The Tell-Tale Heart

Just in time for the halloween season, I present to you - Edgar Allan Poe's classic gothic nightmare: The Tell-Tale Heart

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Transcript

J.C. 0:00

Hi, everyone. And welcome to another episode of forward into the past. I'm J.C. Rede, your host and narrator. And today, we're going to be doing something a little different, but staying within the realm of public domain stories of course. Since it's Halloween season here in the United States. Well, to be perfectly honest with you. Since I live in Orlando, Florida. Halloween season has been going on since labor day. But that that's a completely different story and not one that I'll be telling here on this podcast. Um, As I was saying Halloween season is upon us here in the United States. And with that comes, that grand old tradition that has been lost in recent years of the telling of spooky tales, usually around a fireside either inside of home by a fireplace, or if you're lucky enough to live somewhere in the us where the cold weather hasn't quite gotten to you yet. Sitting around a campfire will work as well. But. I live in Florida. And we have our cool weather imported, but usually not until late January or early February. So as not to inconvenience anyone. Except the locals. Um, And at any rate. Ah, the, the story you're about to hear is a classic and one that I honestly hesitated to add to the podcast because it is a classic, but since it was suggested by you, the listeners, I give you the first spooky story of the podcast. Edgar Allen. Poe's the tell-tale heart. Telling spooky stories during this time of year is a time honored tradition. But believe it or not the realm of ghost stories in the English speaking world, especially around the Victorian era where most of our public domain stories line. Was traditionally a Christmas time tradition. Yup. Many scholars believe that this stems from the fact that the lengthy dark nights, coupled with the fact that well due to the harsh weather at this time and inadequate health support lead an inordinate amount of people to perish during this time of year. Now you tie those lengthy dark nights, along with some people's fear of the dark, And everything that may or may not prowl around in it during that time. And you have the makings of some spooky, spooky stuff. After all. It is this basic human fear that causes the mind to play tricks on us. Especially creating things that go. Bump bump. In the night. So without further ado, I humbly present to you. Edgar Allen Poe's classic Gothic nightmare story. The telltale 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 Harkin 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 my myself of the eye forever Now this is the point. You fancy me mad, Mad men. No 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 shown out, and then I thrust in my head, Oh, you would've left to see how cunningly I thrusted 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. 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 creeped. 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 had passed the night. So you see, he would've been a very profound old man indeed, to suspect that every night just at 12, 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 hand moved 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. you may think that I drew back, but no, his room was as black as pitch with the thick darkness for the shutters. Work 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. I had my head in and was about to open the lantern when my thumb slipped on the tin fastening and the old man sprang up in bed crying out, "Who's There?". I kept quite still and said nothing for a whole hour. I did not move a muscle, and in the meantime I did not hear him lie down. He was still sitting up in the bed listening, just as I have done night after night, hearkening to the death watches in the wall. Presently, I heard a slight groan and I knew it was the groan of Mortal Terror It was not a groan of pain or of grief. Oh, no. It was the low stifled sound that arises from the bottom of the soul when overcharged with awe, I knew the sound well. Many a night, just at midnight when all the world slept. It has welled up from my own bosom, deepening with its dreadful echo, the terrors that distracted me. I say I knew it well. I knew what the old man felt and pitied him. Although I chuckled at heart I knew that he had been lying awake ever since the first slight noise when he had turned in the bed. His fears had been ever since growing upon him. He had been trying to fancy them causeless, but could not, He had been saying to himself it, it is nothing but the wind in the chimney. It is only a mouse crossing the floor, or it is purely a, a cricket, which has made a single chirp. Yes, he had been trying to comfort himself with these suppositions, but he had found them all in vain, all. In vain because death in approaching him had stalked with his black shadow before him and enveloped the victim, and it was the mournful influence of the unperceived shadow that caused him to feel, Although he neither saw nor heard, to feel the presence of my head within the room when I had waited a long time, very patiently without hearing him lie down. I resolved to open a little, a very, very little crevice in the lantern, so I opened it. You cannot imagine how steadily stealthily until at length, a simple dim ray, like the thread of a spider shot out from the crevice and fell full upon the vulture eye. It was open wide, wide open, and I grew furious as I gazed upon it, I saw it with perfect distinctness, all a dull blue with a hideous veil over it that chill the very marrow of my bones. But I could see nothing else of the old man's faceoff person for I had directed the ray as if by instinct, precisely upon the damned spot. and have I not told you that what you mistake for madness is, but over cuteness of the sense now I say there came to my ears a low dull quick sound such as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I knew that sound well too. It was the beating of the old man's heart. It increased my fury as the beating of a drum stimulates the soldier into courage. But even yet, I refrained and kept still. I scarcely breathed. I held the lantern motionless. I tried how steadily I could maintain the ray upon the eye. Meantime, the hellish tattoo of the heart increased. It grew quicker and quicker, and louder and louder every instant. The old man's terror must have been extreme. It grew louder. I say louder every moment. Do you mark me? Well, I have told you that I am nervous. So I am, and now at the dead hour of the night, amid the dreadful silence of that old house. So strange noise as this excited me to uncontrollable terror, yet for some minutes longer, I refrained and stood still, but the beating grew