The Tell-Tale Heart

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.