The Tell-Tale Heart II, E. A. Poe

(II)

Upon the eighth night I was more than usually cautious in opening the door.

Never, before that night, had I felt the extent of my own powers – of my sagacity.

I had my head in, and was about to open the lantern… and the old man sprang up in the bed, crying out –

“Who’s there?’

For a whole hour I did not move a muscle… and I didn’t hear him lie down.

Presently I heard… the groan of mortal terror. It was not a groan  of pain or of grief – oh, no! – it was the low stifled sound that arises from the bottom of the soul when overcharged with awe.

I knew the sound well…

I knew what the old man felt, and pitied him…

‘It is nothing but the wind in the chimney’

‘it is only a mouse crossing the floor’

‘it is merely a cricket which has made a single chirp’

Yes, he had been trying to comfort himself…

but… all in vain…

because Death,

in approaching him,

had stalked with his black shadow before him,

and enveloped the victim.

… very patiently… I resolved to open… a very little crevice in the lantern… until… a single dim ray, like the thread of the spider, shot from out the crevice and fell upon the vulture eye.

It was open – wide open – and I grew furious as I gazed upon it.

And now… there came to my ears a low, dull, quick sound, such as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton.

I knew that sound well, too.

It was the beating of the old man’s heart.

It increased my fury…

It grew quicker and quicker, and louder and louder every instant…

It grew louder, I say, louder every moment!

– do you mark me well? I have told you that I am nervous so I am.

I thought the heart must burst…

The sound would be heard by a neighbour!

The old man’s hour had come!

He shriek once – once only.

The Tell-Tale Heart III, E. A. Poe

(III)

The old man was dead…

He was stone, stone dead…

His eye would trouble me no more.

The night waned, and I worked hastily…

I dismembered the corpse… then I took up three planks from the flooring of the chamber, and deposited all between the scantlings.

There was nothing to wash out – no stain of any kind – no blood-spot whatever. I had been too wary for that.

It was four o’clock – still dark as midnight.

… there came a knocking at the door…

I went down to open it… for what had I now to fear?

There entered … three officers of the police.

A shriek had been heard…

I smiled, - for what had I to fear?

I took my visitors al lover the house. I led them… to his chamber…

In the enthusiasm of my confidence, I brought chairs into the room, and desired them here to rest…

while I myself, in the audacity of my perfect triumph, placed my own seat upon the very spot

beneath the corpse of the victim.

My manner had convinced them.

They sat, and while I answered cheerily, they chatted of familiar things.

But, ere long, I felt myself getting pale and wished them gone.

My head ached, and I fancied a ringing in my ears…

The ringing became more distinct…

I talked more freely to get rid of the feeling…

But it continued and gained definitiveness…

The noise was within my ears.

The sound increased – and what could I do?

It was a low, dull, quick sound – much such a sound as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton.

I gasped for breath…

I talked more quickly…

Why would they not be gone?

The noise steadily increate. Oh God! What could I do?

I foamed – I raved – I swore! I swung the chair…

But the noise grew louder – louder – louder!

Was it possible they heard not?

Almighty God! – no, no! They heard! –

they suspected! – they knew! –

they were making a mockery of my horror!

I felt that I must scream or die! – and now – again! hark! louder! louder! louder! –

louder!

“Villains!” I shriek, “dissemble no more!...

… here, here!

– it is the beating of his hideous heart!”

Happy, happy birthday Bram !

                                                   
                 Bram Stoker

November 8, 1847 
April 20, 1912


Irish novelist and short story writer

‘Welcome to my house! Enter freely and of your own will!’

‘Welcome to my house. Come freely.

Go safely;

and leave something of the happiness you bring!’

‘I’m Dracula and I bid you welcome…’

‘His face was a strong -  a very strong – aquiline, with high bridge of the thin nose and peculiarly arched nostrils; with lofty domed forehead, and hair growing scantily round the temples, but profusely elsewhere. His eyebrows were very massive, almost meeting over the nose, and with bushy hair that seemed to curl in its profusion. The mouth, so far as I could see it under the heavy moustache, was fixed and rather cruel-looking, with peculiarly sharp white teeth; these protruded over the lips, whose remarkable ruddiness showed astonishing vitality in a man of his years. For the rest, his ears were pale and at the tops extremely pointed; the chin was broad and strong, and the cheeks firm though thin. The general effect was one of extraordinary pallor.   The backs of his hands… seemed rather white and fine… they were coarse – broad, with squat fingers… there were hair in the centre of the palm. The nails were long and fine, and cut to a sharp point.

