Hello, gentle listener, and welcome to our Nocturnal Transmissions Halloween episode.

Yes indeed, it's that most nocturnal transmissiony time of year again, a time when we find

ourselves menaced by vegetables of hideous countenance and assailed by path crossing black

cats, wicked witches, and lolly-grabbing ghouls, ghosts, and lovers of cosplay.

To mark the occasion this year, we're going back to the main man of macabre manuscription, that sinister scribe, that poet of the

perverse, that most eldrich of Edgar's, Edgar Allan Poe.

And what Edgar Allan Poe story could possibly be better suited to all Hallows Eve than the Black Cat?

Happy Halloween, everyone.

Nocturnal transmissions is proud to present

The Black Cat.

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,

tomorrow, I die. And today I would unburden 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 Baroque's.

Hereafter, perhaps, some intellect may be found which will reduce my phantasm to the commonplace.

Some intellect more calm, more logical, and far less excitable than my own,

...