn to some black object, reposing upon the head of one of the immense hogsheads of Gin, or of Rum, which constituted the chief furniture of the apartment. I had been looking steadily at the top of this hogshead for some minutes, and what now caused me surprise was the fact that I had not sooner perceived the object thereupon. I approached it, and touched it with my hand. It was a black cat - a very large one - fully as large as Pluto, and closely resembling him in every respect but one. Pluto had not a white hair upon any portion of his body; but this cat had a large, although indefinite splotch of white, covering nearly the whole region of the breast. Upon my touching him, he immediately arose, purred loudly, rubbed against my hand, and appeared delighted with my notice. This, then, was the very creature of which I was in search. I at once offered to purchase it of the landlord; but this person made no claim to it - knew nothing of it - had never seen it before.
I continued my caresses, and, when I prepared to go home, the animal evinced a disposition to accompany me. I permitted it to do so; occasionally stooping and patting it as I proceeded. When it reached the house it domesticated itself at once, and became immediately a great favorite with my wife.

For my own part, I soon found a dislike to it arising within me. This was just the reverse of what I had anticipated; but - I know not how or why it was - its evident fondness for myself rather disgusted and annoyed. By slow degrees, these feelings of disgust and annoyance rose into the bitterness of hatred. I avoided the creature; a certain sense of shame, and the remembrance of my former deed of cruelty, preventing me from physically abusing it. I did not, for some weeks, strike, or otherwise violently ill use it; but gradually - very gradually - I came to look upon it with unutterable loathing, and to flee silently from its odious presence, as from the breath of a pestilence.

What added, no doubt, to my hatred of the beast, was the discovery, on the morning after I brought it home, that, like Pluto, it also had been deprived of one of its eyes. This circumstance, however, only endeared it to my wife, who, as I have already said, possessed, in a high degree, that humanity of feeling which had once been my distinguishing trait, and the source of many of my simplest and purest pleasures.
With my aversion to this cat, however, its partiality for myself seemed to increase. It followed my footsteps with a pertinacity which it would be difficult to make the reader comprehend. Whenever I sat, it would crouch beneath my chair, or spring upon my knees, covering me with its loathsome caresses. If I arose to walk it would get between my feet and thus nearly throw me down, or, fastening its long and sharp claws in my dress, clamber, in this manner, to my breast. At such times, although I longed to destroy it with a blow, I was yet withheld from so doing, partly by a memory of my former crime, but chiefly - let me confess it at once - by absolute dread of the beast.

This dread was not exactly a dread of physical evil - and yet I should be at a loss how otherwise to define it. I am almost ashamed to own - yes, even in this felon's cell, I am almost ashamed to own - that the terror and horror with which the animal inspired me, had been heightened by one of the merest chimaeras it would be possible to conceive. My wife had called my attention, more than once, to the character of the mark of white hair, of which I have spoken, and which constituted the sole visible difference between the strange beast and the one I had destroyed. The reader will remember that this mark, although large, had been originally very indefinite; but, by slow degrees - degrees nearly imperceptible, and which for a long time my Reason struggled to reject as fanciful - it had, at length, assumed a rigorous distinctness of outline. It was now the representation of an object that I shudder to name - and for this, above all, I loathed, and dreaded, and would have rid myself of the monster had I dared - it was now, I say, the image of a hideous - of a ghastly thing - of the GALLOWS ! - oh, mournful and terrible engine of Horror and of Crime - of Agony and of Death !
And now was I indeed wretched beyond the wretchedness of mere Humanity. And a brute beast - whose fellow I had contemptuously destroyed - a brute beast to work out for me - for me a man, fashioned in the image of the High God - so much of insufferable wo! Alas! neither by day nor by night knew I the blessing of Rest any more! During the former the creature left me no moment alone; and, in the latter, I started, hourly, from dreams of unutterable fear, to find the hot breath of the thing upon my face, and its vast weight - an incarnate Night-Mare that I had no power to shake off - incumbent eternally upon my heart !

Beneath the pressure of torments such as these, the feeble remnant of the good within me succumbed. Evil thoughts became my sole intimates - the darkest and most evil of thoughts. The moodiness of my usual temper increased to hatred of all things and of all mankind; while, from the sudden, frequent, and ungovernable outbursts of a fury to which I now blindly abandoned myself, my uncomplaining wife, alas! was the most usual and the most patient of sufferers.

One day she accompanied me, upon some household errand, into the cellar of the old building which our poverty compelled us to inhabit. The cat followed me down the steep stairs, and, nearly throwing me headlong, exasperated me to madness. Uplifting an axe, and forgetting, in my wrath, the childish dread which had hitherto stayed my hand, I aimed a blow at the animal which, of course, would have proved instantly fatal had it descended as I wished. But this blow was arrested by the hand of my wife. Goaded, by the interference, into a rage more than demoniacal, I withdrew my arm from her grasp and buried the axe in her brain. She fell dead upon the spot, without a groan.

