This Week's Essay: The Tell Tale Heart Retold in Third Person Omniscient
The poor young man, so nervous and afraid because of his madness. Of course, just as every madman does not know he is mad, the young man thought his senses had been sharpened, yet he was only made delusional and paranoid.
It is hardly possible to say how how he first got the idea, but once he had it, it was the single thing on his mind the most. It consumed his mind, haunting him day and night. He had no other goal or passion. The idea made him feel a bit sorry, for he truly loved the old man. The old man was very fond of him, too. The old man saw in him the potential to be great. The old man had never wronged him or insulted him, but the young man was filled with distaste at the hideous corruption marring the old man’s face. At first he wasn’t certain that it was the eye that made the elderly man so undesirable, but soon he realized that it was true. The eye was like that of a vulture; pale blue with a milky white film glazing it. Whenever it fell upon the young man, his blood ran cold. Slowly, very slowly, the young man made up his mind to rid himself of the old man and his atrocious eye forever.
The old man could see that something was bothering the young man and was slightly concerned about him, but he was not one to pry so he left it alone. It would sort itself out, he thought. And it must have, because the younger man stopped acting nervous and become more cheery and kind. It was as if the young man woke up one morning and all discomfort between him and the old chap had disappeared. The old fellow was rather glad, because he much rather liked seeing the young man bright than seeing him glum.
The young gentleman fancied himself very wise. He thought he had planned his crime very cleverly. He made a point of being even kinder to the man than ever before and every night, at just about midnight, the youthful man would sneak into the old man’s room with a lantern, ever so carefully open the door, and put his head and his lantern into the room through the crack in the door. He was very quiet so that he did not wake the frail old man. He spent a whole hour edging his head through the doorway, only to see the old man sleeping peacefully; so vulnerable. He thought again, at this point, how cunning and clever he was. The elderly man’s eyes were closed, and since it was not the old man whom his quarrel was with, but the corrupt, repulsive eye, he decided to leave and come back to do the deed another night. The next night, though, the eyes remained closed. He came again in the night, for the next five nights and could not bring himself to kill the man. Yet during the daytime the young fellow spoke cheerfully and boldly to the feeble, gray-haired man, calling him by his name and asking how he slept the night before. The old man thought it was rather odd that the young man acted so familiar with him, for he usually kept to himself and that suited them both. But the old man let it go , thinking it too inconsequential to be dwelled on. The young man was pleased that the old man was not suspicious and thought, once again, of how wise he was.
On the eighth night, the youthful man was extra cautious in opening the door. He moved more slowly, so he thought, than the minute hand of a pocket watch. He felt triumphic, powerful even. His only accomplishment was that he was opening the elderly man’s bedroom door, oh so slowly, and that the old man had no idea of his secret motivations and intentions. The crude young man let slip a short cackle at his own cleverness, causing the older man to stir in bed; his sleep disturbed. The young man froze in the doorway, still but shivering. He was hidden well enough, for the room was pitch dark as a result of the tightly closed shutters. They were closed because of the frail old man’s desperate fear of robbers. The young man knew this and knew that the darkness concealed him, so he slowly pushed the door wider, little by little so as not to fully wake the old gent. His head and shoulders were in the room, and so was the lantern. The old man became subconsciously uneasy, stirring again. The younger man was just about to open the lantern, when his thumb slipped on the metal fastener, causing a loud squeaking sound.
“Who’s there?!” cried the old man, sitting up in bed with a jolt. The young man remained frigidly silent. For a long while, the young man exaggeratedly thought it to be an hour, he did not move a muscle. The whole while, he still didn’t hear the man lie back down. The elderly man was still sitting up; still listening, just as the young man had done himself on many a night. The old man let out a moan of fear, for he could feel the presence of malicious intentions. The youthful fellow knew that it was not a moan of pain nor grief, but a moan of frightened anguish emanating from deep inside the old man’s soul. He knew because deep in the night, when all the earth was restful, the fear of death had bellowed from deep within his own chest. The old man’s echo of panic at his own mortality deepened dreadfully, and while the young man was sympathetic and even pitiful for the feeble man, his heart smiled in dark humor.
