by Edgar Allan Poe
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! He had the eye 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.
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, 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 has 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.
Finally, I had the door wide open and I entered his room, armed with a steady determination. The old man, who had been lying awake, half fearing and half knowing that someone was in his room, sat up in bed and cried out, "Who's there?"
I did not answer. I did not move a muscle. I kept silent and did not make a sound. I needed him to be completely unaware of my presence. I waited patiently, still as a statue, for the perfect moment to strike.
Slowly, I made my way towards him, carefully avoiding any noise. I could hear his heightened heartbeat, his shallow breaths, and I knew the time was near. I approached his bed, my hand trembling, and I could feel my heart pounding in my chest.
With a sudden burst of confidence and strength, I lunged at him, my hands tightly gripping the pillow I had brought with me. I pressed it down firmly onto his face, smothering his cries for mercy. His struggles were feeble, and soon they ceased altogether. I held the pillow down, exerting all of my strength, until the old man became motionless and lifeless beneath me.
I had done it. I had rid myself of the evil eye that haunted my every waking moment. I stood there in the darkness, panting, feeling a sense of relief wash over me. The room was silent, save for my heavy breathing. I had achieved my goal, and now I could finally rest.
But as I stood there, savoring my victory, I heard a knock at the front door. It was soft, almost imperceptible, but it sent a chill down my spine. Panic washed over me, and I quickly realized the gravity of my situation. Someone knew, someone had heard, and they were here to investigate.
I hurriedly cleaned up the evidence, wiping away any trace of my presence. I disposed of the old man's body where it would never be found. I did all of this in a frenzy, my mind racing with fear and desperation.
As the door creaked open, I turned to face the intruder, my mask of composure slipping away. My carefully planned actions had unraveled, and now I had to face the consequences of my madness.
Now, perhaps you understand why I am driven to prove my sanity. Despite the horrors I have committed, I did it all with a lucidity that only a the truly sane possess. I may be haunted by guilt and remorse, but madness does not dwell within me.