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Failure.He was a failure.He'd never be able to think of another sentence worth writing again.Poe sighed heavily and slumped over his desk. Papers, full of half-written lines, crossed out words, and other various halfhearted attempts at prose, scattered in the slight breeze created by his motion.His current project was at a standstill, and had been for days. He had written dreary little poems in the margins, scribbled out sorry methods for murder, daydreamed, flipped through some of his favorite books in search of ideas to filch, slept, drank too much coffee, stayed awake for days on end, and anything else he could think of to dislodge his stubborn writer's block.Nothing worked. When he forced himself to sit and write, it was a travesty. A crime committed against language. Mixed metaphors, dangling participles, and, worst of all, a complete and utter lack of ideas.
"This man is dead," he said.
She looked at him. "Yes."
Thrilling.He flopped back against his chair and let the pen clatter to the floor. Maybe he'd never be able to write again. Maybe this was the end of his life as he knew it. As he stewed in his own misery, Lovecraft walked quietly into the room. Poe didn't have to look up to know it was him. No one else's entrance was accompanied by that peculiar smell of mustiness."Good morning, Edgar."It was well past morning. Four in the afternoon, to be exact. But Poe had only gotten up a few hours earlier himself, so he really couldn't judge. "Morning, Lovecraft.""Am I interrupting your work?"Poe sighed heavily. "Unfortunately, no.""I will admit that I have very little understanding of your particular problem. But I suppose I have never much favored acts of creation." Empathy never had been one of Lovecraft's strong suits.Normally, Poe found the creature fascinating, but today he was cranky. "Yes, I'm sure. I can't imagine you sitting down and writing anything. It's a pity, though, I expect you'd have some fantastic ideas for horror."Lovecraft's head listed to the side as he considered Poe's words. "But my presence is a more effective vehicle for terror than a mere tale could ever be.""Very true," agreed Poe. "And yet, even you can't be in multiple places at the same time. You can only scare the people around you. With a book you can horrify people all over the world.""You make a valid point, yet I remain uncompelled to put pen to paper."Poe shrugged. He really didn't care if Lovecraft wrote his memoirs, or love poems, or anything for that matter. It had only been idle conversation.Lovecraft looked around the room for a few moments, then announced, "Your raccoon fell asleep on my hair last night.""Sounds like inspiration to me. Good for a twelve verse poem at the very least.""You appear to be irritable.""I've been telling you how frustrated I've been for days now. I have work I need to finish.""Perhaps you should do something to distract yourself."As if he hadn't already thought of that. "What, like listening to you complain about Karl?"He could almost see Lovecraft's methodical thought process. "Do you not have... a typical human distraction ritual to perform?""A what?"There was silence as Lovecraft searched for the appropriate word. "A... hobby?""Look, about the only thing I haven't tried to do for inspiration is wander around a graveyard at midnight.""Very well, then. We shall go." Poe tried to appear flippant about the whole thing, but in truth, he was barely able to contain his excitement. It had been a long time since he'd done anything so brazenly romantic as wander about a graveyard in the dead of night, and he'd never done so with a companion.He glanced over at Lovecraft. The man's pale skin reflected the moonlight slightly, which gave him an eerie glow. It was beautiful. No, that was too mundane a descriptor. It was otherworldly.Much better.The night was a little bit chilly, and Poe wrapped his cape around himself as he walked. Thankfully the dim light of the moon was enough to illuminate the ground in front of them; the graveyard Lovecraft had chosen was old, with rough ground even in the better maintained areas, and Poe was worried he might trip over a loose stone or stray root.Still, Poe had never seen another place quite like it. They'd had to drive hours, but it was worth it. The grounds were filled with decaying mausoleums and ornate headstones that stuck out of the ground at low angles and cast weird shadows over each other. Huge trees and overgrown shrubs fought for space among the clusters of graves, and nearly everything was coated with a layer of spongy moss. In short, it was perfect."It's beautiful here at night, isn't it?" Poe enthused, already feeling far better than he had in days.Lovecraft shrugged. "It appears the same as it would in the daylight, merely darker.""You've got absolutely no romance in that soggy soul of yours, do you?"Lovecraft glanced over at him. "Why do you assume I have a soul?"Poe picked his way carefully over some uneven ground; maybe he shouldn't have worn his high heeled boots for this outing. "Huh? It's a figure of speech mostly. I don't know that anyone has a soul if you get right down to it. Is it more poetic if we do? Of course. But there's no way to be certain."Lovecraft's head tilted and he pursed his lips. "Why is that? If it is yours, surely you know if you possess it.""It's not that simple. At least not for humans. Do you know for sure if you have a soul?""Of course I know."Silence descended.After a few minutes, Poe sighed. "Well, do you?""No."This time he was expecting Lovecraft's terseness. "Oh? And why is that?""Why do you not have a second head or a third arm?" Lovecraft responded. "I