The young man knew that the older man had awakened at the first slight noise and that he’d been lying awake ever since he turned in the bed, that the fear had been building and growing, burning in his chest. The old man had tried to tell himself that he was just over-stimulated, that there was nothing to be afraid of, “It’s nothing but the wind whistling through the chimney, perhaps a mouse scampering about on the floor. Only a cricket’s chirp…” He had tried to console himself with such scenarios, but it had all been pointless because death’s shadow had covered him, shrouding him in fear. It had stalking him as a panther stalks it’s prey, and now it was ready to pounce. He had not seen the shadow coming and now it was too late and it was that spirit of despair that allowed him to sense the presence of the young man’s head within the room.
When the youth had waited quite a while, rather impatiently (though he thought he was patient), he made up his mind to open a crack in the lantern and allow a small sliver of light to peek out. Stealthily, he opened it and the tiny ray of light, as small as a thread of spider’s silk, fell directly upon the vulture eye. It was open, wide open, and the sight of it made the young man fill with rage. The milky film veiling the pale blue iris made the young man’s bones go cold, and yet he could see no other part of the senior man’s body. It was as if the young man had instinctively aimed the ray of light upon the condemned place.
The young man was proud of his heightened senses, which most sane people would perceive as sickness. Then the man heard a sound, low and dull and quick, like a watch’s tick muffled by cotton. The young man knew it well, it was the elderly man’s heart beat. It made the young man furious that it be allowed to continue, and stimulated him as does the beating of a war drum to a soldier. He wanted to act, oh so badly wanted to, but he kept still and hardly breathed. He held the lantern still. The old man’s heart grew quicker and faster by the second, his dread heightening. It made the youthful man very anxious and, in the quiet of the night, it excited him with nervous adrenaline. He held still and the heartbeat grew so loud that he thought the frail old heart might burst. The young man now feared, rather irrationally, that the neighbor would hear the thumping heart.
This was the time when he must do it, he thought, and with a shout he flung open the lantern and bounded into the room. The old man shrieked in surprise one time, just once, before the younger man seized his and yanked him to the floor. Then the man shoved the heavy bead over the helplessly weak and terrified old fellow. He smiled at a job done well thus far. The heart droned on, muffled by the bed, but the young man was not worried, for the heart could not be heard by anyone nearby. It got slower and slower and soon stopped altogether, signaling the end of the old man’s life. The young man dragged the bed off of the old man’s lifeless body and examined it. The body was stiff and cold, for blood no longer streamed life through it. The young man checked for a pulse and there was none. The young man would be troubled by the eye no longer.
The young man thought conceitedly of how wisely he would dispose of the corpse. He worked diligently as the night passed in silence. He dismembered the man’s remains, cutting off his arms and legs, and lastly, his head. Then he lifted three boards from the floor and placed the pieces in the timber supporters of the house. then he put the boards back and cunningly made them look as if they had never been touched. No human eye, not even his eyes in their heightened sense, could have detected it. He had no gore to clean up, no stains of blood of any kind. The cunning chap had been too careful for any of that. He was proud of himself, oh how clever he thought himself.
When he had finished it was four o'clock in the morning and still black as pitch. As the bell in the tower chimed the hour, There was a knock at the boarding home’s street door. He went down to open it with no doubt in his mind. Why should he be afraid, when he had been so clever. He let in three officers, they were rather groggy still and not too happy to have been woken in the night. They were really unsure what to expect, for the report had only been of a neighbor who told of a cry in the night and a suspicion of foul play. They showed no uncertainty though, as that was their job, and they proceeded to search the premises.
The young man welcomed them. He told them that the cry had been his own and was only caused by a nightmare. He mentioned subtly that the elderly man was off in the country visiting relatives. The police saw no reason the suspect him.he showed them all over the house, let them search everywhere they wanted. After long enough that it didn’t look planned, he led them to the old man’s chamber. He showed them the old man’s treasures, all untouched and secure. He was so confident that they would not suspect him, that he took chairs into the man’s room and bade them sit and rest. They were all very tired, for they had risen early and they hadn’t yet got their wits about them. The young man triumphantly placed his seat directly over the elderly man’s torso.
