The Telltale Heart

ÞE TELLTALE HEART

''By Edgar Allan Poe Went by Cascadia (þruced 1843)''

TREW!—ang—so, so dreadfully ang ice had been and am; but why wilt þue say þat ice am mad? Þe sickness had scarpened mine anyets—not forspilt—not dulled hem. Abufe all was þe anyet of hearing scarp. Ice heard all þings in þe heafen and in þe earþ. Ice heard many þings in hell. Hue, þen, am ice mad? Harken! and behold hue healþily—hue coolly ice can tell þee þe hole tale.

It is unmitely to say hue first þe begrip infared my brain; but onse born, it beset me day and nite. Grund þere was none. Hatred þere was none. Ice lufed þe old man. He had nefer hurt me. He had nefer yeafen me hux. For his gold ice had no list. Ice þink it was his eye! yes, it was þis! He had þe eye of a gripe—a wan hewn eye, wiþ a film ofer it. Whenefer it fell upon me, my blood ran cold; and so by steps—full stepwise—ice made up my mind to nim þe life of þe old man, and þus rid myself of þe eye forefer.

Nue þis is þe þing. Þue þinkest me mad. Madmen know noþing. But þue scoodst hafe seen me. Þue scoodst hafe seen hue wisely ice went on—wiþ what recking—wiþ what foresite—wiþ what wile ice went to work! Ice was nefer kinder to þe old man þan þroute þe hole week before ice killed him. And efery nite, abute midnite, Ice flipt þe lace of his dore and opened it—o so liþely! And þen, when ice had made an opening enuff for my head, ice put in a dark litefat, all closed, closed, so þat no lite scone ute, and þen ice stuck in my head. O, þue woodst hafe laffed to see hue cunningly ice stuck it in! Ice scroþe it slowly—so, so slowly, so þat ice mite not unstill þe old mans sleep. Ice needed a stund to put my hole head wiþin þe opening so far þat ice cood see him as he lay upon his bed. Ha!—wood a madman hafe been so wise as þis? And þen, when my head was well in þe room, ice undid þe litefat warily—o, so warily—warily (for þe hindges creaked)—ice undid it only so muce þat a lone þin beam fell upon þe gripes eye. And þis ice did for sefen long nites—efery nite rite at midnite—but ice fund þe eye always closed; and so it was unmitely to do þe work; for it was not þe old man who teened me, but his Efel Eye. And efery morning, when þe day broke, ice went boldly into his room, and spoke dutily to him, cying him by name in a hearty pice, and asking hue he had spent þe nite. So þue seest he wood hafe been a full mindful old man, indeed, to inkel þat efery nite, rite at twelfe, ice looked in upon him while he slept.

Upon þe eatþ nite ice was more þan wonly wary in opening þe dore. A waces minnit hand scriþes more cwickly þan did mine. Nefer before þat nite had ice felt þe breadþ of mine own mite—of my wisdom. Ice cood hardly hold in my feelings of sie. To þink þat þere ice was, opening þe dore, littel by littel, and he not efen to dream of my hidden deeds or þawts. Ice fairly cuckeled at þe begrip; and maybe he heard me; for he scroþe on þe bed scortly, as if starteled. Nue þue maist þink þat ice drew back—but no. His room was as black as pice wiþ þe þick darkness, (for þe scutters were fastened tite, þro fear of reafers,) and so ice knew þat he cood not see þe opening of þe dore, and ice kept þrucing it on steadily, steadily.

Ice had my head in, and was abute to open þe litefat, when my þumb slipt upon þe tin fastening, and þe old man sprang up in bed, rooping ute—“Who’s þere?”

Ice kept full still and said noþing. For a hole stund ice did not scriþe a þew, and in þe meantime ice did not hear him lie dune. He was still sitting up in þe bed listening;—rite as ice hafe done, nite after nite, harkening to þe deaþwaces in þe wall.

Nue ice heard a slite groan, and ice knew it was þe groan of deadly brow. It was not a groan of tray or of gnorn—o, no!—it was þe deep, deadened lude þat arises from þe bottom of þe sowl when oferfilled wiþ aye. Ice knew þe lude well. Many a nite, rite at midnite, when all þe world slept, it has welled up from mine own bosom, deepening, wiþ its dreadful eftlude, þe brows þat held me. Ice say ice knew it well. Ice knew what þe old man felt, and felt sorry for him, alþow ice cuckeled at heart. Ice knew þat he had been lying awake efer sinse þe first slite lude, when he had went in þe bed. His fears had been efer sinse growing upon him. He had been fanding to þink hem grundless, but cood not. He had been saying to himself—”It is noþing but þe wind in þe flew—it is only a muse running þwares þe flore,” or “It is but a hillhoamer whice has made a lone cirp.” Yes, he had been fanding to cweem himself wiþ þese reasowings; but he had fund all bleadless. All bleadless; for þat Deaþ, in nearing him had stalked wiþ his black scadow before him, and beclipt þe tifer. And it was þe mornful sway of þe unseen scadow þat made him to feel—alþow he nayþer saw nor heard—to feel þe naywist of my head wiþin þe room.

When ice had bided a long time, full longmoodly, wiþute hearing him lie dune, ice made to open a littel—a full, full littel slit in þe litefat, So ice opened it—þue canst not faþom hue stealþily, stealþily—hent, at lengþ a lone dim beam, like þe þread of a spider, scot from ute þe slit and fell full upon þe gripes eye.

It was open—wide, wide open—and ice grew wroþ as ice stared upon it. Ice saw it wiþ fulframed sundriness—all a dull hewn, wiþ an atel wimpel ofer it þat cilled þe marrow itself in my bones; but ice cood see noþing else of þe old mans anlet or body: for ice had minted þe beam as if by godly knowledge, rite upon þe cursed splot.