… I could not repress a shudder… his breath was rank… a horrible feeling of nausea came over me…’

‘Listen to them – the children of the night.

What music they make!’

‘I am all in a sea of wonders. I doubt; I fear, I think strange things which I dare not confess to my own soul…’

‘I love the shade and the shadow…’

‘My very feelings changed to repulsion and terror when I saw the whole man slowly emerge from the window and begin to crawl down the castle wall over that dreadful abyss, face down, with his cloak spreading out around him like great wings...’

‘… What manner of man is this, or what manner of creature is it in the semblance of man?’

‘… I raised the lid… and then I saw something which filled my very soul with horror. There lay the Count, but looking as if his youth had been half renewed, for the white hair and moustache were changed to dark iron-gray; the cheeks were fuller, and the white skin seemed ruby-red underneath; the mouth was redder than ever, for on the lips were gouts of fresh blood, which trickled from the corners of the mouth and ran over the chin and neck. Even the deep, burning eyes seemed set amongst swollen flesh, for the lids and pouches underneath were bloated. It seemed as if the whole awful creature were simply gorged with blood; he lay like a filthy leech, exhausted with his repletion… There was a mocking smile on the bloated face which seemed to drive me mad. This was the being I was helping to transfer to London, where, perhaps, for centuries to come he might, amongst its teeming millions, satiate his lust for blood, and create a new and ever-widening circle of semi-demons to batten on the helpless.
The very thought drove me mad.
A terrible desire came upon me
to rid the world of such
a monster…’

from ‘Dracula’, by Bram Stoker

Bonfire Night !

"Remember, remember,
the fifth of November,
Gunpowder, treason and plot.
We see no reason why
Gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot!"

 

Guy Fawkes (1570–1606) belonged to a group of Roman Catholic conspirators who plotted to blow up the English Parliament and King James l, on the day set for the king to open Parliament. The plan, known as the Gunpowder Plot, was prevented by his arrest on 5 November 1605.

The story is remembered each 5th November when 'Guys' 'are burned on a bonfire, commonly accompanied by a firework display. ("Bonfire Night")

Mischief Night !

In some parts of Great Britain the 4th November is known as
“Mischief Night”.

In ancient times this was the night when all sorts of strange and naughty things were done (i.e.: people used to put things in the wrong place!). Moreover, particularly in the Yorkshire area, children went around singing this song:

‘We’re three jolly miners,

and we’re not worth a pin,

so give us a piece of coal

and we’ll make the kettle sing’

The original aim of their singing was probably to get some coal simply to light fire to cook and make some tea. Later this aim was to raise money for sweets and fireworks to be used on the following night, Bonfire Night.

Nowadays, on ‘Mischief Night’ teenagers and preteens take a degree of license to do mischief in their neighbourhoods. The most popular tricks are toilet papering yards, trees and building, powder-bombing and egging people, cars, homes… and, unfortunately, the ‘modern’ damage can include the less innocent spray-painting of buildings, cars and people!

This annual tradition is celebrated also in other Anglo-Saxon countries. In North America the most common date for Mischief Night is October 30, the day before Halloween.



All Souls' Day

All Soul's Day purposely follows All Saints' Day to shift the focus from those in heaven to those in purgatory.

Before the Reformation, poor Christians used to offer prayers for the dead in return for money or even food (Soul Cakes) from wealthier people.

Traces of this tradition can be seen in the 19th and 20th centuries when children used to go 'souling' that is, they used to go around the houses singing the song which follows here below and then requesting alms or souls cakes. Each cake eaten represented a soul freed from purgatory.

A Soul, a soul, a soul cake

Please good missus a soul cake

An apple, a pear, a plum or a cherry

Any good thing to make us merry

Up with your kettles and down with your your pans

Give us an answer and we'll be gone

Little Jack, Jack sat on his gate

Crying for butter to butter his cake

One for St Peter, two for St Paul,

three for the man who made us all!

        Old Folk Chant,

Unknown Author

[ PS: enjoy Sting singing 'Soul Cake' on youtube ]

Samhain !

November 1 is the Celtic feast of Samhain
[Gaelic for "summer's end"],

the most important of the ancient Celtic feasts.

Samhain Ritual