Reflections of blood and fear #1

A modern re-telling of Edgar Allan Poe's poignant short story, 'The Tell-Tale Heart'.

The Ticking Heart, by J. P. Harrison

HARK! An ailment of the body - yes - but I am of sane and composed mind. I sense you pointing your long, accusatory finger, and profess! you point through me, not at me. As I am perfectly well, isn't it clear to tell? It is he whom you point at! The ghoul that rests in that little house behind me. Your finger rests upon him, and I can prove it. Listen now! Hark! For if I don't sway you in your suspicions, then it is surely you who clarity of mind has abandoned.

An ailment, yes. That is what I said, but treat it not as an admission of guilt. It crept upon me unawares, I insist. But it is irrelevant in essence, and significant in consequence, for it has granted me a most curious gift! Every sensation is a kaleidoscopic curtain, constantly shifting, so that every thing - whether it be anthropomorphic or inanimate - is revealed in its truest form. I see these! Trust me; I am of perfectly sound mind, and insist that you trust me!

I couldn't tell you how I made the light shift in this particular way, but I saw him. The old man - I had known him, once - I used to call him by name. No, no - not name, title. Grandfather - yes! that's it, Grandfather. But not anymore. For now I saw him in his truest form! I never hated him, in fact I love him dearly. Now, however, I cannot see him in any other light than I do now. He wore his soul on his skin, and it glowed with a malevolent sheen of violent purple. Such a purple I have never seen with my naked eye, nor have I ever seen since! But it was there, I tell you - like oil from Hell itself! The old man lay alone in his bed, in the house right in front of me - he goaded me with that tick, tick, tick. Ticking inside of him! How could it be? I have watched him through the crack in his curtains at night. The crack never wavers. I believe him to be bed bound, and likely deems the opening and closing of the curtains a task too difficult. He sleeps with the lamp on. They say age makes the mind wiser, but this old fool was full of fear! Fear! of all things. It is a mask he wears, I know this now. For HE is the abject fear that lurks - retired - on this street. I have seen under his mask, and I knew I must act fast!

Every morning I would walk past his house, and every night again, as I trekked to and from work. On this day I had a pang of bravery. No more fear! I walked up to his window in the plain daylight for all to see - no-one watched me. He laid there in bed, his arms crossed like a vampire. Could it be? That hateful shade of colour that covered him before edged back into my periphery as I gazed upon him. The air was full of hate! blood! vengeance! Inside this room that I feasted my eyes upon laid such a creature that these foul feelings were most applied to. He feasts on the blood of my kin! I was absolutely resolute in my mission now. A stake in the heart, yes, that would do the trick! That would end the tick, tick, TICK! That ceaseless ticking! How it angers me so!

I retaliated, tapping on the glass in rhythm with the ticking. Tap, tap, tap. So in sync with the ticking was my tapping, you would've laughed! Surely a man who is mad could not summon such a harmony of rhythm. His festering heart beats, clicks, teasingly, MOCKINGLY. But his brain has met Death. I tapped again with my fingernails - Tap, tap, TAP! I lost myself, I confess, in this testing moment, and my final tap turned more into a THUD - but would not a sane man confess at this gluttonous provocation? He did not stir. He must've heard! But no, he laid still, still. Now, I would advance. I would test his mettle when confronted with an agent of the Lord!

I pulled from the earth a wooden stake that held a fence. Did I bring this with me? It looks remarkably like the handle to my garden broom, with the same indentations and wear that my hand is familiar with. Another deception from the old fool! He sought to subvert me. I would not be swayed in my Holiest mission. The Devil would cease to be today! His front door was unlocked - not unusual for folk of his age growing up in a fearless world, but now he would know fear! I crept inside and sealed the door behind me. I locked it gently, gently - ever so gently! So gently you would've been shocked by my elegance! Such was my steadfastness in the face of evil. Just you and I, Devil, old man, to war and rage and cleanse the Earth.

His breathing was hoarse and raspy. Ever present was the TICK TICK TICK. Maddening! I insist, if you were there, should you have heard it, had you seen him wrapped in the uncanny hue that I had, you would feel sick to the stomach too. That sickly purple - or was it red? yes, red - that vile contorting aura that bled into my lungs and thickened the very veins in my arms. Vile old man! He must end. That ticking will abate, and we can all rest.

