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The Premature Burial
by Edgar Allen Poe

There are certain themes of which the interest is all-absorbing, but which are too entirely horrible for the purposes of legitimate fiction. These the mere romanticist must eschew, if he do not wish to offend o to disgust. They are with propriety handled only when the severity and majesty of Truth sanctify and sustain them. We thrill, for example, with the most intense of "pleasurable pain" over the accounts of the Passage of the Beresina, of the Earthquake at Lisbon, of the Plague at London, of the Massacre of St. Bartholomew, o of the stifling of the...

It was 3 o’ clock in the morning, October 31st, “the night of the living dead” as my mother had told me when I was a kid. I never believed her. I could never believe that one dead body can come back to life, and that was one of the reasons that New York’s crime lab selected me. But then it was different. A cold breeze was blowing outside this house –rumor had it that it was haunted- and three bodies were lying on the floor. I was alone in this dark room, while the other investigators were processing the secondo floor and everything was calm and quiet.

I started collecting evidence,...