This hideous murder accomplished, I set myself forthwith, and with entire deliberation, to the task of concealing the body. I knew that I could not remove it from the house, either by day or by night, without the risk of being observed by the neighbors. Many projects entered my mind. At one period I thought of cutting the corpse into minute fragments, and destroying them by fire. At another, I resolved to dig a grave for it in the floor of the cellar. Again, I deliberated about casting it in the well in the yard - about packing it in a box, as if merchandize, with the usual arrangements, and so getting a porter to take it from the house. Finally I hit upon what I considered a far better expedient than either of these. I determined to wall it up in the cellar - as the monks of the middle ages are recorded to have walled up their victims.

For a purpose such as this the cellar was well adapted. Its walls were loosely constructed, and had lately been plastered throughout with a rough plaster, which the dampness of the atmosphere had prevented from hardening. Moreover, in one of the walls was a projection, caused by a false chimney, or fireplace, that had been filled up, and made to resemble the red of the cellar. I made no doubt that I could readily displace the bricks at this point, insert the corpse, and wall the whole up as before, so that no eye could detect any thing suspicious. And in this calculation I was not deceived. By means of a crow-bar I easily dislodged the bricks, and, having carefully deposited the body against the inner wall, I propped it in that position, while, with little trouble, I re-laid the whole structure as it originally stood. Having procured mortar, sand, and hair, with every possible precaution, I prepared a plaster which could not be distinguished from the old, and with this I very carefully went over the new brickwork. When I had finished, I felt satisfied that all was right. The wall did not present the slightest appearance of having been disturbed. The rubbish on the floor was picked up with the minutest care. I looked around triumphantly, and said to myself - "Here at least, then, my labor has not been in vain."

My next step was to look for the beast which had been the cause of so much wretchedness; for I had, at length, firmly resolved to put it to death. Had I been able to meet with it, at the moment, there could have been no doubt of its fate; but it appeared that the crafty animal had been alarmed at the violence of my previous anger, and forebore to present itself in my present mood. It is impossible to describe, or to imagine, the deep, the blissful sense of relief which the absence of the detested creature occasioned in my bosom. It did not make its appearance during the night - and thus for one night at least, since its introduction into the house, I soundly and tranquilly slept; aye, slept even with the burden of murder upon my soul!

The second and the third day passed, and still my tormentor came not. Once again I breathed as a freeman. The monster, in terror, had fled the premises forever! I should behold it no more! My happiness was supreme! The guilt of my dark deed disturbed me but little. Some few inquiries had been made, but these had been readily answered. Even a search had been instituted - but of course nothing was to be discovered. I looked upon my future felicity as secured.

Upon the fourth day of the assassination, a party of the police came, very unexpectedly, into the house, and proceeded again to make rigorous investigation of the premises. Secure, however, in the inscrutability of my place of concealment, I felt no embarrassment whatever. The officers bade me accompany them in their search. They left no nook or corner unexplored. At length, for the third or fourth time, they descended into the cellar. I quivered not in a muscle. My heart beat calmly as that of one who slumbers in innocence. I walked the cellar from end to end. I folded my arms upon my bosom, and roamed easily to and fro. The police were thoroughly satisfied and prepared to depart. The glee at my heart was too strong to be restrained. I burned to say if but one word, by way of triumph, and to render doubly sure their assurance of my guiltlessness.
"Gentlemen," I said at last, as the party ascended the steps, "I delight to have allayed your suspicions. I wish you all health, and a little more courtesy. By the bye, gentlemen, this - this is a very well constructed house." [In the rabid desire to say something easily, I scarcely knew what I uttered at all.] - "I may say an excellently well constructed house. These walls are you going, gentlemen? - these walls are solidly put together;" and here, through the mere phrenzy of bravado, I rapped heavily, with a cane which I held in my hand, upon that very portion of the brick-work behind which stood the corpse of the wife of my bosom.

But may God shield and deliver me from the fangs of the Arch-Fiend ! No sooner had the reverberation of my blows sunk into silence, than I was answered by a voice from within the tomb! - by a cry, at first muffled and broken, like the sobbing of a child, and then quickly swelling into one long, loud, and continuous scream, utterly anomalous and inhuman - a howl - a wailing shriek, half of horror and half of triumph, such as might have arisen only out of hell, conjointly from the throats of the dammed in their agony and of the demons that exult in the damnation.

Of my own thoughts it is folly to speak. Swooning, I staggered to the opposite wall. For one instant the party upon the stairs remained motionless, through extremity of terror and of awe. In the next, a dozen stout arms were toiling at the wall. It fell bodily. The corpse, already greatly decayed and clotted with gore, stood erect before the eyes of the spectators. Upon its head, with red extended mouth and solitary eye of fire, sat the hideous beast whose craft had seduced me into murder, and whose informing voice had consigned me to the hangman. I had walled the monster up within the tomb!

This above story is in the public domain under U.S. copyright law.

Photo: In the Eye of the Beast - by neodecay 
http://neodecay.deviantart.com/art/In-The-Eye-Of-The-Beast-III-77774778