The Tell-Tale Heart

In this short story, the narrator repeatedly states he (or she) is not mad. If someone continuously has to state they are not mad so they can persuade someone else to believe them, then that someone must be mad. The way the story is told, it appears as if the narrator is speaking to someone. It could be a judge, therapist, or just anyone. After reading, it is inferred that the narrator is not trusted into tell the truth of what is happening; maybe the narrator is imagining what happened, or it could have been a dream. It could be the narrator explaining to the judge what had happened, giving the judge a confession. Or telling a therapist, in hope for help and what to do to eliminate the sounds of the heartbeats. Maybe it could be the narrator telling a story about their past. Also, the narrator watched over the old man every night, but how does he have access to the old man’s chamber? When the police arrive the narrator shows them that the old man’s belongings are still there. The narrator can be the old man’s servant. However, I believe the narrator is creating an imaginary story of wanting to kill the man, but he doesn’t actually do it. The “Evil Eye” may be the old man always watching the narrator to make sure the narrator is getting his work done. The narrator may be tired of all this work, and being watched 24/7 so he just wants to get rid of the eye completely. 

I was in the living room, kneeling on the couch, looking out the window. All I could see was everything covered in a blanket of white fluff. I saw little white dots continuously falling from the sky, adding on to the layer of fluff outside my window. It was early in the morning, so no one was outside shoveling the white snow off the sidewalk and cars.

Christmas was coming soon, so many of the houses on my block were also covered with lights and decorations. If you could look through the windows of the other houses, you would see huge Christmas trees decorated with small ornaments  and lights. I envied my neighbors’ Christmas trees; I always wanted one, to decorate and to keep presents under them.

I walked back to my room, and climbed back into bed. During winters, I always sleep with an electric blanket so my bed is always toasty warm. I knew it would take at least an hour for my sister to wake up. She was the person who I hung out with the most; she was always around, after she came home from high school of course. But today was a Saturday; she was sleeping in since she never has the chance to. Once she wakes up, we would both eat breakfast together and of course eat the same thing. It would also take some time to persuade her to get on some warm clothes and go outside to play in the snow with me.

My next door neighbor, Erica, was my very first friend and I saw her almost every day. I met my next door neighbor when I was about three years old. We always did things together, make mud pies in the summer, play with dolls, go to the park, go swimming, and today I would wait for her to play in the snow.

Under me, I heard a door close; then shortly after, I heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Someone was in the kitchen looking through the cabinets. I jumped out of my warm bed, feeling the coldness slowly surrounding me. I walked to the kitchen and was quickly greeted with a “good morning.” I sat down at the kitchen table and saw a red box with a bottle of syrup accompanying it. --