Chapter Text
“BACK UP, MADEMOISELLE!” cried Auguste Dupin.
Broomstick in hand, he bolted down the hall. The stranger, frozen with fear at the opposite end, could not flee, to say nothing of dodging Dupin’s furious swing. The hefty wooden broomstick cracked against his temple and sent him tumbling to the floor.
“Dupin! What is wrong with you?” Annabel Lee protested. The stranger’s slumped, motionless form made her queasy as she drifted closer. Looking over the surrounding tile floor for blood, she knelt down by the intruder.
She saw no viscera of immediate concern, but was not consoled by this alone. Careful not to phase through him, Annabel Lee ran her hands over his neck in search of a pulse. Relieved to find one, she turned her attention back to Dupin. ”You could have killed him!”
“So?” Dupin asked. “Was I supposed to let him in the house and give him free rein to do God-knows-what?”
“You don’t even know what he’s like yet! For all we know, Poe could have written a total sweetheart this time!”
“As if he’s ever thought up a sweet character in his life,” retorted Dupin.
“Oh? Then what am I?” Annabel Lee, who was never one to let her opponent get the last word in, batted her eyelashes coquettishly.
The door to the Violet Room creaked open. Lenore stepped out from behind it, her expression dour and unamused. The Raven, from his usual perch on Lenore’s shoulder, squawked his concerns.
“RAAAK! Who’s THAT?”
“We heard a sound,” Lenore filled in. “I suppose I know what it was.” She stalked closer, her every footstep deadly silent. Eager to get a closer look, the Raven launched off her shoulder and flapped down to the stranger’s body. He landed on his chest and pecked him in the face, as if insisting he cease his useless lolling and get up.
“Raven, stop that,” Annabel Lee implored, shooing him away with her hand. “You’ll take his eye out!” With a grumble and a caw, he hopped off of the unconscious stranger.
On the wall to Annabel Lee’s back, a familiar shadow shifted uncomfortably. In a shaky stammer, they muttered, “Might be a good idea. Never know if he’s got one of those creepy glass eyes… or something.”
Dupin heard the inane mumbling behind him— though he only recognized it as inane once he identified who the voice belonged to. He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Tell-Tale?” he asked. “Why are you everywhere?”
“I’m not everywhere,” Tell-Tale replied, their faceless head tilting absentmindedly. “I’m just where I need to be.”
“How long have you been here?” asked Annabel Lee.
“Only as long as Dupin’s been in here,” Tell-Tale replied with a shrug. Realizing what they gave away, they tensed up and raised their hands. “Not like I’ve been following him!”
Lenore cocked an eyebrow at Dupin. He shook his head and said, “I don’t even want to begin explaining what’s going on with that one.” Dupin looked back at the stranger and remarked, “Perhaps we shouldn’t leave him on the floor.”
“You’re right,” Annabel Lee said. “It’s rude to leave somebody lying on the ground like that!”
Dupin gave a start; her point hadn’t crossed his mind. “What do I care if it’s rude or not? My only concern is the fact that he’s unrestrained and out in the open.” He paused to see where his train of thought led him. Once satisfied with its final station, he went on.
“We ought,” he said, “to tie him up and stick him in a different room, so that he has no idea where he is. I don’t trust any of you not to free him out of sympathy, and I don’t trust Tell-Tale not to keep following me, so the two of us will stand guard, just as soon as I think of someplace to put him…” Dupin trailed off and scanned the doors that surrounded the hallway.
The door to the outside, in Dupin’s mind, was immediately out of the question. The Violet and Blue Rooms were out, too, as he was sure their inhabitants— Lenore, the Raven, and Annabel Lee— would fuss too much about stashing an intruder there. The Orange Room, his own, was out since it had three doors, and therefore three points of abrupt exit.
The Black Room was Poe’s, and Dupin harbored a suspicion that Poe would be too welcoming for his taste. The Purple Room belonged to Montresor, who would no doubt panic over the prospect of storing a scruffy, drooling, unconscious nobody anywhere near his prized wine collection.
The Green Room would have worked, had it not been home to the two biggest dunderheads Dupin had ever known. Rufus Griswold was too curious, and Mark Twain was too kind— they would surely listen to whatever sob story the invader came equipped with, let him out, and lend him a few hundred dollars while they were at it. All that remained was the White Room…
“…Which should work perfectly!” Dupin exclaimed.
Tell-Tale asked, “What should?”
“Putting that intruder in the White Room!” Dupin’s confidence indicated he knew exactly what he was sentencing the stranger to.
The Raven was less sure. He asked, “With the RED DEATH? Wouldn’t that KILL him?”
Dupin crossed his arms; a particular smugness came over him. “It certainly would! Is it not genius?”
Annabel Lee shook her head disapprovingly. She held back her protests, as she never seemed to win when picking fights with Dupin, but she resolved to find a subtler way to sabotage his plan.
Ignoring Annabel Lee, Dupin proudly continued, “We throw him in with le squelette, leave him there for half an hour, and the only task left for us will be disposing of the body!”
“Oh!” Tell-Tale piped up. “I have a little setup under the floorboards in the Black Room that would do the trick!”
Lenore, for once in her afterlife, expressed some concern. “You… what?” she asked.
Tell-Tale laughed nervously. “Nothing!”
“Remind me to never sleep again,” Dupin said. “Anywho, let’s find something to keep him from getting anywhere, and do it quickly! Before he wakes up!”
Dupin’s sharp punctuating claps sent the rest of the party scouring their rooms for restraints. Lenore and the Raven scrounged up a sturdy ribbon, Annabel Lee found a thin, frayed strand of decorative mast rigging, and Tell-Tale dug up a necktie belonging to Dupin.
