REMAKE Of Edgar Allen Poe's: Tell-Tale Heart

“George!” William, my partner, called from the other room in a distant voice, I tore my red eyes away from the paperwork I was filling out due to a thief.

“Yes, William?” I asked sheepishly.

“We have a call from a neighbor, expected foul play,” I nodded insuring my partner that I hadn’t fallen asleep with my eyes open, “Mrs. Moore claims to have heard a screech, from the house next door. The man who lives next door is rich and old a perfect target if you ask me.”

 “Address?” I inquired in a protocol voice.

 “104 Stalkhome Street.” He read from the notebook where he had scribbled down information about calls.

“Let’s go.” I said sternly mostly wanting to get this over with and head home for the night. I admittedly went into a deep slumber as soon as I bucked my seat belt. William brutally woke me by knocking on my head, as if to ask if I were still alive. The house was ancient, like the old man who lived here. I studied the house, thought the man was rich he certainly did not invest in his house, one window on the second floor was cracked, and there was not one shutter that was still intact. The lawn was a brown mush of dead flowers and black tree limbs. The stairs looked brutal, and exhausting… As I hiked up the steep stairs to the door I straightened out my uniform ready for whatever might happen. I was more alert than ever as if I just drank a 10 gallon cup of coffee, I knocked firmly on the painted black wood door with old gold colored numbers 104, the 0 was slanted slightly which bothered me for some reason, I resisted the urge to fix the number.

“Police.” I barked in a tone that might have scared even a cold hearted killer.

                The door creaked open a pale man’s face peered from behind the door, I pressed my palm alongside the door and pushed it open, with such forcefulness that the old door hit the wall that it was lacked on to and almost fell off the hinges.

“Hello gentleman,” the man said in a voice that was too calm for my liking, if the police arrived at your door at 1:32 in the morning wouldn’t you have been at least a little concerned? The man looked to be about 27, with over grown black greasy hair recently combed back, eyebrows like a caterpillar and little beady dark eyes; he claimed to go by the name of Edger Allen Poe. He thrust and cold sweaty hand towards us to shake, I heaved by him. He could be Jack or Bill for all I know; I nodded at William to make sure he asked him for his ID, and explain why we were visiting him at such an hour. I went about the house knowing something was wrong. Edgar caught up to me as I studied the old man’s bedroom; he claims that the old man is out of the country, likely story…

                Edgar reassured me that none of the man's treasures or money has been stolen. And rambled endlessly about all the different places the old man had visited, the vain near my temple pulsed with irritation.

“William, please interview this man so I can be left to investigate with no disturbances.” I made it clear that this beaded eyed man was aggravating me; he twitched his nose in such a fashion that made him bear a resemblance to a rodent. After 20 or 30 minutes, I come out with nothing. I guess my gut had lied to me, or did it. The man asked my partner and me to stay maybe for some coffee or tea. At the word of coffee I immediately blurted out “yes, yes, please. That would be most wonderful to have some coffee,” I sounded for eager than intended. We chatted about everyday things weather, economy, families, but Edgar seemed preoccupied. Nervous. A small drip of sweat cascaded from his forehead, down to his chin and took a dive towards the ground. He kept peering at the… floor? No. he looked as though he was looking through the floor, maybe there was something in the basement… impossible, I thought, I searched there better than anyplace else. I smashed my empty cup of coffee on the stand to the right of me, and Edgar peeled his eyes away from the floor. He glared at me nervously, but still self-assured. With the cluck of my tongue, William knew I figured it out.  

                “Edgar Allen Poe…” I chucked, “have you recently replaced your… floorboards.” I let the word roll off my tongue and fill the air with confidence.

“N-no.” he stammered.

“Oh... of course not, I only have one question Mr. Poe. Why did you kill the harmless old man?” I combated, I knew I had him I half expected him to make a run for it or bust out into tears with a regretful confession. To my surprise he did neither, he merely chucked, his eyes grew wild with respect, intelligence and insanity; it was as if he was surprised I figured out. In a calm, confident voice that made me wince, he stated, “His eye, like a vulture. It…” he paused and looked me dead in the eye, his eyes tearing through mine and burning holes in my soul, “haunted and disturbed me greatly, the old man has not wronged me, no no no, it was the eye that vexed me so, and it is the eye that drove me to this unjustified action.” I saw the madness his eye. Insane. Sick. Twisted. Many words such as those whorled around my head like a tornado of questions. His eye, I wondered that doesn’t, but before I could finish my thought without a warning Edgar shredded the floorboards to reveal the dead old man, and screamed in an insane voice that made me want to curl into the fetal position and cry for help, “look, here he is!” he reached into the old man’s eye socket and ripped the eyes from its rightful place, he held it out not more than two inches from my face and shouted, “look, this is the reason I hacked the man into pieces and buried him into the floorboards!”

 “Y-you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you in the court of law, you have the right to an attorney if you cannot afford one…” I continued telling the insane killer his rights, I’ve done this so many times before, but this time I paid attention to every word I stammered, I’ve seen so many things, herd so many evil laughed. But I’ve never been as terrified and disturbed as I am right at this very moment. I could barely hear my own words because my heart was pounding right out of my chest, I was positive Edgar herd it loud and clear, he looked as though it was music to his pointed pale ears.

                I filled out his police report, with a trembling hand. I could hear his laugh loitering in the back of my mind, I tried to think of a happy place but all I could see was the horrific memory of Edgar shoving ice cold eye in my face shouting rants of his insanity. It’s driving me insane. I had to go home and rest. Yes. Rest, that’s exactly what I needed. I just need to sleep it off and horrible memory rolling in his head like a movie will cease to exist. I told William to finish up the report, and I headed to my car, on my way to my car I felt like I stepped in something, gum most likely. I paid no mind to it, I took another step and there it was again, a squishy feeling beneath my feet this time I decided to look, and to my horror I saw millions of stone cold eyes! Pale gray ice cold eyes surrounded me starting at me. I wiped my head around I ran to my car in horror, taking long strides trying not to step on the eyes, I did not look down trying to avoid the stares of a million fierce eyes. Once in the car I took a breath and looked back, and to his relief almost he saw no mare cold stares, no more fierce eyes. It was all in my head, “thank God.” I whispered I turned the radio up so loud that I couldn’t hear myself think, which is how I wished it to be.

                I arrived home, the house empty, I did not bother changing out of my uniform, I fell to my bed like a rock and shut my eyes. Eyes closed by mind still open, thinking back to that taunting moment when Poe shoved the eye inches away from my own. Over and over again that terrible film played, I couldn’t take it. There was no dreaming just a nightmarish memory. I can’t take it! Just make them stop! I walked over to the balcony for some air to try to clear my horror movie filled head. The air was filled with the smell of sweet flowers, he closed his eyes enjoying the smell of Lilacs, Jasmines, and Bluebells, but as soon as his eyes shut there was the eye coming towards him by the forceful hand of Poe trying to get away from the piercing eyes, I tripped over the railing and plummeted to my death. My life did not flash before me, only that terrible memory it was then that I realized I would relive that day in the afterlife. 4:56 AM March 10^th 1998, George Adam Anderson plummeted to his death. Suicide. A man wrote on my death certificate, and placed in a file with a furrowed brow.

Reviews

[kjsa]

This is great I couldn't peel my eyes off of it. I liked in the end the police officer became insane like Poe and great detail too.

[Break The Broken]

Thanks lilbit, that means alot c:

[Hoosier Belle]

Oh Man This is awesome! You are an amazing writer, I sincerely mean that. I really enjoy your writes. This one is outstanding, so much imagery & detail.