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The Black Mass xx-xx-xx (x) A Predicament & the Tell- Tale Heart
00:31:51
The Black Mass xx-xx-xx (x) A Predicament & the Tell- Tale Heart
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- [00:00]
Narrator
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- [00:58]
Edgar Allan Poe Character
It's.
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Pat Franklin
Tonight a story about a tower and an old favorite about a heart. Both tales by Edgar Allan Poe. First, here is Pat Franklin to tell you about a predicament.
- [02:19]
Edgar Allan Poe Character
It was a quiet and still afternoon when I strolled forth in the goodly city of Edina. The confusion and bustle in the city streets were terrible. Men were talking, women were screaming, children choking, pigs whistling, carts rattling, bulls bellowing, horses neighing, dogs danced, danced. Could it then be possible? Darn, alas, thought I, my dancing days are over. Thus it is ever what a host of gloomy recollections will ever and anon be awakened in the midst of genius and imaginative contemplation, especially of a genius doomed to the everlasting and eternal, and continue and as one may say, the continued yet the continued and continuous, bitter, harassing, disturbing, and if I may be allowed the expression, the very disturbing influence of the serene and godlike and heavenly and exalting and elevated and purifying effect of what may rightly be termed the most enviable, the most truly enviable, nay, the most benignly beautiful, the most deliciously ethereal, and, as it were, the most pretty thing in the world. But I am always led away by my feelings. In such a mind, I repeat, what a host of recollections are stirred up by a trifle. The dogs dance. I I could not. They frisked, I whir, they caped, I charmed. In my solitary walk through the city I had two humble but faithful companions, Diana, my poodle, sweetest of creatures, and Pompey, my Negro. Sweet Pompy, how shall I ever forget thee? I had taken Pompey's arm. He was 3ft in height and about 70, or perhaps 80 years of age. He had bow legs and was corpulent. Nature had endowed him with no neck. I am Signora Psyche Zenobia. I formed the third of the party. On a sudden there presented itself to view a church, a Gothic cathedral, vast, venerable, with a tall steeple, which towered into the sky. What madness now possessed me? Why did I rush upon my fate. I was seized with an uncontrollable desire to ascend the giddy pinnacle. The door of the cathedral stood invitingly open. My destiny prevailed. I entered the ominous archway. I thought the staircase would never have an end. Round, yes, they went, round. Round and up and round and up and round and up, until I could not help surmising that the upper end of the spiral ladder had been removed. We climbed until only one step remained.
- [06:20]
Narrator
One step.
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Edgar Allan Poe Character
One little step upon one such little step in the great staircase of human life. How vast a sum of human happiness or misery depends. I abandoned the arm of Pompey and surmounted the one remaining step, followed immediately by Diana. Pompey alone remained behind, stretching forth his hand to me. Then, in helping him up, he stumbled and fell forward, his accursed head striking me fully in the breast, precipitating me headlong together with himself upon the hard, filthy, detestable floor of the belfry. My revenge was sure, sudden and complete. Seizing him furiously by the wool with both hands, I tore out vast quantities of black, crisp, curly material.
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Narrator
Oh, Pompey. Oh.
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Edgar Allan Poe Character
Oh. That sigh. It sunk into my heart. And now quarrel was quickly made out. We looked about the room for an aperture through which we could survey the city windows. There were none. The sole light admitted into the gloomy chamber proceeded from a square opening about a foot in diameter and about 7ft from the floor. I called Pompey to my side. Pompey. Pompey. I wish to look through that aperture. Here. Stand here just beneath it. Good. Now hold out one of your hands.
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Narrator
Good.
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Edgar Allan Poe Character
I step up. Now the other hand so I can get on your shoulder.
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Youth Advocate
Use of flavored tobacco by teens is a crisis. Tobacco companies use flavors like cotton candy, watermelon, ice coolant to hook kids like me. They seem harmless, but they aren't. Addiction to nicotine sets us up for a lifetime of health problems. Oregon legislators can do something about it. Passing Senate Bill 702A will keep flavored tobacco away from kids. But there are just a few short weeks left for lawmakers to act. Take action to protect kids like me@ flavorshookorgankids.org paid for by the Campaign for Tobacco Free Kids action fund. Nearly 90% of kids who vape say flavors are why they do it. A lot of the flavors I've heard are like peach, mango, watermelon. It makes it seem like more childlike and innocent. Oh, I tried this once. It won't be that much of a problem. But then eventually, it becomes a problem. It's time to restrict the sale of flavored tobacco products in Oregon and protect our kids from nicotine addiction. Urge lawmakers to Pass Senate Bill 702A. Take action at flavorshookoregonkids.org paid for by the Campaign for Tobacco Free Kids Action Fund.
