BossWolf's Den Presents


By: Jim Drew






Melting Into Time
By: Jim Drew



      The following manuscript was discovered in a hidden attic at what was once the Washington College Hospital in Baltimore. Written in pencil, the text is mostly a wild scrawl, often illegible. It is contained within an old-style notebook in blue paper cover such as was used in the middle of the nineteenth century, and would have been available for purchase at any stationer's. The paper is remarkably well preserved, considering it's apparent age, showing only slight foxing and browning.
As for the text itself, we cannot now with certainty state that it is Poe's. Its many similarities in style and handwriting are meaningless as proof due to the great amount of hurry and stress under which it was evidently written. Further study is certainly in order; we publish at this time only in an attempt to interest the literary community in what we hope will be an insightful and productive colloquy.

      In preparing this text for publication, this editor has often had to result to common sense and supposition to fill in lacunae caused by the author's obvious haste in writing. Many words and whole phrases are simply (to these eyes) not legible. It is more than probable that errors have been made. For these I apologize. Wherever my best guess could not suffice, a note has been entered to that effect.





                                                                           9/29/'49                                                                            Baltimore

      I have left Richmond behind, perhaps forever. Terrible scene. I had recently become engaged to Sarah, sweetheart of my childhood, lately widowed. As I had just lost my beloved Ginny the year before, it was felt by us both that there was much to be gained by our union. Alas, 'twas not to be. A sudden fit or seizure at dinner seemed to her to be proof of drunkenness, though I swore (truthfully) I had not touched a drop in months. The evening ended early with cruel words, and I staggered home like the sot she had accused me of being.

      Wretched in the morning. Room spinning. Vision unreliable.
      Somewhat better in the afternoon, I returned to Sarah's, hoping to spread oil on the troubled waters of our alliance. A cold welcome awaited me. She laid on me this fiat: If I could prove to her that it was illness and not the bottle that afflicted me, she might with good heart pick up again our vows. If the contrary proved to be the case, I should nevermore (that word!) darken her door.
      Called on Dr. [?]. Contemptible quack! Would not believe my heartfelt protestations of innocence. Maintained in his unctuous manner that lying was a certain sign of alcoholic addiction! Stormed out without paying. Let him sign a complaint!
      Packed in haste and boarded the first packet boat to Baltimore, where Dr. S. resides and practices, a longtime family friend who will not, I know, prove unequal to the trust I have always placed in him in the past.

      Have taken a room above this tavern, central to every place I must visit in the next few days--also cheaper, as I didn't have time to withdraw funds from the bank in Richmond.

                                                                           9/30/'49                                                                          Afternoon

      Little or no sleep last night. The "raveled sleave of care" remains unknit. And waking or sleeping, what visions come to haunt me! What sounds and shocks! What beasts of nightmare! This unearned drunkenness is tribulation enough, but now I fear for my sanity.
      S. was sympathetic, though, I fear, of little help. All my years of drinking, he suggested, had damaged my nerves. All those dark descents to Lethe's loving arms--Could I have left so much behind?
      Delirium Tremens--how prosaic a name for the horrors I've begun to see! S. opines that opium and drink have eaten away the normal cogitative courses in my brain. "No Drinking--try to sleep--come back again tomorrow." I cannot [illegible]

                                                                                  10/1                                                                                    P.M.

      Yesterday I wandered, mindlessly, through Baltimore. I can little report what I saw, or how much of it was real. My body knew what my mind and eyes did not, for often I, as if waking from a stupor, would find myself in old familiar haunts. The dear old humble house, the Inner Harbour, the churchyard by Westminster, the shot tower. I do not know whether I ate or drank, but when again (by some unknown miracle) I found this tavern I [illegible] and took it out into the street. The stares of passers-by and the tavern's rude clientele soon drove me from my perch upon the stoop. I found a little haven underneath, that behind a pair of dustbins, afforded some surcease.
      I must have slept, for when next I [illegible] it was to the sound of bells. A mazed, mad, misty morning and the strains of bells, bells, a hundred years of bells! I clapped my hands to my affrighted ears and screamed until I had no breath and fainted in the debris.
      I do not know what happened next. Perhaps some Good Samaritan came to my aid, or the landlord heard my scream, for I found myself here in this little bed, in this mean room I had rented when? the day before?

                                                                                  10/2

      Virginia is here.
      We look out of the grimy window and see ghostly galleons in the harbour. They are improbably large and strung with fairy lights. Beyond this curve of bay there is a glittering city, gossamer, transparent, like an incomplete etching. Impossible heights and architecture, it stretches far beyond the city's boundaries. Our kingdom by the sea,
      We are children again. Her hand in mine is warm and real. In the circle of my arms I feel again that breath and life, that trembling quickening of spangled love we'd known together long ago. And oh! when once again we gain our bed...

Heaven hide your starry fires;
Look not upon our sweet desires!

                                                                                  10/?

      Gone.
      [Illegible] to return to (doctor?).
      [Illegible] nearly fell. Grasped the rail and careened around there on the stair Lifted my eyes to orient myself & when the world ceased spinning, beheld a gleaming, glittering rectangle of light just by the tavern door Too weak & spent to stagger unaided--pulled myself arm over arm up the railing. Felt called by what shimmered there before me
      Plaque--

      Melting into time
      No more silence or beauty or mercy or [illegible]
      All I hear is my heart my heart my heart my heart my
      Must write an epitaph

oh human love thou spirit given
on earth of all we hope in heaven

all that we see or seem
is but a dream within a dream

Lo! death has reared himself a throne

      to Hell with it--all I ever wrote was epitaphs! Let 'em pick & choose. But no damned raven!

      [Illegible]
      I wait
      I wait

      I





"Melting into Time" is printed here with
permission from the author.
Thank you, Jim.
The author, my best friend - passed away on August 09, 2003. I am very proud to be able to present this short story that was offered specifically for inclusion in BossWolf's Den. Jim was a renowned writer and stage actor/vocalist. You may visit a biographical memorial page for Jim at:
Jim Drew Memorial Pages
The world has lost a colossal talent but the creative gifts he has left us will keep him in our hearts and memories forever.




Click to view in full size.




Music = Etude


FastCounter by LinkExchange