louder. Louder. I thought the heart must burst, and now a new anxiety sees me. The sound would be heard by a neighbor. The old man's hour had gum. With a loud yell. I threw open the lantern and leaped into the room. He shrieked once, once, only in an instant I dragged him to the floor and pulled the heavy bed over him. Ha ha. I then smiled, galey to find the deed. So far done. For many minutes, the heart beat on with a muffled sound. This however, did not vex me. It would not be heard through the wall, eh, at length. It ceased. The old man was dead. I removed the bed and examined the corps. Yes, he was Stone, Stone dead. I pleased my hand upon the heart and held it there many minutes. There was no pulsation. I. He was stone dead His eye would trouble me No more If if still you think me mad, you will think so no longer. When I describe the wise precautions I took for the concealment of the body, the night weed, and I worked hastily, but in silence. First of all, I dismembered to the corpse. I. Got off the head and the arms and, and the legs. I then took up three planks from the flooring of the chamber, and I deposited all between the scans. As I then replaced the board so cleverly, so cunningly that no human eye, not even his could have detected anything wrong, Oh, there was nothing to wash out. No stain of any kind. No blood spot, whatever. I had been too wary for that. A tub had caught all When I had made an end of these labors, it was four o'clock, still dark as midnight As the bell sounded, the hour there came a knocking at the street door. I, I went down to open it with a lightheart. For what had I now to fear, they're entered three men who introduced themselves with perfect SW as officers of the police. A shriek had been heard by a neighbor during the night. Suspicion of foul play had been aroused. Information had been lodged at the police office and they, the officers had been debuted to search the premises. I smiled for what had I to fear. I bathed the gentleman welcome. The shriek I said was my own in a dream. The old man I mentioned was absent in the country. I took my visitors all over the house. I made them search, search well. I led them at length to his chamber. I showed them his treasures secure, undisturbed. In the enthusiasm of my confidence, I brought chairs into the room and desired them here to rest from their fatigues. While I, myself in the wild audacity of my perfect triumph, placed my own seat upon the very spot beneath which reposed the corpse of the victim. The officers were satisfied, my manner had convinced them I was singularly at ease. They sat and while I answered cheerly, they chatted of familiar things, but air long. I felt myself getting pale and wished them gone. Uh, my head ached and I fancied a, a ringing in my ears, but still they sat and still chatted. The ringing became more distinct. It. It continued and became more distinct. I, I talked more freely to get rid of the feeling, but it continued and gained definiteness until at length. I found that the noise was not within my ears. I. Huh, Huh. No doubt. I, I now grew very pale, but I, I talked more fluidly with a heightened voice, yet the sound increased and what could I do? It was a low, dull, quick sound. Much such a sound as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I gasped for breath and. And yet the officers heard it, not I, I talked more quickly, more vehemently, but the noise steadily increased. I arose and, and argued about tris in a, in a high key and with violent gesticulations, but the noise steadily increased. Why would they not be gone? I, I paced the floor to and fro with heavy strides as if excited to fury by the observations of the men. But the noise steadily increased. Oh, God, what could I do? I, I foamed, I, I raved. I sw, I swung the chair upon which I had been sitting and graded it upon the boards, but the noise arose over all and continually increased. It grew louder. Louder. Louder. And still the men chatted pleasantly and smiled. Was it possible they heard not. Oh, mighty God. No. No. They heard, they suspected, they knew they were making a mockery of my horror. This I thought, and this I think, but anything was better than this. Agony. Anything was more tolerable than this. Derision. I could bear those hypocritical. Some smile no longer I felt, I felt that I must scream or die now. Louder, hark louder. Villains I shrieked, disassemble. No more. I admit the deed. Turn up the planks here. Here it is, the beating of his hideous heart. Well gang. That took a lot out of me. But it was fun. It was so much fun to do. I had a blast. I hope you enjoyed listening to it as well. And if you did. Hey, let me know, do me a favor and leave a review of the episode or the show itself. If you like. There are many places for you to leave a review like apple podcasts, for example, Google podcast. I know you can do it there. Do me a favor, check your personal podcast platform. See if they have that option available. Of course you can always just visit the podcast website. The address is of course. Forward into the past podcast.com. The address again is forward into the past podcast.com. It doesn't matter if you're using a desktop or a laptop, computer, or even a mobile phone or a tablet. Uh, as long as you're using a modern browser. Uh, if you use that address on the bottom right-hand corner of the screen, and it will float there, no matter how much you scroll bottom right-hand corner of the screen, you will find a microphone. If you click on that microphone. It will take you to the page where you can leave a voicemail for me. And I will be glad to receive it, whether it's positive or negative, I'll just roll with it. But you can leave a message there. Or if you'd like to do it the old fashioned way, you can still leave a review of the episode or the show. Uh, there are plenty of places for you to do that on the website itself. So visit the website, share the information with friends, let them know what you heard. Uh, I couldn't have grown this show without you. I've gotten so many listeners. Uh, lately and it's been amazing. Uh, guys, thanks once again for listening. The next episode, it will be another spooky story by Edgar Allen The cask of Amontillado that will be coming up soon. Uh, shortly after that will be Washington. Irving's classic. Uh, ghost story of the, uh, early Americas, that would be the legend of sleepy hollow. And that will be coming up shortly after the cask of Amontillado. So, uh, stay tuned for those. I appreciate you guys. Uh, sticking with me so far. I hope you, you enjoyed the show, share the podcast with friends, um, support the show. There are support links. Well, I've rambled long enough now, guys. So I'm going to go ahead and leave you at this point. So thanks again for listening. As always keep sharing the stories and please be a good human bye for now.