simply do not. And even if I had, it would be wasted on one such as myself. If I am not capable of death, what use do I have for something that lives on after I die?""That seems like an overly simple way to look at it.""The universe is simple when you understand it. It only seems complicated because of your limited perspective."Poe felt his good mood dissolving. "That's a bit rude."Lovecraft blinked, then let out a sharp laugh. "Indeed. It is extremely rude of cosmic coincidence to give you such fathomless curiosity and so few means to satiate it." His voice became softer and he gave him a look of genuine pity. "There is so much that you will never see, Edgar. So many things I wish I could show you. The hearts of dying stars. The pure darkness of the lowest point in the sea. The beauty of time collapsing in on itself. It must be so sad to be trapped as you are."Even though tone of his voice suggested otherwise, it felt like Lovecraft was taunting him. Poe sighed. "Sometimes I'm not sure why you even deal with people when you don't have to.""Humans are interesting," Lovecraft responded. "And a prolonged existence such as mine gets lonely on occasion. It is much the same as you and that raccoon. Why do you care for him? It is not a form of affection?"Poe balked at that. He wasn't a pet, he was a human being. "That's different.""The principle is the same." If Lovecraft recognized his indignation, he didn't show it.If Poe had to name one thing about Lovecraft that legitimately disturbed him, it would be conversations like this one. Giant grotesque monster form? Nothing scarier than what you saw in movies. The uncertainty of knowing exactly what he was capable of at any given moment? More exciting than not. Having an ageless, eldritch horror in your room? Fantastic. Being equated to that horror's pet? Not so fantastic. The small reminder that Lovecraft didn't just think differently, that he often thought completely unfathomably, that was what got under Poe's skin and chilled him to the bone sometimes.He didn't even honestly understand what sort of emotions Lovecraft harbored behind his expressionless face. How close of a comparison between him and Karl had that really been? Was their relationship really that simple to Lovecraft?Poe's feelings were a complicated tangle that shifted as he thought about them: twisted fascination, admiration, affection, desperation, obsession. Whatever Lovecraft felt about him was a mystery. He always answered such questions with a shrug. "I am fond of you, of course." It seemed like so little. Why was he thinking about this now? Wondering about it wouldn't help him with anything. Lovecraft was what he was, and for whatever reasons, Poe felt compelled to keep close to him. In one of his more dramatic moments, he had described it as being trapped with a desire that would one day end him, entomb and enshrine him, an insect in amber, a warning to future generations.It wasn't his best work. But it was a lot better than anything he'd thought of lately.As they made their way quietly through the graveyard, Poe tried to regain his earlier enthusiasm. He was disappointed to discover that it seemed beyond his reach. Even the regular thrill of being surrounded by darkness and memento mori didn't have the same effect on him that it once had. Strange. Coming to a place like this, by himself, at midnight on a full moon, had always been exciting and inspirational. He had assumed that being here with Lovecraft would enhance the experience. But instead, it drained all the beautiful morbid feeling out of it entirely.What could this musty old patch of land have to offer that could even compare to the majesty of the being beside him?He was about to suggest that they just go back home, when he noticed Lovecraft staring at something. "What is it?""A fleeting memory, nothing more.""Oh? Of what?""A time, a place, a person. It makes no difference.""I'm curious.""Then ask the dead." Lovecraft's coat and hair suddenly billowed in a wind that Poe didn't feel. There was a light in front of them that hadn't been there before, it was dull and silver, almost tarnished. The hair on the back of Poe's neck stood on end. "What's going on? Is everything all right?""You may find out on this night the answer to your question." Lovecraft's voice was low and ominous."What question?" He had so many."Whether or not you have a soul.""Oh." "Come, Edgar." Lovecraft headed towards the eerie light without waiting to see if Poe would follow.Cursing under his breath, Poe scurried to catch up, and nearly turned his ankle when the toe of his boot caught on an exposed root. They walked in silence towards the eerie light. It waited for them near the center of the graveyard, amidst a small clump of trees. As they approached, Poe could see there were also the barest remains of what had once been lavishly decorated grave stones. Now they were erroded and overgrown with weeds. The whole area was cast into deep shadow by the strange light above.Lovecraft knelt by the smallest of the weathered headstone. The name had worn away long ago, and in the darkness, Poe couldn't read the dates.Poe waited for him to say something, then finally gave up. "Who's grave is this?"Of course there was no direct answer. Instead, Lovecraft started speaking quietly, and Poe had to strain to hear him. "It was a very odd evening. There was a summons, cut short. I arrived nonetheless. It was nearly complete, and at that point, I had a certain pride. Much like the life memorialized here, it has faded now."I arrived, surrounded by blood. More blood than one human can contain. In front of me were two emptied bodies, fresh with the smell of death. The