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On the 160th anniversary of Edgar Allen Poe's October death in 1849, Graveyard Tales salutes the Father of the Macabre by presenting the Tell Tale Heart below. Poe's works are models of concise, spellbinding tales from humanity's dark side in their finest forms of prose and poetry. We encourage those who submit here to carefully study the work of masters such as Poe, so that we may perpetuate our fascination with delighting in tales of horror, terror, and the paranormal. For further reading enjoyment, please visit An Exploration of Short Stories by Edgar Allan Poe at PoeStories.com
The Tell Tale Heart
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 in hell. 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 for ever.
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, when the day broke, I went boldly into the chamber and spoke
courageously to him, calling him by name in a hearty tone, and inquiring how he
had passed the night. So you see he would have been a very profound old man,
indeed , 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 in opening the door. A
watch's minute hand moves more quickly than did mine. Never before that night
had I felt the extent of my own powers, of my sagacity. I could scarcely contain
my feelings of triumph. To think that there I was opening the door little by little,
and he not even to dream of my secret deeds or thoughts. I fairly chuckled at the
idea, and perhaps he heard me, for he moved on the bed suddenly as if startled.
Now you may think that I drew back -- but no. His room was as black as pitch
with the thick darkness (for the shutters were close fastened through fear of
robbers), and so I knew that he could not see the opening of the door, and I kept
pushing it on steadily, steadily.
I had my head in, and was about to open the lantern, when my thumb slipped
upon the tin fastening , and the old man sprang up in the bed, crying out, "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 in the bed,
listening; just as I have done night after night hearkening to the death watches in
the wall.
Presently, I heard a slight groan, and I knew it was the groan of mortal terror. It
was not a groan of pain or of grief -- oh, no! It was the low stifled sound that
arises from the bottom of the soul when overcharged with awe. I knew the sound
well. Many a night, just at midnight, when all the world slept, it has welled up from
my own bosom, deepening, with its dreadful echo, the terrors that distracted me.
I say I knew it well. I knew what the old man felt, and pitied him although I
chuckled at heart. I knew that he had been lying awake ever since the first slight
noise when he had turned in the bed. His fears had been ever since growing
upon him. He had been trying to fancy them causeless, but could not. He had
been saying to himself, "It is nothing but the wind in the chimney, it is only a
mouse crossing the floor," or, "It is merely a cricket which has made a single
chirp." Yes he has been trying to comfort himself with these suppositions ; but he
had found all in vain. ALL IN VAIN, because Death in approaching him had
stalked with his black shadow before him and enveloped the victim. And it was
the mournful influence of the unperceived shadow that caused him to feel,
although he neither saw nor heard, to feel the presence of my head within the
room.
When I had waited a long time very patiently without hearing him lie down, I
resolved to open a little -- a very, very little crevice in the lantern. So I opened it --
you cannot imagine how stealthily, stealthily -- until at length a single dim ray like
the thread of the spider shot out from the crevice and fell upon the vulture eye.
It was open, wide, wide open, and I grew furious as I gazed upon it. I saw it with
perfect distinctness -- all a dull blue with a hideous veil over it that chilled the very
marrow in my bones, but I could see nothing else of the old man's face or person,
for I had directed the ray as if by instinct precisely upon the damned spot.
And now have I not told you that what you mistake for madness is but overacuteness
of the senses? now, I say, 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 into courage.
But even yet I refrained and kept still. I scarcely breathed. I held the lantern
motionless. I tried how steadily I could maintain the ray upon the eye. Meantime
the hellish tattoo of the heart increased. It grew quicker and quicker, and louder
and louder, every instant. The old man's terror must have been extreme! It grew
louder, I say, louder every moment! -- do you mark me well? I have told you that I
am nervous: so I am. And now at the dead hour of the night, amid the dreadful
silence of that old house, so strange a noise as this excited me to uncontrollable
terror. Yet, for some minutes longer I refrained and stood still. But the beating
grew louder, louder! I thought the heart must burst. And now a new anxiety
seized me -- the sound would be heard by a neighbour! The old man's hour had
come! With a loud yell, I threw open the lantern and leaped into the room. He
shrieked once -- once only. In an instant I dragged him to the floor, and pulled the
heavy bed over him. I then smiled gaily, to find the deed so far done. But for
many minutes the heart beat on with a muffled sound. This, however, did not vex
me; it would not be heard through the wall. At length it ceased. The old man was
dead. I removed the bed and examined the corpse. Yes, he was stone, stone
dead. I placed my hand upon the heart and held it there many minutes. There
was no pulsation. 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
precautions I took for the concealment of the body. The night waned, and I
worked hastily, but in silence.
I took up three planks from the flooring of the chamber, and deposited all
between the scantlings. I then replaced the boards so cleverly so cunningly, that
no human eye -- not even his -- could have detected anything wrong. There was
nothing to wash out -- no stain of any kind -- no blood-spot whatever. I had been
too wary for that.
When I had made an end of these labours, it was four o'clock -- still dark as
midnight. As the bell sounded the hour, there came a knocking 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 introduced themselves, with perfect suavity, as officers
of the police. A shriek had been heard by a neighbour during the night; suspicion
of foul play had been aroused; information had been lodged at the police office,
and they (the officers) had been deputed to search the premises.
I smiled, -- for what had I to fear? I bade the gentlemen welcome. The shriek, I
said, was my own in a dream. The old man, I mentioned, was absent in the
country. I took my visitors all over the house. I bade them search -- search well. I
led them, at length, to his chamber. I showed them his treasures, secure,
undisturbed. In the enthusiasm of my confidence, I brought chairs into the room,
and desired them here to rest from their fatigues, while I myself, in the wild
audacity of my perfect triumph, placed my own seat upon the very spot beneath
which reposed the corpse of the victim.
The officers were satisfied. My MANNER had convinced them. I was singularly at
ease. They sat and while I answered cheerily, they chatted of familiar things. But,
ere long, I felt myself getting pale and wished them gone. My head ached, and I
fancied a ringing in my ears; but still they sat, and still chatted. The ringing
became more distinct : I talked more freely to get rid of the feeling: but it
continued and gained definitiveness -- until, at length, I found that the noise was
NOT within my ears.
No doubt I now grew VERY pale; but I talked more fluently, and with a
heightened voice. Yet the sound increased -- and what could I do? It was A
LOW, DULL, QUICK SOUND -- MUCH SUCH A SOUND AS A WATCH MAKES
WHEN ENVELOPED IN COTTON. I gasped for breath, and yet the officers
heard it not. I talked more quickly, more vehemently but the noise steadily
increased. I arose and argued about trifles, in a high key and with violent
gesticulations; but the noise steadily increased. Why WOULD they not be gone?
I paced the floor to and fro with heavy strides, as if excited to fury by the
observations of the men, but the noise steadily increased. O God! what COULD I
do? I foamed -- I raved -- I swore! I swung the chair upon which I had been
sitting, and grated it upon the boards, but the noise arose over all and continually
increased. It grew louder -- louder -- louder! And still the men chatted pleasantly ,
and smiled. Was it possible they heard not? Almighty God! -- no, no? They
heard! -- they suspected! -- they KNEW! -- they were making a mockery of my
horror! -- this I thought, and this I think. But anything was better than this agony!
Anything was more tolerable than this derision! I could bear those hypocritical
smiles no longer! I felt that I must scream or die! -- and now -- again -- hark!
louder! louder! louder! LOUDER! --
"Villains!" I shrieked, "dissemble no more! I admit the deed! -- tear up the planks!
-- here, here! -- it is the beating of his hideous heart!"