- [09:32]
Edgar Allan Poe Character
Now I can easily pass my head through the. Ah. Ah. What a view. Edinburgh. The classic Edina. Oh, just look. The aperture of Louisiana. I thrust my head was an opening in the dial plate of a gigantic clock. The hands of the clock were immense. The longest could not have been less than 10ft in length. They were of solid steel, apparently, and their edges appeared to be sharp. But what a view. Lovely. Lovely. It might have been half an hour that I was absorbed in the heavenly scenery beneath me, when suddenly I was startled by something very cool which pressed with a gentleman pressure upon the back of my neck. I felt alarmed. What could it be? Not Pompey. He was beneath my feet. Not Diana. She was sitting, according to my explicit directions, in the farthest corner of the room. What could it be? Alas, I. But too soon discovered the huge glittering scimitar, like minute hand of the clock had, in the course of its hourly revolution, descended upon my neck. I pulled back at once, but it was too late. I couldn't get my head back through the mouth of that terrible trap, which grew narrower and narrower. I threw up my hands and endeavoured with all my strength to force upward the ponderous iron bar. I might as well have tried to lift the cathedral itself. Down, down, down. It came closer and closer. Pompey. Pompey. Pompey. The ponderous scythe of time. For I now discovered the literal import of that classical phrase continued down, down. It had already buried its sharp edge a full inch in my flesh. My sensations were growing indistinct and confused. The ticking of the machinery began to amuse me, amused me. My sensations soon bordered on perfect happiness. When the bath buried itself two inches in my neck, I was aroused to a sense of exquisite pain. But a new horror presented itself. My eyes, from the cruel pressure of the machine were absolutely starting from their sockets. One actually tumbled out of my head and rolling down the steep side of the steeple, lodged in the rain gutter which ran along the eaves of the building. There it lay just under my nose, and the airs it gave itself, disgusting and inconvenient on account of the sympathy which always exists between two eyes of the same head, however far apart. My other eye was forced to act in concert with the scoundrel one below. Oh, relief. When the other Eye dropped out. Both rolled out of the gutter together.
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Youth Advocate
Down.
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Narrator
Down, down.
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Edgar Allan Poe Character
The bar now four inches and a half deep. Only a little skin left to cut through. Sensation of entire happiness. Relief in a matter of minutes. Oh.
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Narrator
Oh.
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Edgar Allan Poe Character
Ah. At 25 minutes past 5 in the afternoon, precisely, the huge minute hand had proceeded sufficiently far on its terrible revolution to sever the small remainder of my neck. I was not sorry to see the head, which had occasioned me so much embarrassment, at length make a final separation from my body. It first rolled down the side of the steeple, then lodged for a few seconds in the gutter, and then made its way with a plunge into the middle of the street. There was nothing now to prevent my getting down from my elevation, and I did so well. Hello there, Pompey. Puppy. Watch the stairs. Pompey, dear Pompey. What it was that Pompey saw so very peculiar in my appearance, I have never yet been able to find out. Then I turned to Diana, the darling of my heart. Alas, what a horrible vision affronted me. Was that a rat sulking in his hole? Are these the pit bones of the little angel cruelly devoured by the monster? Sweet creature. She too has sacrificed herself in my behalf.
- [16:25]
Narrator
Ah.
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Edgar Allan Poe Character
Doubless. Niggerless. Headless. What now remains for the unhappy Senora Psyche? Zenobia? Alas, nothing.
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Narrator
Nothing.
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Edgar Allan Poe Character
I have done.
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Youth Advocate
Use of flavored tobacco by teens is a crisis. Tobacco companies use flavors like cotton candy, watermelon ice and cool mint to hook kids like me. They seem harmless, but they aren't. Addiction to nicotine sets us up for a lifetime of health problems. Oregon legislators can do something about it. Passing Senate Bill 702A will keep flavored tobacco away from kids. But there are just a few short weeks left for lawmakers to act. Take action to protect kids like me. @ flavorshookorgonkids.org paid for by the Campaign for Tobacco Free Kids Action Fund.
- [17:58]
Narrator
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Pat Franklin
That was Pat Franklin in a Predicament by Edgar Allan Poe. And now a story that most of our listeners know by heart.