location was a basement of some sort. There were noises upstairs. I followed them and discovered a child, in the kitchen, crying.""What had happened to the people in the basement?""They had been killed. Brutally." Lovecraft spoke as if he were reporting the weather. His indifference made Poe's skin crawl."I gathered that much.""That is all I know. A summoning can be dangerous, or perhaps it was something else. It did not matter to me. They were dead."And yet, upstairs, the child noticed me, and smiled. I do not know why. They did not know me. My shape, at that point, was only roughly human. But still they smiled."After a summon I am compelled to serve. It is... irritating. So I asked this child, the lone living human remaining in the place to which I had been summoned, what they wanted."A cookie. From a jar atop the counter, too high for them to reach. I retrieved the jar. They took a single cookie and offered it to me."I shook my head and left, never to return. This is that child's grave."Poe waited a moment for him to continue. It soon became clear that he wasn't going to. "Well, that's anticlimactic.""Life does not follow your scripted ideas, Edgar. Sometimes it is brutal and short, utterly without meaning."There was a note of finality to the statement, like Poe was meant to be taking a very valuable life lesson from it. Maybe it was better that Lovecraft didn't want to write stories, if they were going to turn out like that. He was just about to say so, when a wave of sadness crashed over him. Tears sprung to his eyes, and he couldn't quite explain why. The silver light above seemed to be coming closer, and it felt oppressive, somehow. Was it something native to this place, or something of Lovecraft's doing? He needed to know, but his tongue had grown thick and sluggish. His knees gave out from under him, and he cradled his head in his hands as he fought back sobs."What are you doing?" he managed to choke out. "Stop it.""I am not doing anything," Lovecraft replied. "You are the one collapsed onto the ground, crying.""What the hell, Lovecraft! You know what I mean!""Again, I am not doing anything. This is your realization of your insignificance as a human being."He looked up into eyes full of stars, and wept.Lovecraft knelt next to him and placed a hand gently on his back. "You have expressed a desire to be companion to something wholly beyond your understanding. It is only reasonable that your subconscious would rebel against you." His voice was kind but his words were not comforting."I don't understand.""That is a feeling you will need to become used to."He struggled again to hold back his tears and failed miserably. He huddled there, collapsed under the weight of his nameless grief, for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, he pulled himself together and did the only thing he could think to do.Poe pulled a notepad out of his waistcoat pocket (a writer must always carry one, he insisted, in case inspiration struck), and tried to describe his impressions. Words eluded him, as if his mind had been wrapped in cotton gauze. What he did manage to scribble down danced on the page until it became nothing more than meaningless lines. He sighed with frustration. "I don't understand," he repeated. "Are you trying to inspire me, or just drive me crazy?"A thin, almost devilish smile crossed Lovecraft's face. "There was once a man, quite similar to yourself, who sought not an earthly power, but something beyond. An inspiration. I was kept for a week, pried apart, studied, drained and observed. I can only assume he found what he was looking for, as the burden of the contract dissipated and left me free. During the week he was in my presence, he went quite insane.""It sounds like he was insane to start with.""Nevertheless, you should harbor no delusions about the effect my presence has on the human mind. Even the most resilient will bend and crack, given enough time."His mind was still reeling from the strange emotional assault, and now Lovecraft was talking about madness? Poe rubbed his temples and tried to clear his thoughts. The strange silver light was still there, and the accompanying feeling of pressure, like the very air itself wanted to push him down into the earth before his time."Maybe I'm already crazy too," he muttered. "Dragging something like you along to a place like this, trying to get over my damned writer's block so I can work on my revenge."In the darkness, he couldn't see Lovecraft's look of curiosity. "Ah yes, your revenge on the one who slighted you. You have a keen focus, but is that truly all you care for?"Poe laughed bitterly. "It might as well be. Selfish, but there you go."Lovecraft's answer was so quiet as to be almost unvoiced, but it resonated through Poe's mind all the same. "Selfish? If you allow me, I will stay at your side until I destroy you. It is often sad, but humans die regardless. If they choose to bind their deaths to me, who am I to refuse? I will grant you protection, and power, and pleasure, and in return, I will take everything that you are. That is what I am."As he spoke, the light around them dimmed. No, that wasn't right. It was still bright, it was just... black. Blacker than anything he'd ever seen. As it descended, it distorted reality in slow, undulating waves. Poe felt like he was standing somewhere too high. The notepad fell from his hand, forgotten.He was only certain of one thing, and that was that this shouldn't be happening. This contortion of the world surrounding him, it couldn't possibly be real."What's going on?"There was no answer. When Poe looked over at him, Lovecraft was the one point of solidity in a world turned fluid.Poe