A Tell-Tale Heart

By Edgar Allen Poe

True! Nervous -- very, very nervous I had been
and am! But why will you say that I am
mad? The disease had sharpened my senses --
not destroyed them.
Above all was the sense of hearing. I heard all
things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard
many things in the underworld. How, then, am I
mad? Observe how healthily -- how calmly I
can tell you the whole story.
It is impossible to say how first the idea entered
my brain. 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! He had the eye of
a bird, a vulture -- a pale blue eye, with a film
over it. Whenever it fell on me, my blood ran
cold; and so -- very slowly -- I made up my
mind to take the life of the old man, and free
myself of the eye forever.
Now this is the point. You think that I am
mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should
have seen me. You should have seen how
wisely and carefully I went to work!
I was never kinder to the old man than during
the whole week before I killed him. And every
night, late at night, I turned the lock of his door
and opened it – oh, so gently! And then, when I
had made an opening big enough for my head, I
put in a dark lantern, all closed that no light
shone out, and then I stuck in my head. I moved
it slowly, very slowly, so that I might not
interfere with the old mans sleep. And then,
when my head was well in the room, I undid the
lantern just so much that a single thin ray of
light fell upon the vulture eye.
And this I did for seven long nights -- but I
found the eye always closed; and so it was
impossible to do the work; for it was not the old
man who was a problem for me, but his Evil
Eye.
On the eighth night, I was more than usually
careful in opening the door. I had my head in
and was about to open the lantern, when my
finger slid on a piece of metal and made a
noise. The old man sat up in bed, crying out
"Whos there?"
I kept still and said nothing. I did not move a
muscle for a whole hour. During that time, I did
not hear him lie down. He was still sitting up in
the bed listening -- just as I have done, night
after night.
Then I heard a noise, and I knew it was the
sound of human terror. It was the low sound
that arises from the bottom of the soul. I knew
the sound well. Many a night, late at night,
when all the world slept, it has welled up from
deep within my own chest. I say I knew it well.
I knew what the old man felt, and felt sorry for
him, although I laughed to myself. I knew that
he had been lying awake ever since the first
noise, when he had turned in the bed. His fears
had been ever since growing upon him.
When I had waited a long time, without hearing
him lie down, I decided to open a little -- a very,
very little -- crack in the lantern. So I opened
it. You cannot imagine how carefully,
carefully. Finally, a single ray of light shot
from out and fell full upon the vulture eye.
It was open -- wide, wide open -- and I grew
angry as I looked at it. I saw it clearly -- all a
dull blue, with a horrible veil over it that chilled
my bones; but I could see nothing else of the old
mans face or person. For I had directed the light
exactly upon the damned spot.
And have I not told you that what you mistake
for madness is but a kind of over-
sensitivity? Now, there came to my ears a low,
dull, quick sound, such as a watch makes when
inside a piece of cotton. I knew that sound well,
too. It was the beating of the old mans heart. It
increased my anger.
But even yet I kept still. I hardly breathed. I
held the lantern motionless. I attempted to keep
the ray of light upon the eye. But the beating of
the heart increased. It grew quicker and
quicker, and louder and louder every
second. The old mans terror must have been
extreme! The beating grew louder, I say, louder
every moment!
And now at the dead hour of the night, in the
horrible silence of that old house, so strange a
noise as this excited me to uncontrollable
terror. Yet, for some minutes longer I stood
still. But the beating grew louder, louder! I
thought the heart must burst.
And now a new fear seized me -- the sound
would be heard by a neighbor! The old mans
hour had come! With a loud shout, I threw open
the lantern and burst into the room.
He cried once -- once only. Without delay, I
forced him to the floor, and pulled the heavy
bed over him. I then smiled, to find the action
so far done.
But, for many minutes, the heart beat on with a
quiet sound. This, however, did not concern
me; it would not be heard through the wall. At
length, it stopped. The old man was dead. I
removed the bed and examined the body. I
placed my hand over his heart and held it there
many minutes. There was no movement. He
was stone dead. His eye would trouble me no
more.
If still you think me mad, you will think so no
longer when I describe the wise steps I took for
hiding the body. I worked quickly, but in
silence. First of all, I took apart the body. I cut
off the head and the arms and the legs.
I then took up three pieces of wood from the
flooring, and placed his body parts under the
room. I then replaced the wooden boards so
well that no human eye -- not even his -- could
have seen anything wrong.
There was nothing to wash out -- no mark of
any kind -- no blood whatever. I had been too
smart for that. A tub had caught all -- ha! ha!
When I had made an end of these labors, it was
four oclock in the morning. As a clock sounded
the hour, there came a noise at the street door. I
went down to open it with a light heart -- for
what had I now to fear? There entered three
men, who said they were officers of the
police. A cry had been heard by a neighbor
during the night; suspicion of a crime had been
aroused; information had been given at the
police office, and the officers had been sent to
search the building.
I smiled -- for what had I to fear? The cry, I
said, was my own in a dream. The old man, I
said, was not in the country. I took my visitors
all over the house. I told them to search --
search well. I led them, at length, to his room. I
brought chairs there, and told them to rest. I
placed my own seat upon the very place under
which lay the body of the victim.
The officers were satisfied. I was completely at
ease. They sat, and while I answered happily,
they talked of common things. But, after a
while, I felt myself getting weak and wished
them gone. My head hurt, and I had a ringing in
my ears; but still they sat and talked.
The ringing became more severe. I talked more
freely to do away with the feeling. But it
continued until, at length, I found that the noise
was not within my ears.
I talked more and with a heightened voice. Yet
the sound increased -- and what could I do? It
was a low, dull, quick sound like a watch makes
when inside a piece of cotton. I had trouble
breathing -- and yet the officers heard it not. I
talked more quickly -- more loudly; but the
noise increased. I stood up and argued about
silly things, in a high voice and with violent
hand movements. But the noise kept increasing.
Why would they not be gone? I walked across
the floor with heavy steps, as if excited to anger
by the observations of the men -- but the noise
increased. What could I do? I swung my chair
and moved it upon the floor, but the noise
continually increased. It grew louder -- louder -
- louder! And still the men talked pleasantly,
and smiled.
Was it possible they heard not? No, no! They
heard! They suspected! They knew! They
were making a joke of my horror! This I
thought, and this I think. But anything was
better than this pain! I could bear those smiles
no longer! I felt that I must scream or die! And
now -- again! Louder! Louder! Louder!
"Villains!" I cried, "Pretend no more! I admit
the deed! Tear up the floor boards! Here,
here! It is the beating of his hideous heart!"