The officers sat and chatted pleasantly, convinced and glad to have such an amiable young man for a host. The man was at ease. They asked the young man questions and made small talk. The young man at first did not mind, but shortly after he started to feel pale and wished that they would go. His head started to ache and he thought he heard a sort of ringing in his ears, but still the officered sat and talked. As they did, the ringing became more and more distinct. The young man spoke more openly to rid himself of the ringing but still it remained. It became more definite until after a while, he relized that the sound was not within his ears at all.
Now he felt his face grow very pale, but spoke freely, loudly, and clearly. The sound became louder still! The young man began to despair, to question himself. The ringing made itself out as a low, dull, quick sound, almost like… the sound of a watch encompassed with cotton. He gasped, but the officers did not hear. He talked faster, intensely, but the noise only became louder. It increased steadily. He stood and debated about trifles and things. His voice was very high key now and he gestures frantically. Why don’t they leave? He wondered. The young man began to pace, acting as if the debate had excited him. The noise got louder and louder. He raved and swore in his speaking to the men. The officers were becoming rather amused at his excitement. He grabbed the chair he had been sitting in and pulled it along with him as he paced. It sounded all over as it bumped along the boards. The policemen still chatted pleasantly, all smiling and relaxing. Surely it was impossible that they didn’t hear it. No, no! It was impossible! Surely they heard, surely they suspected! They’d known all along and they were only mocking him now! Well, he would not be made a fool of, anything was better than that! Anything was better than being ridiculed! He could no longer bear their hypocritical grins! He felt that he must scream or else he would die! Still the noise grew louder. Louder, louder! Louder, still!
“Villains!” Cried the man, “No more acting!! I admit my guilt, pull up the planks! Here! Here! It is the beating of his hideous heart!”
2379 words 12610 characters (http://www.wordcounter.net/)
Works Cited:
Fountain, Bill D., Edgar Allan Poe, and Edgar Allan Poe. The Tell Tale Heart: Stories and Poems by Edgar Allan Poe. Austin, TX: Mojo Press, 1995. Print.
It is hardly possible to say how how he first got the idea, but once he had it, it was the single thing on his mind the most. It consumed his mind, haunting him day and night. He had no other goal or passion. The idea made him feel a bit sorry, for he truly loved the old man. The old man was very fond of him, too. The old man saw in him the potential to be great. The old man had never wronged him or insulted him, but the young man was filled with distaste at the hideous corruption marring the old man’s face. At first he wasn’t certain that it was the eye that made the elderly man so undesirable, but soon he realized that it was true. The eye was like that of a vulture; pale blue with a milky white film glazing it. Whenever it fell upon the young man, his blood ran cold. Slowly, very slowly, the young man made up his mind to rid himself of the old man and his atrocious eye forever.
The old man could see that something was bothering the young man and was slightly concerned about him, but he was not one to pry so he left it alone. It would sort itself out, he thought. And it must have, because the younger man stopped acting nervous and become more cheery and kind. It was as if the young man woke up one morning and all discomfort between him and the old chap had disappeared. The old fellow was rather glad, because he much rather liked seeing the young man bright than seeing him glum.
The young gentleman fancied himself very wise. He thought he had planned his crime very cleverly. He made a point of being even kinder to the man than ever before and every night, at just about midnight, the youthful man would sneak into the old man’s room with a lantern, ever so carefully open the door, and put his head and his lantern into the room through the crack in the door. He was very quiet so that he did not wake the frail old man. He spent a whole hour edging his head through the doorway, only to see the old man sleeping peacefully; so vulnerable. He thought again, at this point, how cunning and clever he was. The elderly man’s eyes were closed, and since it was not the old man whom his quarrel was with, but the corrupt, repulsive eye, he decided to leave and come back to do the deed another night. The next night, though, the eyes remained closed. He came again in the night, for the next five nights and could not bring himself to kill the man. Yet during the daytime the young fellow spoke cheerfully and boldly to the feeble, gray-haired man, calling him by his name and asking how he slept the night before. The old man thought it was rather odd that the young man acted so familiar with him, for he usually kept to himself and that suited them both. But the old man let it go , thinking it too inconsequential to be dwelled on. The young man was pleased that the old man was not suspicious and thought, once again, of how wise he was.
