Adaption

Final draft of adaption piece. Tell tale heart by Edgar Allan Poe.

   Yes, it's true that I was nervous--so very, very nervous--but why are you so insistent that I am mad? I was more aware of the things going on in this time of crime, not less like a normal madman. My hearing was impeccable, and I could hear all things in heaven and on the earth. Now knowing all of this, how could you still think me mad? Listen--listen how very calmly I can tell you everything that happened. 
   I can't honestly say how the thought first came to me, but once it did, it was with me every minute of everyday. There was not a single thing preventing me from doing this awful thing, this idea that haunted me, but I had nothing against the old man. I was actually very fond of him, for he had never wronged me. I can say, however, that I was not after his wealth or his treasures. It must have been the eye! Oh--his hideous eye! That must have been why, I can see it quite clearly now. It was a milky blue eye that resembled that of a vulture. It made me sick. There came a point where it bothered me so that i had decided to take the life of the old man to never see the evil thing again!
   Now let me establish the point of this: you think I'm mad. Madmen know nothing, and I knew everything that I was doing and I did these things with extreme caution. You should have been there to see with what precision I used to carry out this plan of mine: the poor old man never suspected a thing. That is, until the night that I killed him. 
   I was in his chamber with my lantern, peeking my head in through the door ever so slowly, careful not to disturb the old man in his sleep, for that would spoil the whole thing. Perhaps it was my own pride that got the best of me. Yes, that was surely it. For I chuckled under my breath, tickled by the idea that this poor old bastard hadn't the slightest suspicion of my presence. How clever was I, how cunning! It was this laugh that startled him.  The old man, flinched suddenly in his bed at the noise. I was not afraid, no, I was not going to retreat after all of this time that i had committed to this wretched deed. After all, he had nowhere to retreat. I was looming in the only exit. 
   I pushed a bit farther into the chamber and started on the lantern. My finger tripped on the tin and made an awful noise. The old man then sat up in his bed and cried out, "Who's there?"
   Neither I or the old man made a single movement for an hour. He still sat up, waiting and listening, unwilling to dismiss his suspicions. I then heard a groan of mortal terror escape his lips in a whisper, a noise that was painfully familiar to me. I knew then that ever since he had detected the first sign of something out of place. He had been laying there trying to reason them away. He had been trying to convince himself that it was simply the wind or some noise created by his own excited imagination. But this groan, this sigh of recognition, he had realized that he had been terribly, terribly mistaken. I knew that although he could not exactly see or hear me, he could sense my very presence in the chamber. 
   I waited there in the doorway for an excruciatingly long amount of time, not daring to make a move or even the faintest noise. I then attempted to adjust the tin on the lantern once more, this time with success, and a single ray of light cast itself on that horrible vulture eye. The mere sight of the thing enraged me!
   I tell you again that what you have been calling madness is simply the advancement of all of my senses. With said things, I began to hear a dull throbbing noise. It sounded like the insistent tapping of a foot in a nearby room, still annoyingly audible. The sound of it filled me with intense hatred. I knew it to be the sound of a failing heart in distress, for I had heard the same noise coming from my own chest many times after waking from a gripping night terror.
   But I kept still all the while. I still had the ray of light trained on the loathed eye of his and the thudding of his poor old heart grew quicker and louder--louder! The old bastard must have been absolutely stricken with terror, for the acceleration of the throbbing continued to speed up. Remember now that I have told you how nervous I was and am--how dreadfully nervous! So this constant noise in the dead of night chilled me to the bone and caused me to at last strike out!
   I threw open the lantern and cast myself into the chamber with a yell. The old man cried out only once. I grabbed him and threw him off of his bed and onto the floor. I then pulled his own heavy bed on top of him. I smiled a wicked smile, knowing now that it was done. I could hear his old heart still beating in his chest, still pounding on in rebellion. It kept beating for several minutes. 
   When it did, I finally pulled the corpse out from under the bed. I pressed the palm of my right hand onto his chest, feeling for a heart beat or a pulse of some kind. There was none. The old man was dead and I was free of his eye forever. 
   If even still you think me mad, let me prove you wrong by telling you of the precision and caution I exercised while disposing of the body. I first dismembered the thing, still warm, took off the head, the arms, and the legs. But how clever was I! For I had kept under it a basin, catching every drop of the blood! I then pulled open the floor where his bed had originally been and stuck the pieces of the body inside of them. I then returned the panelling to its previous state. I had done such a fine job that I, myself, could not detect a single thing wrong with the patched up flooring. By the time all of my labors were finished, the clock had stuck four o'clock in the morning, and there had come a knocking at the entrance door. 
   I went to answer the call with a light soul. I wore a delicious smile on my face. What had I now to fear? At the door were three men that introduced themselves as officers of the police. They explained to me that they had received a call from a concerned neighbor reporting that they had heard a scream from this address. The officers said that they were sent here to investigate the premises for any signs of foul play. 
   I welcomed them in, enthused. As the came through the entryway with me, I explained to them that the yell had been my own, waking from a dream. I then casually mentioned that the old man was away in the country. 
   I led my visitors all around the house, inviting them to search--search the place well! In my excitement, I led them to the old man's chamber and brought in some chairs for the four of us to sit and chat after they finished their investigation! I placed my own chair on the very spot where i can concealed the old bastard's body. The officers were kind, making polite conversation, now that they had been fully satisfied in my innocence. I joined in the talk, engaging well with the men.
   But after a time, I began to grow nervous and I was sure that my face had gone pale. A ringing began in my ears. After the ringing grew and grew, I came to the conclusion that the ringing was not inside of me at all! The officers made no sign that they could hear it, continued their babbling and giggling, but they must have heard it! The noise swelled and swelled until I recognized it to be the sound of a tapping foot in a nearby room, just loud enough to hear from the distance. The heart! The old man's heart!
   To ease my mind, I then threw myself passionately into the meaningless conversation, shouting and cursing, making extravagant hand gestures. But the noise grew louder and the officers made no move to leave! Why, Dear God, would they not be gone? I began to pace the floor, talking all the while and still they would not go! The beating grew louder and louder until I was sure that the officers heard it but were mocking me, mocking my terror and anxiety.
   I could bare it no more! I felt that I must scream or surely die! Anything was better than this horrible thumping! It was torture! 
   "Villains!" I shrieked, "dissemble no more! I admit the deed!--tear up the planks!--here,here!--it is the beating of the hideous heart!"