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 forever.
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 was the beating of the old man's heart. It increased my fury, as the beating of a drum stimulates the soldier into courage.
One night, as I sat, the clock told the hour of twelve. I knew that the old man was awake because I could hear him in the bed talking softly to himself, and moving about quite in the manner of one who converses in his sleep. His room was as black as pitch with the thick darkness, for the shutters were close fastened, through fear of robbers. And then, when my head was well in the room, I undid the lantern cautiously — oh, so cautiously — cautiously (for the hinges creaked) — and I threw open the lanterns all so that a single 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 it was impossible to do the work. And on the eighth night I was more than usually careful in opening the door, so careful that I scarcely opened it for fear of the creak of the hinges.
And then, when I had made an opening sufficient for my head, I put in the lantern, all closed, closed so that no light shone out, and then I thrust in my head. I moved it slowly — very, very slowly, so that I might not disturb the old man's sleep. 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 quicker, I say, louder, louder! I felt that I must scream or die! and now — again! — hark! louder! louder! louder! louder! "Villains!" I shrieked, "helpers! — here!" — 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.
When I had made an end of all things, and supposing that my secret murder would remain forever undiscovered, I sat down calmly in the chair, and waited for the approach of the police. Presently there came a knocking at the street door. I went down to open it. It was the neighbor who had heard a shriek and had called the watch. I welcomed them with calmness and civility. I showed them how kindly I had treated the old man, and how I had found him dead upon the floor. They examined the room, and praised the furniture. They searched the house, and found nothing. They asked me what had happened, and I told them that the old man had died of a natural death, and that I had discovered him in the morning. “He was a very kind old man,” I said; “I loved him.”
I felt that I must laugh and be merry, but the sound would not come. I felt that I must speak — but the words would not obey me. I had the coolness of the dead, whilst every nerve and fiber in my body trembled. The old men’s policemen sat and chatted, and laughed, and smoked; and I sat and smoked with them. I could not tell why I grew so cunningly careful to seem calm. I thought timberly of my own merits, and of the boldness with which I had contrived to conceal my crime.
At length the officers were satisfied. They rose to depart; and I felt that my victory was complete. They were walking about. I invited them to sit, and they sat. They conversed pleasantly about trivial matters. And all the while, I could hear a low, dull, quick sound, such a sound as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I knew that sound well. Every fiber of my body now began to itch. It increased my agitation. The sound grew louder. It was the beating of the old man's hideous heart.
I felt that I must unburden myself. The sound increased. I could bear it no longer. "It is the beating of his heart!" I cried. "It is the beating of his heart!" They looked at me with that profound bewilderment which I had so often seen upon their faces. I fancied that I saw them whisper among themselves. They were talking of me as of a man who had been waiting long in vain for the comfort of confession. "Alas!" said one, "his mind is diseased." I laughed; and then, in the excess of my agitation, I rose and told them the whole story — how I had watched him, how I had planned, how I had executed the deed, and where I had hidden the body beneath the floor — and I confessed everything.