The morning after I brought it home, however, I discovered that this cat, like Pluto, had only one eye. It was the beating of the old man's heart. This opening scene adds a bizarre effect to the story, because the readers are able to understand the narrator and his insanity. As a study in paranoia, this story illuminates the psychological contradictions that contribute to a murderous profile. As might be expected, however, it ran from me in fear whenever I came near. Suddenly, I realized that I wanted the cat.
He had the eye of a vulture - a pale blue eye, with a film over it. I was pleased to see that it was quite impossible for anyone to know that a single stone had been moved. He cannot do it when the man is asleep, because his eyes are shut, and he looks peaceful. My wife — yes, and my pets, too, all except the cat — were made to feel the change in my character. He then chains an increasingly-sober Fortunato to a niche in the wall and ruthlessly seals him in. These three examples all tie together to represent the theme of the story, which is guilt. Above all was the sense of hearing acute.
The narrator meticulously hides the body under the floorboards. Wherever I went, it was always there. I was quite young when I married. I showed them his treasures, secure, undisturbed. Phillips, Jeremy and David Wilhelm, Geoff Sobelle and Sophie Bortolussi — recreates this wayward journey, employing just a few, versatile props, primarily doors that double as tables and train cars, and a small patch of grass. Poe examines this paradox half a century before Sigmund Freud made it a leading concept in his theories of the mind.
I had been too wary for that. When I had waited a long time, very patiently, without hearing him lie down, I resolved to open a little --a very, very little crevice in the lantern. I loved the old man. In the narrator's belief that he is not mad, but that he actually heard the heart of the old man still beating, Poe has given us one of the most powerful examples of the capacity of the human mind to deceive itself and then to speculate on the nature of its own destruction. It took me an hour to place my whole head within the opening so far that I could see him as he lay upon his bed. This was a story written about conscience.
And I had other things to do, for I knew I must do something with the body, and quickly. I knew what the old man felt, and pitied him, although I chuckled at heart. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. Likewise, the delight he takes in dismembering the old man is an act of extreme abnormality. It is then learned that the murderer is in fact an escaped Ourang-Outang. Now this is the point. I felt that I must scream or die! I thought of the cat as I watched it burn, the cat whose dead body I had left hanging in the cellar.
When the police show up to question him, the narrator finds himself at the mercy of his heightened senses. Most of the story's action takes place at night, which helps to build the tension. Whatever brought you to the channel, we hope you enjoy. The narrator tries to cover up by saying it was him that screamed, and that the old man was out of town. Quickly she got for us several pets of the most likeable kind.
Yet, for some minutes longer I refrained and stood still. It was even with difficulty that I stopped it from following me through the streets. It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and night. I knew that sound well, too. Storyboarding is an excellent way to focus on types of. But you should have seen me.
The old man was dead. The eye also seems to have a bodyguard, the heart. And then, when I had made an opening sufficient for my head, I put in a dark lantern, all closed, closed, so that no light shone out, and then I thrust in my head. The reader is unsure why the eye bothers the narrator the extent to which it does therefore the reader is intrigued to reader further and discover the plight of the narrator and the reason for the condition of the infamous eye. He shrieked once --once only. It increased my fury, as the beating of a drum stimulates the soldier into courage. Presently I heard a slight groan, and I knew it was the groan of mortal terror.