And hafe ice not told þee þat what þue misnimmest for madness is but oferscarpness of þe anyets?—nue, ice say, þere came to mine ears a soft, dull, cwick lude, suce as a wace makes when smoþered in wool. Ice knew þat lude well, too. It was þe beating of þe old mans heart. It greatened my wraþ, as þe beating of a drum whets þe harman into dute.

But efen yet ice held back and kept still. Ice hardly breaþed. Ice held þe litefat full still. Ice waced hue steadily ice cood hold þe beam upon þe eye. Meantime þe hellisce drumming of þe heart waxt. It grew cwicker and cwicker, luder and luder efery britom. Þe old mans brow must hafe been great! It grew luder, ice say, luder efery eyeblink!—markest þue me well? Ice hafe told þee þat ice am ang; so ice am. And nue at þe dead stund of þe nite, amid þe dreadful stillness of þat old huse, so ferly a lude as þis whetted me to unrixenly brow. Yet, for sum minnits longer ice held back and stood still. But þe beating grew luder, luder! ice þawt þe heart must berst. And nue a new angness fanged me—þe lude wood be heard by a naybor! Þe old mans stund had cum! Wiþ a lude yell, ice þrew open þe litefat and leapt into þe room. He screed onse—onse only. In an eyeblink ice dragged him to þe flore, and pulled þe heafy bed ofer him. Ice þen smirked winfully, to find þe deed so far done. But, for many minnits, þe heart beat on wiþ a smoþered lude. Þis, huefer, did not teen me; it wood not be heard þro þe wall. At lengþ it stopt. Þe old man was dead. Ice drew back þe bed and smayed þe lice. Yes, he was stone, stone dead. Ice put my hand upon þe heart and held it þere many minnits. Þere was no beating. He was stone dead. His eye wood swence me no more.

If þue still þinkest me mad, þue wilst þink so no longer when ice rece þe wise forewits ice made for þe hiding of þe body. Þe nite waned, and ice worked speedily, but wiþute lude. First of all ice toliþed þe lice. Ice sniþed off þe head and þe arms and þe scanks.

Ice þen lifted up þree þills from þe floring of þe room, and stowed all between þe timbers. Ice þen put back þe boards so cleferly, so cunningly, þat no eye of man—not efen his—cood hafe onfund any þing amiss. Þere was noþing to wasce ute—no wem of any kind—not bloodsplot whatefer. Ice had been too wary for þat. A fat had fanged all—ha! ha!

When ice had made an end of þese swinks, it was fore in þe morning—still dark as midnite. As þe bell told þe stund, þere came a knocking at þe street dore. Ice went dune to open it wiþ a lite heart,—for what had ice nue to fear? Þere infared þree men, who inbrawt hemselfes as sceriffs of þe scire. A scree had been heard by a naybor in þe nite; inkeling of fule play had been tended; abreasting had been yeafen at hir wicken, and hie (þe sceriffs) had been told to seece þe grunds.

Ice smirked,—for what had ice to fear? Ice bade þe good men welcum. Þe scree, ice said, was mine own in a dream. Þe old man, ice nemmened, was away in þe rice. Ice brawt my neesers all ofer þe huse. Ice bade hem seece—seece well. Ice led hem, at lengþ, to his room. Ice scowed hem his maþoms, sicker, unstirred. In þe list of my beeld, ice brawt selds into þe room, and bade hem here to rest from hir wearinesses, while ice myself, in þe wild brasenness of my fulframed sie, set mine own seat upon þe splot itself beneaþ whice rested þe lice of my tifer.

Þe sceriffs were cweemed. My þewfastness had won hem ofer. Ice was sundrily at eaþ. Hie sat, and while ice answered bliþely, hie catted of cooþ þings. But, ere long, ice felt myself yetting wan and wisced hem gone. My head aked, and ice faþomed a ringing in mine ears: but still hie sat and still hie catted. Þe ringing became more suttel:—it went on and became more suttel: ice talked more freely to rid myself of þe feeling: but it went on and became sutteler and sutteler—hent, at lengþ, ice fund þat þe lude was not wiþin mine ears.

No twee ice nue grew full wan;—but ice talked more flowingly, and wiþ a hiþened stefen. Yet þe lude waxt—and what cood ice do? It was a soft, dull, cwick lude—muce suce a lude as a wace makes when smoþered in wool. Ice fawt for breaþ—and yet þe sceriffs heard it not. Ice talked more cwickly—more aferly; but þe lude steadily waxt. Ice arose and flited abute small þings, in a hie pice and wiþ heast wafes and tokens; but þe lude steadily waxt. Why wood hie not be gone? Ice walked þe flore to and fro wiþ heafy strides, as if whetted to wraþ by þe cweaþings of þe men—but þe lude steadily waxt. O God! What cood ice do? Ice foamed—ice rooped—ice swore! Ice swung þe seld upon whice ice had been sitting, and grund it upon þe boards, but þe lude arose ofer all and steadily waxt. It grew luder—luder—luder! And still þe men catted winsumly, and smirked. Was it mitely hie heard not? Almity God!—no, no! Hie heard!—hie inkeled!—hie knew!—hie were making a hux of my brow!—þis ice þawt, and þis ice þink. But anyþing was better þan þis sussel! Anyþing was more þolenly þan þis hooker! Ice cood bear þose licetting smirks no longer! Ice felt þat ice must roop or swelt!—and nue—ayen!—hark! luder! luder! luder! luder!—

“Defels!” ice screed, “licet no more! Ice andet þe deed!—tear up þe þills!—here, here!—it is þe beating of his atel heart!”