They presented the detective with their wares, and he went down the line reviewing them. “That’ll do, and so will that, and- oh, no. Tell-Tale? Where did you find that? I haven’t seen it in years!”
“Your room,” Tell-Tale answered. “Duh.”
Dupin squinted. “But I never gave you a key… you know, I need to stop asking you questions. Anyway, it’s better than nothing.” Looking toward the general assembly, Dupin asked, “Who here knows how to tie somebody up?”
Everyone raised their hands; even the Raven held up a wing. Overwhelmed by his dubiously trustworthy options, Dupin shooed the group back and said, “Never mind. I’ll just do it myself.”
Once Dupin finished the task, he took a moment to admire his handiwork. The ribbon and necktie bound the stranger’s legs, while the rigging restrained his hands. Tell-Tale grumbled, “I could’ve done a better job.”
The intruder made for a heavy, limp burden— as unconscious people tend to— but Dupin found the strength to pick him up nonetheless. He noticed how short and scrawny the stranger was, as well as how nicely he was dressed. Any doubt of Poe’s guilt vanished from Dupin’s mind; the young man he carried seemed too familiar to be of any other origin.
Dupin staggered all the way to the White Room, with his faithful assistants remaining in tow. He sat the stranger down by the doorframe, thought over every word he was going to say— for time was of the essence— and knocked on the door.
From behind it, the Red Death cheered, “Visitor! Visitor for me!” Dupin heard the rattle of bones jostling about; this was the sound of the Red Death dancing in delight, and it was heard by all who dared elicit her presence.
“Visitor for me,” she sang. “Visitor for me!” Her voice was gentle and melodic, making her grotesque, skeletal look all the more startling. She opened the door, her bony face practically glowing with excitement.
The Raven hopped several paces back. Annabel Lee, too, drew away. Everyone followed suit, including Dupin. The unconscious stranger, meanwhile, leaned too far over and flopped into the doorway, hence into the Red Death’s line of sight. The smile on her face faltered, but her joy in having visitors ensured it didn’t wholly die away.
“Who’s this on the floor?” she asked. “Oh- and is there something I can help you all with?
Dupin spoke at last. “As it happens, we’ll need you to do us a favor.”
The Red Death perked up. ”Hm? Me? I’ve never been asked to do anybody a favor in my life, I don’t think, but I’d… I’d love to do one! What kind of favor?”
“Kill him for us, please,” Dupin said, pointing down at the young man slumped in the doorway.
“Wait— who is he?” asked the Red Death.
“I don’t know,” Dupin replied, “and I don’t care. He is in our house, and we would like him out.”
“Then why do I have to kill him?” the Red Death asked. “It wouldn’t be my first time killing some random stranger, but in case you haven’t noticed, I’m trying to cut back on murder where I can. That’s the whole reason I hole myself up in this room!”
Dupin asked, ”What do you propose we do? Turn him loose to wander the streets of Baltimore until, inevitably, he runs across whatever common drivel Poe wrote about him? You’re aware of how that goes, are you not?”
“I am,” replied the Red Death. “But who says we need to get rid of him?”
Dupin scoffed. “I say!”
The Red Death leaned over the stranger. Aside from his suit, glasses, and long messy hair, no hints of his inner nature could be discerned. ”I mean,” she mused, “he doesn’t look that threatening. Maybe Poe made up somebody not too… Poe-esque this time around?”
Annabel Lee piped up, “That’s what I’ve been saying!”
Dupin said, “And what I’VE been saying is that Poe would never do any such thing. Aside from Annabel Lee and myself, everyone he’s ever written has turned out to be some kind of creep.”
Tell-Tale cried, “Huh?! I’m not that bad!”
“Shut up,” Dupin replied, jabbing an accusatory finger Tell-Tale’s way. “I hear you sniffing my hair at night.”
”Better me than some other weirdo, right?” Tell-Tale asked.
“Wrong— I would rather contract the Red Death’s disgusting blood plague,” Dupin insisted. He turned back to the Red Death and added, “No offense.”
“A little offense taken, honestly,” she said. “But you’re sure there’s no other way?”
“I’m certain there isn’t,” replied Dupin. “And, squelette, think about it this way: killing him now is more humane than letting him starve, or dehydrate, or freeze! He won’t feel anything, if you’re fast and do it now.”
The Red Death asked, “But what does everyone else think about this?”
Tell-Tale shrugged; the Raven made a similar motion with his wings. Lenore, grim as ever, said, “Don’t involve me in this.” Annabel Lee held her tongue— her plan was already in motion.
“And,” the Red Death said, “you’ll all trust me more if I do this for you, right?”
Dupin said, “Something like that.”
The Red Death straightened up, determined to use what little social leverage she had in her favor. “No. Tell me you’ll trust me,” she demanded.
“Fine, fine,” Dupin relented. “I’ll trust you more, whatever that means—“
“It means you’ll stop worrying that I’m going to try to kill you. I’ve told you I’ve reformed in about a thousand different ways, but nobody’s ever listened to me. So if I play mercenary for you, you’ll have to finally, REALLY trust me. Okay?”
“Okay,” Dupin sighed. “Just… hurry up. Please?”
The Red Death crouched down and took hold of the collar of the stranger’s jacket. She leaned in close to him and whispered, “I’m so sorry.”
She dragged his limp body out of sight and slammed the door to the White Room behind her.
Over and past the half-hour during which the party expected the Red Death’s disease to take effect, many a light trifle was discussed. These trifles did not matter for long, given the massive heft to the words shrieked from within the White Room, some time after pallor mortis ought to have begun:
“HOW ARE YOU NOT DEAD YET?!”