I poked my head into his window - O' how the air was stifled in here. It reeked of decay; his very form was rotting in here. He was already dead, no! He was Undead. Vampire! Devil! He moved and coughed ever so gently. A deception, I knew that once I had this stake to his chest he would rise, erect and powerful. I must tread carefully! Sneaking, sneaking towards him. Quiet, quiet, tick, tick, tick. TICK! That galling tick! GAH! I hate it! I will end it! I squeezed the stake in my hand in rhythm with it, squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

I stood over him. As I looked upon him, the twisting veil of shimmering smoke entranced me. It was psychedelic! For, you see, my senses had become hypersensitive - did I not say? - particularly my vision, and I saw that for what it truly was. It is the truth! You must believe me, that he was covered in colour so foul, so vile, I couldn't bear to explain it! And that ceaseless ticking... It would drive anyone to madness! But I am far from it, can't you tell? I am coherent, rational, methodical. So to whom do you say a madness has enveloped? Point your finger now! Ha ha! it is him! The Devil on the bed with the tick, tick, tick.

I raised the stake high, high in the air, and gripped it with my other hand. My palms fused to the instrument - I was locked into this hallowed deed. I would fulfil it! For the maker, for God, for all mankind. We are better without him, without his ever ticking heart. That insatiable ticking! Strike true, and die. Die! It fell with unnatural strength, not my own. The old man LURCHED, he spat all over me. Thick black bile flung from his mouth into my face. Fear for me! for I'm sure I swallowed some. Would I turn? Become the very thing I hate, with that tick, tick, tick, deep inside me. Alas! that ticking! No more!

He looked into my eyes. For a moment the Devil's hate rested upon me - then the Lord's light shone through me, and he smiled. The cheek of it, he smiled - smiled! It is true, you should know, if you were there, you would see plainly that I am not mad, but it is he. Rousing, very rousing. But the light faded, and his eyes rolled back into his skull. Black goo, black as pitch, oozed down my face. I wiped my eyes.

Knock, knock, knock. Knock! That infernal trifecta knocking at the door. Who could it be? Death himself? My hands were covered, my face was smeared, with the black stuff from the old mans throat. Vile! Wretched old man! I pulled the sheets up in a frenzy and sought to clean my face with it. It was too sticky, like tar - it wouldn't do. Knock! knock! knock! again. Faster, desperate. A voice. A shadow at the window that broke the light. Who could it be?!

I rushed to the front door. I swear to you, I am not mad - perhaps you can see that now - but in this moment, the blackness that covered me like spilt ink had escaped my notice. I was aching to see who was tapping, ticking, knocking at the door. A man and his dog. How regular, how delightful that was, for such a vision of normality to inject itself upon my unhinged self. "Ah!" he said, and his concerned expression washed over with relief. "You must be the grandson, hmm?" he asked, rhetorically. Yet he hung there! Staring, waiting - what ever for? A response? Surely not - the audacity. I left him, hanging there. His dog shifted nervously, peering beyond the threshold and into the wider house.

He finally caved in. I must admit a wide grin stretched across my face at this - this day has been full of victories. He asked me how the old man was. Ha! He had no idea. But there it was again. That unholy trinity of tick, tick, tick. Then I remembered. My hands were covered in black. My face was a smeared mess. And yet, this man seemed completely unfazed. I suddenly felt a panic carry over me. What if he was not unfazed, but simply nonplussed? But for a second, I held my hands in front of me. They were clean. I beg you see, I am not mad. But this vision! Was the black a part of my new heightened senses? It was gone - invisible!

And that damnable TICKING - arrhythmic at first, then finding its cadence, tick - tick - tick. The old mans heart, how could it be? Ticking still, with a stake of wood cast betwixt his ribs. This man at the door urged on for the old man and his condition. "Is there anything I can do to help?" he asked. Pathetic! He sat in his house, oblivious to the ticking of his heart, and unwilling to act upon it. I insisted he was fine. I paced from toe to toe, my hands stretching and clenching in symphony with that ticking of his heart. I had a sudden urge to rush back into the room and plunge that stake down deep into his body. But surely it can't be - he is dead! The man knew - he knew it. I was pale and sweating. The colours swarmed around me, stabbing at my eyes and vexing my spirit. Good God! what could I do? Tick, tick, tick. Gah! That infernal ticking! It will not do! He heard it, he knows! Enough!

"Enough!" I cried, "ask no more of the old man! It is true - what you already know, what you suspect of me - he lies in there, in his bed - in there! - it is the ticking of his clockwork heart!"