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Narrator
True Nervous. Very, very, dreadfully nervous. I had been and am. But why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses. Not destroyed, not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing. Acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the Earth, I heard many things in hello. How then?
- [19:15]
Edgar Allan Poe Character
Am I mad?
- [19:18]
Narrator
Hearken and observe how healthily, how calmly I can tell you the whole story. It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain, but once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object, there was none. Passion, there was none. I loved the old man. He had never wronged me. He had never given me insult. For as gold, I had no desire. I think it was his eye. Yes, it was this. One of his eyes resembled that of a vulture. A pale blue eye with a film over it. Whenever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold. And so, by degrees, very gradually, I made up my mind to take the life of the old man. And thus rid myself of the eye forever. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded. With what caution, with what foresight, with what dissimulation. I went to work. I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed him. And every night, about midnight, I turned the latch of his door and opened it, oh, so gently. 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. Oh, you would have laughed to see how cunningly I thrust it in. I moved it slowly, very, very slowly. So that I might not disturb the old man's sleep. 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. Would a madman have been so wise as this? And then, when my head was well in the room, I undid the lantern cautiously. Oh, so cautiously cautious, for the hinges creaked. I undid it just so much that a single thin ray fell upon the vulture. And this I did for seven long nights. Every night just at midnight. But I found the eye always closed. And so it was impossible to do the work. But it was not the old man who vexed me, but his evil eye. And every morning, when the day broke, I went boldly into the chamber and spoke courageously to him, calling him by name in a hearty tone. And inquiring how he had passed the night. So, you see, he would have had to be a very profound old man indeed. To suspect that every night, just at 12, I looked in upon him while he slept. Upon the eighth night, I was more than usually cautious in opening the door. Watch. His minute hand moves more quickly. Never before that night had I felt the extent of my own powers. I could scarcely Contain my feelings of triumph. To think that there I was, opening the door little by little, and he not even to dream of my secret deeds or thoughts. I fairly chuckled at the idea, and perhaps he heard me, for he moved down the bed suddenly, as if startled. Now, you may think that I drew back. But no. His room was as black as pitch, with a thick darkness, for the shutters were close fastened for fear of robbers. And so I knew that he could not see the opening of the door, and I kept pushing it on steadily, steadily. I had my head in and was about to open the lantern when my thumb slipped upon the tin, fastening. And the old man sprang up in the bed, crying out, who's there? I kept quite still and said nothing for a whole hour. I did not move a muscle, and in the meantime I did not hear him lie down. He was still sitting up in the bed, listening, just as I have done night after night, hearkening to the death watchers in the war. Presently I heard a slight groan, and I knew it was the groan of mortal terror. It was not a groan of pain or of grief. Oh, no. It was the slow, stifled sound that rises from the bottom of the soul when overcharged with awe. I knew the sound well. Many a night, just at midnight, when all the world slept, it has welled up in my own bosom, deepening with its dreadful echo the terrors that distracted me. I say I knew it well. I knew what the old man felt and pitied him, though I chuckled at heart. I knew he had been lying awake ever since the first slight noise when he had turned in the bed. His fears had been ever since growing upon him. He had been trying to fancy them causeless, but he could not. 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. Unless he has been trying to comfort himself with these suppositions. But he had found all in vain, all in vain. Because death, in approaching him, had stalked with his black shadow before him and enveloped the victim. And it was the mournful influence of the unperceived shadow that caused him to feel, though he neither saw nor heard to feel the presence of my head within the room. 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. So I opened it. You cannot imagine how stealthily, stealthily, until at length a single dim ray, like the thread of the spider, shot out from the crevice. And full upon the vulture. It was open wide, wide open. And I grew furious as I gazed upon it. I saw it with perfect distinctness, all a dull blue, with a hideous veil over it that chilled the very marrow of my bones. I could see nothing else, nothing else of the old man's face or person. For I had directed the ray, as if by instinct, precisely upon the damned spot. And now have I not told you that what you mistake for madness is but over acuteness of the senses? Now I say. There came to my ears a low, dull, quick sound such as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I know that sound well too. It was the beating of the old man's heart. It increased my fury as the beating of a drum stimulates the soldier into courage. But even yet I refrained and kept still. I scarcely breathed. I held the lantern motionless. I tried to see how steadily I could maintain the ray upon the eye. Meanwhile, the hellish tattoo of the heart increased. It grew quicker and quicker and louder and louder every instant. The old man's terror must have been extreme. It grew louder, I say, louder every moment. Do you mark me well? I have told you that I am a nervous man. So I am now at that dead hour of the night, amid the dreadful silence of that old house. So strange a noise as this excited me into uncontrollable terror. For some moments longer I refrained and stood still. But the beating grew louder, louder. I thought the heart must burst. Now a new anxiety seized me. The sound would be heard by a neighbor. Ah, the old man's hour had come. With a loud yell, I threw open the lantern and leaped into the room. He shrieked once, once only. In an instant I dragged him to the floor and pulled a heavy bed over him. I then smiled gaily to find that he'd so far done. But for many minutes the heart beat on with a muffled sound. This, however, did not vex me, Would not be hurt.
