Extraordinary Tales Page #2

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Guilt never leads to any good.

If anything you are haunted...

Haunted by sorrow,

guilty not of a crime, but of

the inability to stop me...

If anything, I am guilty of

giving my readers

what they want.

A glimpse of redemption,

stories with a moral

where justice always triumphs.

Is this what you mean?

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,

I loved the old man.

He had never wronged me.

He had never given me insult,

and for his money,

I had no desire.

I think

it was his eye!

Yes, that was it!

One of his eyes resembled

that of a vulture.

I made up my mind

to take the life of the old man,

and thus rid myself

of the eye forever.

You should have seen

how wisely I proceeded,

with what caution and foresight

I went to work.

And every night, about midnight,

I turned the latch of

his door and opened it.

And then, when my

head was well in the room,

I undid the lantern cautiously,

oh, so cautiously.

I undid it just so much

that a single thin ray

fell upon the vulture eye.

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.

I was never kinder

to the old man than during

the whole week

before I killed him.

And this I did for

seven long nights.

Every night, just at midnight.

But I found the

eye always closed.

Upon the eighth night

I was more than usually cautious

in opening the door.

A watch's minute hand moves

more quickly than did mine.

When I was about to

open the lantern,

my thumb slipped

upon the tin fastening.

And the old man sprang up in bed

crying out:
Who's there?

He had been trying

to fancy them causeless.

He had been saying to himself:

"It is nothing

but the wind in the chimney.

It is only a mouse

crossing the floor."

But all in vain...

Then, there came to my ears

a low, dull, quick sound

such as the watch makes

when enveloped in cotton.

I knew that sound well.

It was the beating

of the old man's heart.

Meantime the hellish tattoo

of the heart increased.

It grew quicker and quicker,

louder and louder,

every instant.

The old man's hour had come!

He shrieked once, only once.

The old man was dead.

His eye would

trouble me no more.

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.

First of all I

dismembered the corpse,

I then took up three planks

from the flooring

and deposited all

between the scantlings.

I then replaced the boards

so cleverly, so cunningly,

that no human eye could have

detected anything wrong.

There entered three men,

who introduced themselves

as officers of the police.

A shriek had been heard by

a neighbor during the night

and they had been deputed

to search the premises.

I bid the gentleman welcome.

The shriek, I said,

was my own in a dream.

The old man, I mentioned,

was absent in the country.

The officers were satisfied,

my manner had convinced them.

But, ere long,

I felt myself getting pale

and wished them gone.

My head ached

and I fancied a

ringing in my ears.

I found that the noise

was not within my ears.

I gasped for breath,

and yet the officers

heard it not.

Why would they not be gone?

Oh God!

What could I do?

Was it possible they heard not?

No!... No!

They heard;

they suspected!

THEY KNEW!

They were making mockery

of my horror.

"Villains!"

I shrieked, "I admit the deed!

"Tear up the planks!

"Here,

"here!

"It is the beating

"of his hideous heart!"

So you presume

everyone is guilty

of some unfathomable crime?

A crime that should

remain unpunished?

I feel flattered.

Your obsession with death is to

my ears like a sweet love song.

What do you mean, obsession?

Come with me,

don't delay for another second.

Being alive in this world

brings you more unbearable pain

and suffering than those

who wish to sleep forever

even as you try to extend life

beyond my sweet embrace.

I remember vaguely,

once I wrote about a doctor.

Someone who challenged you.

My attention, for

the last three years,

had been repeatedly drawn

to the subject of Mesmerism.

In Boston, a 13-year-old

child under hypnosis

could diagnose his own illness,

one which his own doctors

could not determine.

And in India, a paraplegic,

placed in a similar

hypnotic state,

managed to take some steps!

Imagine, Mr. Valdemar,

the progress that Mesmerism

offers to science!

My friend,

I respect your enthusiasm,

but for my part, I can't disavow

my skepticism

about the future of hypnosis.

Our table is waiting for

us at the Black Swan.

In addition, it

seems that no person

has as yet been mesmerized

in articulo mortis.

What a great testimony

will that be,

witnessing the transition

between life and death.

My friend, if you promise

to change the subject,

I am ready to volunteer myself

to this experiment

at the time of my death.

Really?

Yes, but rest assured,

I have no intention

of dying anytime soon!

It is now rather more

than seven months

since last time I talked

with M. Valdemar.

Phthisis has attacked my lungs.

They give me a few

months at most.

M. Valdemar,

do you remember your promise?

I beg your pardon?

Yes, the idea may seem absurd,

but think of all you

have to gain now.

No...

I don't know.

Allow me to consider it.

Valdemar, you are condemned.

You have no family or home.

What have you to lose?

Promise me you will

think about it.

Very well,

lam in your hands.

It was finally arranged between

us that he would send for me

about twenty-four

hours before the period

announced by his physicians

as that of his decease.

I received this note

within half an hour

after it was written,

and in fifteen minutes more,

I was in the dying

man's chamber.

It was about five

minutes to eight when,

taking the patient's hand,

I begged him to state

as distinctly as he could

to Dr. L whether he

was entirely willing

that I should make the

experiment of mesmerizing him

in his then condition.

Yes, I wish to be mesmerized.

I fear you have

deferred it too long.

At five minutes before eleven,

I perceived unequivocal signs

of the mesmeric influence.

When I had accomplished this,

it was fully midnight,

and I requested the

gentlemen present

to examine

M. Valdemar's condition.

The patient's extremities

were of an icy coldness.

Still, the general appearance

was not that of death.

Monsieur Valdemar,

are you asleep?

Yes,

I am asleep now.

Do not wake me!

Let me die so!

It was now the opinion,

or rather the wish,

of the physicians,

that M. Valdemar should be

suffered to remain undisturbed

in his present apparently

tranquil condition,

until death should supervene,

and this,

it was now generally agreed,

must take place

within a few minutes.

I concluded, however,

to speak to him

once more.

Monsieur Valdemar,

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