Edgar Allan Poe Afterlife Radio Show

Edgar Allan Poe Lines

CAT: You say a lot of silly things

Ah, I see, a beast come to plague me.

CAT: Who? Me?

Shooing you away will do no good, will it? And by the looks of you, you are no stranger to violence.

CAT: Don't mind me, man. I'm just a cat who is fond of stories.

You are not just a cat, you are a curse. And my name is not man, it is Poe.

CAT: Whatever you say, Mr. Poe.

Being a curse, I know I cannot just wish you away. If you are to stay, I only ask that you remain in silence.

CAT: Silent as a simple saucer of milk.

What does that mean?

CAT: Nothing, Mr. Poe...Tell your stories. Make us weep. Make our souls shiver. Go creep...creep...creep...

As I was saying, we are in Italy, on a night of much revelry...

POE: As I was saying, we are in Italy, on a night of much revelry...

It was dusk. The madness of carnival season is at its zenith. Within their haze of drinking and laughter is a man with a singular purpose...revenge.

MONTRESOR: Fortunato...Fortunato...Fortunato...

The eyes of this man, burn through the holes in his mask as he whispers the name of his enemy.

CAT: (Whispering loudly:) What is that?

Quiet, Cat.

CAT: Those weren't words

Those were words...Latin words.

CAT: Oh. Okay.

Apologies. Continue...

CAT: (Whispering loudly again:) What do they mean?

It means death to all felines. Now shut up!

CAT: I don't think that's what it means.

Nevertheless...Montresor and Fortunato passed through walls of piled bones, with casks and puncheons intermingling, into the inmost recesses of the catacombs.

FORTUNATO: Some more of the medoc, Montresor.

Fortunato finished off the bottle and proceeded to gesticulate in a fashion that Montresor did not understand.

MONTRESOR: I...well...There is this...

From beneath his coat, Montresor produced a trowel.

CAT: Who walks around with a trowel in their coat?

Will you be quiet and listen to the story!

MONTRESOR: Ah, yes, the Amontillado.

Montresor bent down and threw aside the pile of bones revealing a quantity of building stones and mortar. He once again retrieved the trowel from his coat.

CAT: I'm starting to think maybe he planned all this and that maybe a trowel wasn't such a random thing to be carrying.

Quiet methodically, Montresor began to wall up the entrance of the opening.

CAT: You think?

Quiet!

FORTUNATO: I say, Montresor, this really is quite a laugh.

Like a dedicated craftsman, Montresor built his all, stone by stone, without a word.

FORTUNATO: I am all for a joke my friend, but you see, i do have this cough.

And it is rather late... (shouting:) And I am also in chains!

Let me out I say

At last, the determined man neared the end of his project. One stone left to be placed.

MONTRESOR: Yes...for the love of God.

And with that, Montresor applied the final stone.

CAT: (Whispering Loudly:) Is that Latin again?

Yes

CAT: What does it-

Rest in peace.

CAT: Oooh...creepy. Is that the end? What happens to Montresor? Did he ever find out if it really was Amontillado? Maybe he went to the Luchesi guy. What does Amontillado taste like? Also, does anyone like wine enough to be willing tog o deep into a bone-filled crypt? (Silence.) Well...

What?

CAT: I have questions.

And I have no answers for you, cat. I have found none in life, nor have I found any in death.

CAT: Can I ask one more question?

No.

CAT: Please.

What?

CAT: Do you have anything to eat? I am terribly hungry.

I have not a crumb.

CAT: So you're saying...you don't have anything?

That's what I said.

CAT: Okay, okay. You just said it in a weird way.

Unless you have anymore nonsense which you insist on interrupting us with, it is time for-

CAT: Another morbid story?

No. A commercial.

RECEPTIONIST: Don't pass off that special birthday dinner as your own. She'll know. Order in from [insert restaurant name] on [insert street name] and mention Edgar Allan Poe to receive[insert promotional information - optional]. Just call [insert phone number]. [insert any restaurant tag line].

Welcome back, dear listeners. Though you may be contemplating the sustenance needed to maintain your mortal frames, I implore you to consider the nourishment of your souls. And I know of no better meal for your ineffable quintessence than a hearty tale.

CAT: Question.

Quiet.

CAT: Can we order in?

No.

CAT: But I'm so hungry. Why don't you ever feed me?

Must have slipped my mind.

CAT: A slippery mind at that.

Mind your slip of the tongue.

CAT: My tongue has a mind of its own. Feed me Edgar.

First we feed on this. Our next tale is that of a home. Of family.

CAT: That sounds nice.

A story of the cracks in the walls, seen and unseen...

CAT: Sounds wonderful. Probably lots of great mice. I'd love to see it sometime.

The story is the Fall of the House of Usher.

CAT: Oh...Well, let's hear it, Poe.

Some stories are best told by those who manages to survive. Let's listen.

