You woke up in an old mansion straight out of a horror movie or horror novel, old paintings and portraits, moss, mold, clumps of dust, and creaky floor boards. You were walking around searching for an exit of any kind but all windows and doors were locked. You heard another floorboard creak and you looked behind you. At the far end of the hall stood a mans silhouette and a low hungry growl. The man soon went straight for you, hungry for blood. This man is Edgar Allan Poe.