Author
The Tell-Tale Heart, short Gothic horror story is written by Edgar Allan Poe.
Publishment
The Tell-Tale Heart published in the Pioneer in 1843. Poe’s tale of murder and terror, told by a nameless madman in The Tell-Tale Heart, influenced later stream-of-consciousness fiction and helped secure the author’s reputation .
The Tell-Tale Heart
The Tell-Tale Heart, I have been extremely nervous and continue to be so. however, why do you insist on calling me insane? The condition has increased my senses rather than finish them. My hearing, in particular, became exceptionally sharp. I perceived every sound in the heavens and on earth, even some from hell. So why label me as mad? Listen closely to my story The Tell-Tale Heart and see how clearly and rationally I can recount the entire tale to you.
The origin of the idea remains unclear in The Tell-Tale Heart but once it took root in my mind it consumed my thoughts both day and night. There was no actual reason or intense emotion behind it. I felt Loving for the old man he had never harmed or offended me and I had no interest in his wealth.
It was his eye that affected me,a pale blue eye resembling a vulture’s, with a film over it. Whenever he looked at me it sent chills through my body. Gradually and knowingly, I resolved to end the old man’s life to be free from the disturbing presence of that eye permanently.
You might think I am insane but madmen are unaware. However, my actions were far from careless. I proceeded with great care, careful planning and a vital approach. I was exceptionally considerate to the old man during the week leading up to his decease. Each night around midnight I carefully turned the lock of his door and gently opened it.
Once there was enough space for my head. I inserted a closed dark torch to avoid any light escaping before slowly inserting my head through the gap. You would have been amused by how cleverly I managed this without waking him up. It took me an hour just to get my head inside far enough to observe him in bed.
Would someone who is truly mad be capable of such calculated behavior? Once my head was inside the room I carefully opened the torch just enough for a single thin beam of light to fall upon his eye that resembled a vulture’s eye.
For seven consecutive nights precisely at midnight I attempted my task but found the eye always closed. Making it impossible to proceed. It was not the old man himself who troubled me but rather his evil Eye.
Each morning at dawn I confidently entered his room and engaged him in conversation with a friendly manner addressing him by name and asking about his night’s rest. Clearly he would have needed to be exceptionally sensitive to realize that I observed him each night at twelve while he slept.
On the eighth night I exercised unique care while opening the door. My movements were slower than the minute hand of a watch. That night I truly realized the breadth of my abilities and keen insight.
I could nearly contain my successful feelings. It was exciting to think that I was gradually opening the door without him suspecting anything about my hidden actions or thoughts.
The idea made me laughter quietly he might have heard it because he suddenly shifted in bed as if shocked. You might assume I retreated but I did not. His room was enveloped in darkness as deep as sound since the shutters were tightly closed to discourage robbers, making it impossible for him to see the door opening. So I continued to push it open slowly and steadily.
As I entered in and prepared to open the torch my thumb accidentally slipped on the metal hold. This caused the old man to suddenly sit up in bed and exclaim, Who is there?
I remained completely motionless and silent. For an entire hour I stayed totally still and during that time I did not hear him settle back into bed. He continued to sit upright attentively listening much like I had done on countless nights pulling to catch the sound of the deathwatch beetles in the wall.
At that moment I detected a faint cry unmistakably a sign of extreme fear. This was not an expression of physical pain or sorrow, certainly not. Instead it was the sad and muted noise that emerges from deep within when one is surprised with fear. I recognized this sound all too well.
Numerous nights precisely at midnight when the world was at rest a feeling surged from within me increasing the fears that anxious my mind with its
dangerous echo. I assert that I was familiar with it. I understood the emotions of the old man and felt pity for him even though inside Ifound it amusing.
He had been lying awake since the faintest sound echoed through the room his mind racing with worst case layout. in spite of his efforts to dismiss his fears only deepened. He tried to convince himself it was just the wind whistling through the funnel a stray mouse race across the floor or a lone cricket’s faint sound. But the excuses rang hollow. His anxiety had taken hold, and justification proved vain.
Before I entered death’s dark presence had already settled over the room. Its shadowy form enveloping the victim. Though unseen its chilling atmosphere was clear.
I waited for while then carefully opened the torch allowing a sliver of light to escape. It landed on his eye, a piercing gaze that seemed to watch me
The eye was wide open its dull blue stare piercing through me. A terrifying screen hide the rest of the old man’s face leaving only that unsettling gaze.
You think me mad but I assure you my senses have never been sharper. And then I heard it a muffled, rapid blow, like a watch wrapped in cloth. I recognized the sound instantly the old man’s heartbeat. It power my anger vibrating through me like a battle drum.
I held my breath frozen in place. The torch beam remained steady on the eye. Meanwhile, the heartbeat racing within the old man’s chest grew louder and faster . Its excited pace echoing through the silence.
The old man’s fear was smother. The heartbeat deepened hitting in my ears. I am high connected and in the strange silence of that old house the sound sent me wind into fear.
I stood frozen but the heartbeat grew louder more intense. It was about to explode. Suddenly fear of detection gripped me. The old man’s fate was sealed. I cried throw open the torch and entered into the room.
He release a single chilling scream. In an instant I dragged him down and pinned him under the bed’s crushing weight. I smiled strongly grateful the worst was over. Yet the muffled heartbeat persisted.
The heartbeat’s ending brought silence. I removed the bed revealing the lifeless body. My hand on his chest confirmed the stillness. The old man’s gaze once piercing now cold and unmoving.
I will prove my reason through my careful planning. Under the cover of darkness I quickly disjoint the dead body separating head, arms, and legs.
I carefully removed three floorboards, hiding the evidence between the moist. The boards fit back perfectly leaving no visible trace.
Finishing my tasks I checked the time – 4 a.m. still pitch black outside. As the clock struck the hour a knock sounded through the street door. Confident I headed downstairs unaware of the near storm. Three police officers entered their gracious behavior disproved by their suspicion.
Confident and composed I welcomed the officers. “The scream? Just a nightmare” I explained Hiding my true horror. “The old man’s out of town.” I gave them a tour inviting them to search.
The officers seemed convinced and I relaxed answering their questions with ease. But soon I felt my calm slipping . My face pale, head pounding and ears ringing.
My face tired of color but I spoke with increasing importance trying to drown out the sound. It was a muffled, affectless like a watch wrapped in cotton.
I spoke faster my words falling out in worry but the sound increased. I stood asking pointlessly my voice rising hands gesturing wildly.
I lost control foaming with rage, raving and cursing. I slammed the chair against the floor but the sound overwhelmed me growing louder and louder.
Was it possible they didn’t hear? God no they knew. They were playing with my terror. I couldn’t face their smug smiles. The pain was unbearable. I had to scream or collapse.
“Deceivers!” I screamed “stop pretending. I admit. tear up the floorboards. Here. Here. It’s the old man’s heart still beating.”