The old man was lying there not dreaming that I was at his door. Suddenly he moved in his bed
The time had come! I rushed into the room, crying, “Die! Die!” The old man gave a loud cry of fear as I fell upon him and held the bedcovers tightly over his head. Still his heart was beating; but I smiled as I felt that success was near
. I pulled up three of the boards that formed the floor, and put the pieces of the body there. Then I put the boards down again, carefully, so carefully that no human eye could see that they had been moved.
Three men were at the door, three officers of the 67 Edgar Allan Poe: Storyteller police. One of the neighbors had heard the old man’s cry and had called the police; these three had come to ask questions and to search the house.
I pointed at the boards and cried, “Yes! Yes, I killed him. Pull up the boards and you shall see! I killed him. But why does his heart not stop beating?! Why does it not stop!?”