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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain, but, once conceived, it haunted me day and night.
How then am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily, how calmly I can tell you the whole story. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. 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.
The Tell-Tale Heart, Harry Clarke, 1919 by Edgar Allan Poe
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