tth

The Real Killer (Rewrite for English)

How dare he? How dare that nervous wretch take credit for something he did not accomplish? The very idea he could accomplish it is prepostereous. I would almost walk down there and put things right-but I know the consequences that would have-so I shall not. Let the scondrel take the blame-he deserves it-and I shall always know it was me. It was my grand idea and I was the one who did the deed! But hush, now, hush, for we do not wish to be caught. No, no, not a good idea- mustn't tell the story-so instead, I shall write it
    First, I must announce, to me, the old man was cruel. He showed me no pity. Yes, I was nothing more than a butler in his eyes but I did not deserve the treatment I received. He treated brutes with more respect then I. To his horrid, disgusting eyes, I was nothing more than a mere slave. No, no not even that-for I demanded payment. I was like a penny-yes, that's it-a penny. Something that the poor would cherish while the rich would toss away.
    So why then did I stay?
    I stayed to take out my revenge on a man who treated me like some sort of vagabond and yet depended on me like a newborn babe does its mother.
   These reasons all contributed to the evil deed-but there was one more. The silly fool believes the old man was in posession of an evil eye. The master's eye was not the source of evil, though-it was the old man himself! And so I decided to rid myself of the old man once and for all.
    For a full fortnight, I spied on the young man that the master had as a guest. I found that, as soon as the clock struck midnight, he would be at the master's door, slowly opening it and carefully placing his head inside the chamber. I regarded his actions closely, trying to determine exactly what he was attempting to accomplish. He never fully entered the room, he just watched as the old man slept. He had never noticed me, as I always hid, in different spots, each night. The mornings after, as I rose to call the master, I often found them chatting about the old man's sleep. He must not have known about the midnight masquerades.
    On the fatal night, just before the young man's visit to the master's room, I went in under the pretense of fluffing his pillows. He wasn't very appreciative of the late hour in which I chose to come in, but even less was his appreciation as I slipped a cord around his neck. He gasped, trying to take in air. As his final struggle ended, I heard a small laugh in the hall. Dismayed at the thought that the other man was in the hall already, I left the old man in the awkward sitting position he was already in and quickly lowered myself to the side of the bed. I waited, horrified at the thought of being caught in the act.
    Minutes slowly passed, each seeming as though they were an hour long. A noise seemed to shatter the silence. I knew the other man would be expecting a reaction, so in a hoarse, gruff voice-as close to the old man's as I could get-I cried out "Who's there?"
    For more then an hour, we stayed in those positions. At last, I decided to make towards the door-Stealthily-and as i moved, I released a groan that had been building up with my ever-growing tension.
    I quickly realized that he would think the master made the noise out of terror and kept moving slowly to the door, skipping over the boards which held noises within them. I reached the exit wall, I stayed close to the door-the Portal of Freedom. As I watched, a thin ray of light ascended into the dark room. It fell directly on one of the master's eyes. I could almost sense the fury of the man who held the lantern. With a sudden yell, he bounded into the room, to the old man. As he attacked the already dead corpse, I silently slipped out into the dark hall, wrapping the cord around my hand. I went to my room and hid the cord in my mattress. Satisfied with the results of the night, I fell into a deep slumber.
    I was shaken out of my sleep, a few hours later, by the police. A neighbor had heard a yell and the police had arrived to see that everything was all right. I said I was a very deep sleeper and hadn't heard anything. Listening to the police, I found out the young man had said the master was on a trip and the shriek had been the outcome of a nightmare. I simply agreed with the young man's story of the master voyaging to a relative's.
   The young man led them in their search of the house, leading them to his room and setting up chairs for them there. The officers seemed satisfied with everything the man told them. When I left them, they were chatting pleasantly.
    I went downstairs, planning to make tea and getting snacks from the cabinets. As I put the water on the stove to boil, I heard a horrible shrieking. I ran upstairs and heard the man yelling, "I admit the deed!-Tear up the planks!-Here, here!-It is the beating of his hideous heart!"

And that was my English assignment. We had to rewrite The Tell Tale Heart. I actually didn't mind it... too much... Copyrighted 2004-Faith Andrews (KMS)