" THE TELL _ TALE HEARTS "

TRUE! — nervous — very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses — not destroyed — not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things inhell. How, then, am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily — how calmly I can tell you the whole story.

It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object there was none. Passion there was none. I loved the old man. He had never wronged me. He had never given me insult. For his gold I had no desire. I think it was his eye! yes, it was this! One of his eyes resembled that of a vulture — a pale blue eye, with a film over it. Whenever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold; and so by degrees — very gradually — I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of the eye forever.

Now this is the point. You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded — with what caution — with what foresight — with what dissimulation I went to work! I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed him. And every night, about midnight, I turned the latch of his door and opened it — oh, so gently! And then, when I had made an opening sufficient for my head, I put in a dark lantern, all closed, closed, so that no light shone out, and then I thrust in my head. Oh, you would have laughed to see how cunningly I thrust it in! I moved it slowly — very, very slowly, so that I might not disturb the old man’s sleep. It took me an hour to place my whole head within the opening so far that I could see him as he lay upon his bed. Ha! — would a madman have been so wise as this? And then, when my head was well in the room, I undid the lantern cautiously — oh, so cautiously — cautiously (for the hinges creaked) — I undid it just so much that a single thin ray fell upon the vulture eye. And this I did for seven long nights — every night just at midnight — but I found the eye always closed; and so it was impossible to do the work; for it was not the old man who vexed me, but his Evil Eye. And every morning... I spoke courageously... calling him by name... he would have been profound to suspect... that every night, just at twelve, I looked in upon him while he slept.

Upon the eighth night I was more than usually cautious... A watch’s minute hand moves more quickly than did mine... he moved on the bed suddenly, as if startled... the room was as black as pitch... I kept pushing... steadily. I had my head in... about to open the lantern, when my thumb slipped... the old man sprang up... “Who’s there?” I kept quite still and said nothing. For a whole hour I did not move a muscle, and in the meantime I did not hear him lie down. He was still sitting up... listening.

Presently I heard a slight groan... I knew it was the groan of mortal terror. It was not a groan of pain or grief... it was the low stifled sound... when overcharged with awe. I knew the sound well... deepening with its dreadful echo the terrors that distracted me... I knew what the old man felt... though I chuckled at heart.

When had waited a long time... I resolved to open a little — a very very little crevice in the lantern... and a simple dim ray fell full upon the vulture eye. It was open — wide, wide open — and I grew furious as I gazed upon it... and still the old man’s person remained hidden except that eyeAnd now... there came to my ears a low, dull, quick sound, such as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I knew that sound well, too. It was the beating of the old man’s heart. It increased my fury... as the beating of a drum stimulates the soldier... It grew quicker and louder every instant... the old man’s terror must have been extreme... I thought the heart must burst... With a loud yell, I threw open the lantern and leaped into the room. He shrieked once—once only. I dragged him to the floor and pulled the heavy bed over him... For many minutes, the heart beat on... at length it ceased. The old man was dead... I placed my hand upon the heart... there was no pulsation. He was stone dead.

If still you think me mad... I describe the wise precautions I took. I cut off the head, arms, legs... no stain... pulled up boards... hid every piece beneath... then replaced boards so cleverly that no human eye could detect... I had been too wary for that. A tub had caught all ha! ha!

When I had completed these labors it was four o’clock... still dark... a knocking at the street door... three men, officers of the police came... a shriek had been heard... I smiled—what had I to fear? I bade them welcome. The shriek... was my own in a dream. The old man was away in the country. I led them through the house. I showed them his treasures... brought chairs into the room and placed mine directly over the corpse.

The officers were satisfied... my manner convinced them... they sat... chatted... but I felt uneasy... my head ached... ringing in my ears... I talked more... the sound continued... it became clearer... and still they sat... Then I knew the sound was not in my ears... At that moment I must have become quite white. I talked still faster and louder. And the sound... grew louder still... a quick, low, soft sound like a clock heard through a wall... Louder... louder! Why did they not go? Louder, louder... I swung the chair, grated it... the sound overwhelmed? Yes! They heard! They suspected! They were making a mockery of my horror! I could bear it no longer. I pointed at the boards and cried: “Yes! Yes, I killed him. Pull up the boards and you shall see! I killed him! But why will his heart not stop beating?...” with that, I confessed all.

" villains! tear up the planks ! here ! here ! _ It is the beating of his hideous heart ! "

" The writer by ( ABDURRAHMAN ) "

" END OF THE STORY ".