was certain he hadn't voiced the thought, but Lovecraft chuckled all the same. "Are you quite certain, Edgar?"His stomach started to twist sympathetically with the landscape. Darkness poured in-- Wait, no. It was midnight. It was already dark. It seemed important to remember that, but he couldn't say why.Lovecraft was speaking quietly, or maybe he was shouting and drowned out by the white noise that buzzed in Poe's head. Nothing was certain, except that it was very, very dark.That's right. It was midnight. Shouldn't there be bells or something to mark the demise of another day? To mark his death?Poe shook his head. He was prone to morbidity, true, but this was beyond even his usual melancholy.He noticed Lovecraft watching him. It was hard to be certain, but it looked like there was the faintest trace of a smile on his face, as if he was enjoying watching Poe's discomfort.Thin wisps of smoke rose out of the ground around him; one was quite close, and its unfathomable coldness made him shiver and raised goosebumps on his arms.It was almost beautiful. He tried to lose himself in the sensation, tried to burn it into his memory for future reference. His mind churned through words, trying to piece together a phrase that would come close to doing the experience justice, filled with an anxiety that it would fade before he could properly record it.Lovecraft was laughing. "Scared half to death, and your first response is to worry about how to make a story from it?""Be quiet," Poe hissed. Whatever Lovecraft was doing, why he was doing it, wasn't important anymore. "I need to remember."There was a rustling of movement, but Poe had closed his eyes so that he could concentrate on words.When something cool grasped his chin, he gasped in surprise. The touch wasn't deathly cold like the trails of fog, but it was startling nevertheless. He opened his eyes and Lovecraft's face filled his vision, pale and serious. "Remember this, then, as well."Lovecraft's mouth was suddenly on his, and his fear took on a sharper, more urgent tone. Was this strange sensation around them not doing it's job? Did the creature mean to kill him where he stood?His mind went blank for a moment when he realized that Lovecraft's intention wasn't suffocation. It had been a long time since Poe had kissed anybody; but that was undeniably what was happening. The part of his mind that was always working struggled again for words. Lovecraft tasted like something stagnant and molding, and Poe wondered if this was what it felt like to kiss a corpse. It was cold; that was no surprise, Lovecraft's temperature was always slightly off. His lips were softer than Poe would have expected; the thought made him laugh, if he had to create a body from scratch, he'd give it good lips too. "You think too much," Lovecraft breathed against his mouth. He did. It was a point of pride.Although for a few minutes, when Lovecraft's tongue slipped between his teeth, he didn't.It was awful, of course. Cold, and it tasted funny. And Poe didn't want it to end.But it did end, as all things must, leaving Poe with only the aftertaste of seawater as a memento.That was good, he'd have to remember that.Lovecraft was watching him with a faint smile. "You seem more inspired, Edgar."His chest was still warm and his head a little bit fuzzy, but the world seemed a bit lighter than it had before. It definitely was lighter; almost morning, from the look of it. How long had they been standing here? Long enough that the rising sun was beginning to cast its own shadows, and the strange darkness and the silver spirits were long gone."Wait a second," Poe said, as the pieces fell into place. "Is that what all this was about? Were you trying to help me?""I should have thought that was obvious."He should have been angry, shouldn't he? Everything that had happened, the wave of sadness, the fear, it had been awful. But he wasn't upset. He was feeling more inspired, and ridiculously giddy on top of that. "Why would you do that?"Lovecraft raised a single eyebrow and stared at him for a moment. "I should also have thought that was obvious. You used to be a detective, Edgar. I trust you can reason it out."When they got home, Poe didn't sleep. It was nine in the morning, and although he had been awake all night, he still felt that it was a perfect time to grab a cup of coffee and start writing. Lovecraft, of course, fell asleep immediately. He had collapsed just inside the front door, a mass of dark hair and sprawling tentacles. Poe knew from experience that he was too heavy to move when he was like that, so he just covered as much of his body with a blanket as he could, and resolved to try not to trip over any limbs in the night.A few hours later, he had roughly outlined a new story. It was rather different than his previous work; it was melancholy enough, to be sure, but also a bit hopeful in the end. Sentimental, almost. He flipped through the pages and wondered if maybe it shouldn't end with romance, maybe that was too unrealistic.Well, it was still just an outline for a rough draft. He had plenty of time to think it over. For now, the caffeine was wearing off and his eyes were getting heavy. Before he headed to bed, he glanced into the living room to check on Lovecraft. He was still a gently writhing pile of darkness on the floor. As he padded down the hall to the bedroom, Poe remembered the cold brush of his lips, and the odd taste of the kiss they had shared. He wasn't confident that he had figured out Lovecraft's reasoning for the night's events, but he had a theory that he very much hoped was true.He smiled to himself as he got ready for bed. Maybe happy endings weren't so unusual after all.