Poe: Leaking hearts

Right! - I'm nervous, very hypersensitive. Having committed this disease, the feeling did not fail, but on the contrary, it became acute. All the sounds of heaven and earth can be heard.

I loved the old man, but I didn't allow him to exist. He didn't offend me, probably his eyes were at work! He had an eagle eye—light blue, covered with a thin film. Just look at me and I'll be hairy.

For seven nights in a row, I was ready to strike. But the old man's eyes were always closed, and he couldn't do anything about it. On the eighth night, I opened the door more carefully than ever, and I couldn't see my five fingers in the room. I had just reached in, and was about to open the trapdoor on the lamp, and my thumb slid on the tin buckle, and the old man sat up and shouted:

"Who?"

I was silent. For a whole hour, I didn't move. He sat on the bed as usual, listening quietly.

I knew he heard a faint noise, rolled over on the bed, and lay with his eyes open. I held my breath and waited for a long time, and since I didn't hear him lie down, I decided to open the small slit of the lamp, and I opened the trapdoor on the lamp—you can't imagine how sneaky it was. Little by little, a ray of misty light finally shot out of the slit, shining on hawkeye.

That eye was wide open, and the more I looked at it, the more fire it became. At this time, I screamed, opened the trapdoor on the light, and stepped into the room with an arrow.

He let out a scream—only one scream. Suddenly, I dragged him to the floor, pushed down the bed, and pressed it against him. Seeing that it was all over, I smiled happily. I moved out of bed and looked at the corpse. He gasped, and that eye would never torment anymore.

It was late at night, and I had to do it quietly. I pried up the three floors of the room and hid everything in the two interstitial columns. The planks were re-placed, and the technique was very neat, and no one's eyes could see the slightest flaw.

Everything was done, it was already four o'clock.

The bell struck four times, and there was a sudden knock at the door outside the gate. I went downstairs to open the door, and three people came in outside the door, and they politely introduced themselves and said they were police officers. A neighbor who heard a scream at night, suspected of a murder, reported to the police station, and the three officers were ordered to come and search the house.

I smiled, welcomed the three gentlemen, and said that I had just cried out in my dream. I said that the old man had gone to the countryside. I walked up and down the house with three visitors. Ask them to search carefully. Later, he was taken to the old man's bedroom and showed them that his furniture was well placed. I had no fear in my heart, so I enthusiastically brought in a few chairs and asked them to rest in this room.

The three officers were pleased. I behaved in such a way that they did not believe it. They sat, chatted about home, and I was always asked.

But before long, I just felt that my face was getting whiter and whiter, and I wished they could go fast. My head hurt so much, and I felt a buzzing in my ears.

My face was getting whiter, but my mouth was more cheerful, and I raised my voice.

Unexpectedly, the sound is getting louder and louder - what to do? But the three officers didn't hear it. I talk faster, more urgently.

I stood up, arguing in a screeching voice about even trivial matters, while dancing with my hands and feet. Why don't they go? I dragged my heavy footsteps around the room, as if the opinions of the three of them had infuriated me. Who knows, the noise is getting louder and louder. Oh my God! What to do? I spit and squirt, roar, and curse! Let the chair shake on the spot, grinding on the planks, but the noise overwhelmed everything, and it continued, getting louder and louder.

The three laughed. Didn't you hear it? Oh my God! - No, no! Hear it! - Suspicious! - Count it! - I'm laughing at my horror! - I used to think this way, and I still think this view. But nothing is much stronger than this torture! Nothing is much better than this ridicule! I can't stand this kind of fake laughter anymore! I just think I'm going to die if I don't shout! - Voila – here we go again! - Listen! It's getting louder! It's getting louder! It's getting louder! It's getting louder!

"Badass!" I lost my voice and screamed, "Stop loading garlic!" I'm recruiting! - Pry open the floor! - Here, here! - His hateful heart is beating! ”

Edgar Allan Poe (1809–1849) was a 19th-century American poet, novelist, and literary critic, and an important member of the American Romantic period.

Born on January 19, 1809 in Boston, Massachusetts, Poe was adopted by John and Francis Allen of Richmond, Virginia, after a brief stint at the University of Virginia, and then joined the military. Edgar Allan Poe began his writing career in a low-key manner, publishing anonymously the poetry collection Timur and Other Poems. In 1835 he married his 13-year-old cousin Virginia Clem in Baltimore. In 1838, The Story of Arthur Gordon Pym was published and received widespread attention. In the summer of 1839, Poe became assistant editor of Burton's Gentleman's Magazine. His essays, novels, and reviews during this period strengthened his reputation as a keen critic he had begun to establish during his work at the Southern Literary Courier, which was published in 1839. In January 1845, Poe published the poem "The Crow", which rose to fame. He died in Baltimore on October 7, 1849.

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