On the eighth night, the youthful man was extra cautious in opening the door. He moved more slowly, so he thought, than the minute hand of a pocket watch. He felt triumphic, powerful even. His only accomplishment was that he was opening the elderly man’s bedroom door, oh so slowly, and that the old man had no idea of his secret motivations and intentions. The crude young man let slip a short cackle at his own cleverness, causing the older man to stir in bed; his sleep disturbed. The young man froze in the doorway, still but shivering. He was hidden well enough, for the room was pitch dark as a result of the tightly closed shutters. They were closed because of the frail old man’s desperate fear of robbers. The young man knew this and knew that the darkness concealed him, so he slowly pushed the door wider, little by little so as not to fully wake the old gent. His head and shoulders were in the room, and so was the lantern. The old man became subconsciously uneasy, stirring again. The younger man was just about to open the lantern, when his thumb slipped on the metal fastener, causing a loud squeaking sound.
“Who’s there?!” cried the old man, sitting up in bed with a jolt. The young man remained frigidly silent. For a long while, the young man exaggeratedly thought it to be an hour, he did not move a muscle. The whole while, he still didn’t hear the man lie back down. The elderly man was still sitting up; still listening, just as the young man had done himself on many a night. The old man let out a moan of fear, for he could feel the presence of malicious intentions. The youthful fellow knew that it was not a moan of pain nor grief, but a moan of frightened anguish emanating from deep inside the old man’s soul. He knew because deep in the night, when all the earth was restful, the fear of death had bellowed from deep within his own chest. The old man’s echo of panic at his own mortality deepened dreadfully, and while the young man was sympathetic and even pitiful for the feeble man, his heart smiled in dark humor.
The young man knew that the older man had awakened at the first slight noise and that he’d been lying awake ever since he turned in the bed, that the fear had been building and growing, burning in his chest. The old man had tried to tell himself that he was just over-stimulated, that there was nothing to be afraid of, “It’s nothing but the wind whistling through the chimney, perhaps a mouse scampering about on the floor. Only a cricket’s chirp…” He had tried to console himself with such scenarios, but it had all been pointless because death’s shadow had covered him, shrouding him in fear. It had stalking him as a panther stalks it’s prey, and now it was ready to pounce. He had not seen the shadow coming and now it was too late and it was that spirit of despair that allowed him to sense the presence of the young man’s head within the room.
When the youth had waited quite a while, rather impatiently (though he thought he was patient), he made up his mind to open a crack in the lantern and allow a small sliver of light to peek out. Stealthily, he opened it and the tiny ray of light, as small as a thread of spider’s silk, fell directly upon the vulture eye. It was open, wide open, and the sight of it made the young man fill with rage. The milky film veiling the pale blue iris made the young man’s bones go cold, and yet he could see no other part of the senior man’s body. It was as if the young man had instinctively aimed the ray of light upon the condemned place.
The young man was proud of his heightened senses, which most sane people would perceive as sickness. Then the man heard a sound, low and dull and quick, like a watch’s tick muffled by cotton. The young man knew it well, it was the elderly man’s heart beat. It made the young man furious that it be allowed to continue, and stimulated him as does the beating of a war drum to a soldier. He wanted to act, oh so badly wanted to, but he kept still and hardly breathed. He held the lantern still. The old man’s heart grew quicker and faster by the second, his dread heightening. It made the youthful man very anxious and, in the quiet of the night, it excited him with nervous adrenaline. He held still and the heartbeat grew so loud that he thought the frail old heart might burst. The young man now feared, rather irrationally, that the neighbor would hear the thumping heart.
