Моника Шонесси - The Tell-Tail Heart

I smiled, —or what had I to fear? I bade the gentlemen 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. I led them, at length, to his chamber. I showed them his treasures, 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 reposed 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 of 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 definiteness –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 and 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 observations of the men --but the noise steadily increased. Oh 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 arose over all and continually 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! and now –again! –hark! louder! louder! louder! louder!

"Villains!" I shrieked, "dissemble no more! I admit the deed! –tear up the planks! here, here! –It is the beating of his hideous heart!"

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Copyright © 2014 by Monica Shaughnessy

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Jumping Jackalope Press

Shaughnessy, Monica

The Tell-Tail Heart / Monica Shaughnessy

eISBN: 978-0-9885629-6-7

Jacket Design: Monica Shaughnessy

Edited by Red Adept

If you enjoy cat mysteries, you may want to check out The Cat's Last Meow by Mandy Broughton.

Book Description: A cat, a miser, his accountant and lawyer, add three old ladies who travel in style—conditions are ripe for murder.

The Cat’s Last Meow

Chapter One

Never much of a fantasy fan, I knew one thing for certain: Odell Greenry loved Precious every bit as much as Gollum loved his “precious.” And while both objects of obsession could be possessed, neither could be mastered.

“Poisoned!” He shoved the cat at me.

“Poisoned?” I re-entered the here-and-now. “Why poisoned?” The roomful of sycophants hung on my every word, awaiting my judgment. Unlike Gollum, old Odell had money—lots of it—which attracted hangers-on. And I, as the cat expert, received sycophantism by proxy.

“Is the cat ill or not?” Another voice. Hmm—round face, flat nose. Mental dredging produced a name—Raul—and occupation—accountant.

I knew the routine. Frowning, I laid Precious on the exam table that stood in for her shrine to examine the hairless brute yet again. Of course she struggled, so I took charge. Like a jackhammer to concrete, that was the approach she understood.

“Well?” Raul, arms folded, tapped a manicured finger on the sleeve of his suit. Quite a well-paid accountant, I surmised, judging by his attire, even if he reminded me of a feral hog. Looked down his snout at me, too. Why would he ask about the health of a cat he clearly hated?

I stroked Precious. “She’s fine.”

Hearing that, she swiped me twice with her blades. Oops, this was one critter I shouldn’t pet.

I could feel the tension leave the room. When I glanced around, seeing that I knew all the party-goers from my weekly feline ministrations brought a sick thought. Did that make me a sycophant too?

Nope, not possible. I surveyed the crowd again. The old man’s lawyer stood over his wheelchair like a gargoyle ready to pounce. Odell did love his money, so of course he loved having the lawyer around who helped him keep it. The accountant? Not so much. The accountant only counted beans. As for the gargoyle, I didn't know its name. All I knew was that he was huge, so huge he made me want to whisper when he was around.

Then there was Halyn with her rag, dusting the corner shelf. Could be the perfect witch, Halyn. Attractive, black hair, long face, a spell-caster disguised as a live-in housekeeper. Even her dusting resembled magic, casting the grime away. Had to be how she survived working for the old miser, weaving her spells. What kind of a name was it, Halyn? Made up, no doubt. Couldn’t be her true one.

The Senior Brigade twittered in another corner. Not social-media twittering, either. All a-flutter over nothing. Couldn’t bother catching their names, I simply thought of them as Red, White, and Blue. Hair color, of course. The only other characteristic I knew was that one brought Odell food; one ate most of it, and the last fluffed up his cushions. Why they visited the old man every day escaped me, since he was as rude to them as he was to his other underlings.

And then there was old Moneybags's nephew—Kento. I knew him because Odell constantly blamed him, by name, for all the world’s ills. Hard to spot, easy to miss, Kento was generally forgotten until things went wrong. Like a mouse in a cage with a python Kento cowered, holding something in a large picture frame close.

I sighed. It was time for a diagnosis, which Odell wasn’t going to like. No point delaying. “The cat’s perfectly fine.”

“Poppycock!” Odell shouted.

Used to it by now, still I cringed. Heidi Knack, doctor of veterinary medicine and concierge animal doc, I put up with a lot.

I tugged my ringing ear. “She's a healthy eighteen-year-old cat.” As I relocated the ugly brute from the exam table to Odell's lap, my hand must have pressed her belly, because she flinched.

“See there?” Odell screeched again. “If she was fine, she wouldn’t twitch like that. She's ill, I tell you! Poisoned!” His face, usually gray, was flushed from shouting.

“Hold everything, old man,” I said. “Bring your voice down to where it won’t deafen the canines, and turn up your hearing aid.” Reluctantly, I put Precious back on the exam table for a third time.

Odell glowered. “Don't need a new hearing aid, need a new vet.”

“Didn't say you needed a new aid. I said TURN IT UP.” I palpated the cat’s abdomen again—no reaction.