THE TELL-TALE HEART

When I was little I had heard of the story ‘the Tell-Tale Heart’, I kept hearing that it was a hard read, i was still reading the ‘Dork Diaries’ series so the talk of the story interested me, considering it was a “challenge”, but not enough for me to actually pay any attention towards it. It wasn't till High School when I finally did it. I read it one day in my room and it stuck with me for odd reasons. The story is told through the mouth of the narrator, whose name we never come to find out. We know little of the man but that he is a servant for an older man. He first begins the introduction to his story in a pleading manner claiming he can not be ‘mad’ when all around him he hears ‘things’, then he begins to tell us the rest. 

I'm not sure how long the narrator had been a servant to the old man, but from what he states the guy was good. The narrator could have cared less about the wealth or secrets of the man, so he claims that the only thing that could have driven him insane was his eye. His “vulture eye” that is. The narrator expresses to us the stress this eye with a film cast over it, has brought him, he hated the eye and that's how his plan had come to be, purely based on the intention to get rid of the evil eye. For eight nights, when the old man would fall fast asleep the narrator would carefully open his bedroom door at midnight and poke light through just enough to have it placed on the eye, but his eye was always closed so it made planning how it went a little difficult. His plan for checking the eye was very precise, he says it took him an hour to open the door far enough so that his head could come through, he says this boasting his precision and sneakiness. And every morning when the old man woke, he never questioned anything, until the eighth night. 

On the eight night the narrator had gotten a little too indulged in the smoothness of his plan. While continuing on schedule to check on the evil eye, and proceeding with steady, careful hands, he laughs at how oblivious the old man seems. Just then is when the old man wakes, startled in his bed he jumps backwards in the pitch black, unable to see the light entering from his cracked doorway. The narrator knew it was impossible for him to see a thing, so he spread his luck, still pushing open the door. When he finally has his head in and tries to shine the light from the lantern, the old man hears and shouts questioning ‘who's there’. Here is where I find the narrator to be funny, because after he hears the shout, he says no reply but instead stands there in the exact position for an hour, so does the old man. Finally, the narrator lets through the light from the lantern and places it on his eye, which happens to be wide open. He grows with even more rage but still he holds back. But then he hears a mumbling sound, a sound he is familiar with and that infuriates him even more, the old mans beating heart. But still, he holds back. That is until, the old man's fears grow bigger, his heart starts to beat faster, thumping a little louder, loud enough to consume the thoughts of the narrator. A new stress becomes of him and it is that beating heart, he fears it could be heard across the street through all the wooden doors. It's then he makes his decision and jumps into the room, he's quick enough to let the poor old man yell only one time. Shoving him underneath the ‘heavy bed’, the narrator fills with relief once he pulls him out and finds that he is dead, the eye is dead. Now he's very careful in covering up his crime, dismembering the body to place separately underneath the floorboards. He had cleaned up the blood, carefully placed the pieces of the man and replaced the boards. All this to ensure nothing could ever go wrong, the narrator would remain a clean and happy man. Until four a.m. when three police officers would come knocking at his door asking about any commotion. This is another part of the story that I find funny. With how perfectly and precisely he had cleaned everything, his confidence towards the matter grew, he invited them in. Showcasing the house as if it were his own, he guides the officers along the way telling them how the scream they had heard was simply him being woken by his own dream. The officers stayed and chatted with the narrator, seeming to be pleased by his hospitality. As they sat and continued on speaking, the narrator began to feel uneasy, hearing ringing in his ears and growing pale by the minute. But still he sits there poised, inserting a word in every now and then. As the ringing grew louder, it was clear the sound was not in his ears. He began to talk more, sweating with anxiety, wondering if the ringing was heard or if it was not, what was there to do but confess? And so he does, pleading to the officers about the crime he had done