This was the time when he must do it, he thought, and with a shout he flung open the lantern and bounded into the room. The old man shrieked in surprise one time, just once, before the younger man seized his and yanked him to the floor. Then the man shoved the heavy bead over the helplessly weak and terrified old fellow. He smiled at a job done well thus far. The heart droned on, muffled by the bed, but the young man was not worried, for the heart could not be heard by anyone nearby. It got slower and slower and soon stopped altogether, signaling the end of the old man’s life. The young man dragged the bed off of the old man’s lifeless body and examined it. The body was stiff and cold, for blood no longer streamed life through it. The young man checked for a pulse and there was none. The young man would be troubled by the eye no longer.
The young man thought conceitedly of how wisely he would dispose of the corpse. He worked diligently as the night passed in silence. He dismembered the man’s remains, cutting off his arms and legs, and lastly, his head. Then he lifted three boards from the floor and placed the pieces in the timber supporters of the house. then he put the boards back and cunningly made them look as if they had never been touched. No human eye, not even his eyes in their heightened sense, could have detected it. He had no gore to clean up, no stains of blood of any kind. The cunning chap had been too careful for any of that. He was proud of himself, oh how clever he thought himself.
When he had finished it was four o'clock in the morning and still black as pitch. As the bell in the tower chimed the hour, There was a knock at the boarding home’s street door. He went down to open it with no doubt in his mind. Why should he be afraid, when he had been so clever. He let in three officers, they were rather groggy still and not too happy to have been woken in the night. They were really unsure what to expect, for the report had only been of a neighbor who told of a cry in the night and a suspicion of foul play. They showed no uncertainty though, as that was their job, and they proceeded to search the premises.
The young man welcomed them. He told them that the cry had been his own and was only caused by a nightmare. He mentioned subtly that the elderly man was off in the country visiting relatives. The police saw no reason the suspect him.he showed them all over the house, let them search everywhere they wanted. After long enough that it didn’t look planned, he led them to the old man’s chamber. He showed them the old man’s treasures, all untouched and secure. He was so confident that they would not suspect him, that he took chairs into the man’s room and bade them sit and rest. They were all very tired, for they had risen early and they hadn’t yet got their wits about them. The young man triumphantly placed his seat directly over the elderly man’s torso.
The officers sat and chatted pleasantly, convinced and glad to have such an amiable young man for a host. The man was at ease. They asked the young man questions and made small talk. The young man at first did not mind, but shortly after he started to feel pale and wished that they would go. His head started to ache and he thought he heard a sort of ringing in his ears, but still the officered sat and talked. As they did, the ringing became more and more distinct. The young man spoke more openly to rid himself of the ringing but still it remained. It became more definite until after a while, he relized that the sound was not within his ears at all.
Now he felt his face grow very pale, but spoke freely, loudly, and clearly. The sound became louder still! The young man began to despair, to question himself. The ringing made itself out as a low, dull, quick sound, almost like… the sound of a watch encompassed with cotton. He gasped, but the officers did not hear. He talked faster, intensely, but the noise only became louder. It increased steadily. He stood and debated about trifles and things. His voice was very high key now and he gestures frantically. Why don’t they leave? He wondered. The young man began to pace, acting as if the debate had excited him. The noise got louder and louder. He raved and swore in his speaking to the men. The officers were becoming rather amused at his excitement. He grabbed the chair he had been sitting in and pulled it along with him as he paced. It sounded all over as it bumped along the boards. The policemen still chatted pleasantly, all smiling and relaxing. Surely it was impossible that they didn’t hear it. No, no! It was impossible! Surely they heard, surely they suspected! They’d known all along and they were only mocking him now! Well, he would not be made a fool of, anything was better than that! Anything was better than being ridiculed! He could no longer bear their hypocritical grins! He felt that he must scream or else he would die! Still the noise grew louder. Louder, louder! Louder, still!
“Villains!” Cried the man, “No more acting!! I admit my guilt, pull up the planks! Here! Here! It is the beating of his hideous heart!”
2379 words 12610 characters (http://www.wordcounter.net/)
Works Cited:
Fountain, Bill D., Edgar Allan Poe, and Edgar Allan Poe. The Tell Tale Heart: Stories and Poems by Edgar Allan Poe. Austin, TX: Mojo Press, 1995. Print.