CAT: Beautiful melody. How uplifting. it was catchy, you know. I think it will stay with me that one.

Yes, it will haunt me.

CAT: Ha! Was that a joke, Edgar?

I... don't know.

CAT: It was a joke, you old dog you.

I am not without a sense of humor

CAT: Could have fooled me.

So be it.

CAT: Get it? Your sense of humor could have fooled me?

I get it. And I shall laugh myself into the grave if you keep it up.

CAT: There ya go. Had to bring death into it, didn't you.

Death is always present.

CAT: Hilarious.

May we return to the tale, now, cat?

CAT: You sure are a barrel of laughs, Poe.

Thank you.

CAT: I was...I think you missed...

Yes?

CAT: Poe?

What is it now?

CAT: There's a lady.

Is this the beginning of another joke?

CAT: No, look over there. Some lady just wandered on.

You're wrong.

CAT: I'm pretty sure that is a lady over there.

That is not just "some lady," that is Miss. Terious.

CAT: Her name is Mysterious?

Miss. Terious. Of the Terious family out of Baltimore.

MISS TERIOUS: Edgar

Delores.

CAT: Her name is Miss Delores Terious?

Ignore the cat.

CAT: Hey!

What shall it be tonight?

MISS TERIOUS: You know, Poe.

No.

MISS TERIOUS: I must.

I forbid it.

CAT: Um...What is going on?

Nothing. Miss. Terious is going to perform, "The Bells" for us.

MISS TERIOUS: No

Fine. Miss Terious will perform "Annabel Lee."

CAT: These are more of your sad stories.

Poems.

MISS TERIOUS: I will be performing-

Don't say it.

MISS TERIOUS: "The Raven."

No.

CAT: Mmmm. Birds. Delicious.

There will be no "Raven" tonight.

CAT: Yeah, Edgar, tell me.

I...

MISS TERIOUS: Go on.

Delores was an actress. She played up and down the East Coast, but I met her in Baltimore. Her talent was prodigious, but her luck, not so. I merely suggested-

MISS TERIOUS: You practically insisted.

I mildly implied that she would find some success performing my poem, "The Raven." I knew the manager at a small theatre, I wanted to help.

MISS TERIOUS: You did help.

She was a hit.

MISS TERIOUS: We were a hit.

Until the one-hundredth performance.

CAT: Oh...All right...

Reciting the poem as she waded into the waves.

MISS TERIOUS: I do.

I don't

CAT: And I say let her.

I've carried the guilt ever since. My words drove you insane.

CAT: Yeah, Edgar, come off it.

Quiet, you.

MISS TERIOUS: Please, Edgar

As you wish...But if you shall go mad again.

MISS TERIOUS: It shan't matter much now.

Proceed

MISS TERIOUS: ...And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

Shall be lifted-nevermore!

Miss Terious, would you be do kind as to join us for the rest of the program?

CAT: Is that a tear? And you crying, Poe?

It is an affliction of the eye. Leave me alone!

CAT: Are you sure because-

I believe it's time for a commercial. Yes...a commercial.

DEB: Whether you are building a coffin, birdhouse or building an excuse, [insert hardware store name] has all of your hardware needs. call [insert phone number] or come down to [insert address] any time [store hours].

It is in our nature to build things. To put up walls. But even as we seek to create our own shelter, we sometimes construct our own demise.

CAT: I don't think we heard the same commercial.

I'm not talking about the commercial.

CAT: Oh. You're mad.

We're all mad. Con be mad, -go mad, that is - under the right circumstances.

CAT: Who are you?

You are the accused.

CAT: What disease? Is it contagious?

Let our guest finish.

TAYLOR: Accused. Always accused. I've been known as the nervous type. But not mad. Actually the disease had sharpened my senses - not destroyed - not dulled them.

You have a story.

TAYLOR: I have on that will seize you.

I've been insane, with long intervals of horrible sainty.

CAT: Such people should not be allowed to own pets.

But how? How does one go insane?

TAYLOR: Ii'm not insane. You could say I'm nervous. Dreadfully nervous. But listen! Observe how calmly I can tell you the whole story. It started with an idea.

We're listening.

CAT: I'm napping.

The insane ones are napping. The sane ones are listening.

TAYLOR: It's impossible to say how the ides first entered my brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and night. I loved the old man, I did. I was very kind to him. You have to believe him.

Go on.

TAYLOR: It is very important.

We believe you.

TAYLOR: No!

I thought you were napping.

CAT: And sleep through this?

Then shush.

CAT: No not at all. Well, you've been a lovely guest-

Then what did you do with the corpse?

TAYLOR: I took the wisest precautions.

I'm sure

TAYLOR: I had to conceal the body.

Logical.

CAT: Nothing mad here at all.

Let us hear the rest.

CAT: I love happy endings, don't you?

I like endings, period.

CAT: What happened to our guest.

Our guest is no more. Everyone must meet their end sooner or later.