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  • I tell you the story of how I killed the old man for whom I cared for. You tell me I am mad, but I am not. Ha! Mad, me? I think not. For the way I carried out the killing of the old man is not the way of someone who is insane.
  • The old man was always kind to me. He never vexed me, never wronged me. But his eye, his vulture eye, caused me great distress. Over the course of a few nights, I watched him, deciding when to kill the man.
  • Upon the eighth night of watching him, he was awake. I could see his eye, and decided that this was the best time to strike. The old man was dead.
  • I disassembled the corpse, and hid the body underneath the floorboards. Mad, am I? I think not. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.
  • A pair of police officers had come to investigate a shriek heard in the night. They were oblivious to the crime which i had commited. I chatted with them, until I heard the beating of the old man's heart.
  • They were making a mockery of me. They had known all along, and so, I confessed my crime. I had them tear up the floorboards, and there was the old man, and the beating of his tell-tale heart.
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