- [27:43]
Edgar Allan Poe Character
To the walls.
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Narrator
At length it ceased. The old man was dead. I removed the bed and examined the corpse. Yes, he was stone, stone dead. I placed my hand upon the heart and held it there many minutes. There was no pulsation. He was stone dead. His eye would trouble me no more. If still you think me mad, you will think so no longer when I describe the wise precautions I took for the concealment of the body. First of all, I dismembered the corpse. I cut off the head and the arms and the legs. I then took up three planks from the flooring of the chamber and Deposited all between the scantlings. I then replaced the boards, oh, cleverly, so cunningly that no human eye, not even his, could have detected anything wrong. There was nothing to wash out, no stain of any kind, no blood spot whatever. I had been too wary for that. That tub had caught all when I had made an end of these labors. It was 4 o' clock, still dark as midnight. As the bell sounded the hour, there came a knocking at the street door. I went down to open it with a light heart, for what had I now to fear? There entered three men who introduced themselves with perfect suavity as officers of the police. A shriek had been heard by a neighbor during the night. Suspicion of foul play had been aroused. Information had been lodged at the police office and they, the officers, had been deputed to search the premises. I smiled, for what had I to fear? I bade the gentleman welcome. The shriek, I said, was my own. In a dream. The old man I mentioned was absent in the country. I took my visitors all over the house. I bade them search, search well, search well. I led them at length to his chamber. I showed them his treasure, secure, undisturbed. In the enthusiasm of my confidence, I brought chairs into the room and desired them here to rest from their fatigues, while I myself, in the wild audacity of my perfect triumph, placed my own seat upon the very spot beneath which repose the corpse of the victim. The officers were satisfied. My manner had convinced them I was singularly at ease. They sat, and while I answered cheerily, they chatted 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. But still they sat, and still chatted. The ringing became more distinct. It continued and became more distinct. I talked more freely to get rid of the feeling, but it continued and gained definitiveness, until at length I found that the noise was not within my ears. No doubt I now grew very pale, but I talked more fluently and with a heightened voice. Yet 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, and yet the officers heard it not. I talked more quickly, more vehemently, but the noise steadily increased. I arose and argued about trifles in a high key with violent gesticulations, but the noise steadily increased. Why would they not be gone? I paced the floor to and fro with heavy strides, as if excited to fury by the observation of the men. But the noise steadily increased. O God, what could I do? I foamed, I raved, I swore. I swung the chair upon which I had been sitting and grated it upon the boards. But the noise rose over all and gradually increased. It grew louder, louder, louder. And still the men chatted pleasantly and smiled. Was it possible they heard? Not Almighty God, no. No. They heard. They suspected. They knew. They were making a mockery of my horror. This I thought, and this I think. But anything was better than this agony. Anything was more tolerable than this derision. I could bear those hypocritical smiles no longer. I felt that I must scream or die. Now again. Ark. Louder. Louder. Louder. Villains. Villains. December no more.
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Edgar Allan Poe Character
I admit the deed.
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Narrator
Here, here. Terrify. It is my feeling of his hide.
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Pat Franklin
That was A Telltale Heart by Edgar Allan Poe. Technical production was by Fred Seiden. And the story was performed by your host of the Black Mass, Eric Bauersfeld. The technical production for our first story this evening, A Predicament was by John Whiting. And now, good night.
- [34:08]
Youth Advocate
Use of flavored tobacco by teens is a crisis. Tobacco companies use flavors like cotton candy, watermelon ice and cool mint to hook kids like me. They seem harmless, but they are. Addiction to nicotine sets us up for a lifetime of health problems. Organ legislators can do something about it. Passing Senate Bill 702A will keep flavored tobacco away from kids. But there are just a few short weeks left for lawmakers to act. Take action to protect kids like me@vors hookoregon kids.org paid for by the Campaign for Tobacco Free Kids Action Fund.