A zippy little atmospheric short story, perhaps inspired by Dostoyevsky’s own writing difficulties at the time.
The irony of the protagonist literally being surrounded by stories ripe for the writing, yet dismissing them as nonsense and wondering where else to get inspiration, seems to key into some of the psyche around writer’s block.
Even setting aside any greater meanings like that, it’s a neat atmosphere in the graveyard and with the spookiness of the talking ghosts and the “inertia of consciousness”. Plenty of interesting ideas in such a short tale. Three cards, and a shared anecdote.