Anything was better than this. I couldn't stand their smiles any longer. I had to scream-or I'd die. The noise got louder, louder, louder!

"Enough!" I screamed. "I admit it! Tear up the floor! Here, here! It is the beating of his hideous heart."

Their faces whitened and they rushed to rip up the floorboards. His suffocated body laid there, the one vulture eye open. While one of them hauled the body up and tried quite pathetically to revive him, the other turned toward me and had an angry glint in his eyes.

"Why would you do this to a poor old man?! You were his helper, he treated you fairly. What do you get out of this, His money, the satisfaction that you are now a murderer?" he yelled into my face. I could see the disgust, the horror, so unlike my calm facade that I myself got angry.

"I can see it in your eyes man, you think I am insane, but I ask you this. If I am insane I would have killed you to make sure that you never found his body, Never found his eye. For that is the real problem here. So lock me up, and I will testify. I am not insane, I will tell you this." They do not understand the way of the mind. They think that with a burning passion that I killed the old man, to get rid of him. That is not the case. It was his eye that I now rid the world of. And I shall be thanked by all who have suffered, like I have. Although this was the case, the police do not think that it matters. You did not kill his eye, you killed the whole man they say. They lock me up and put me in a cell. I tell them that they are wrong. They have the wrong villain, that I am not the one that gives people nightmares. It is that terrible eye, but they will not listen. II will soon be in court, being testified by every man and woman who were friends of that old, old man.

The problem is me they say, that nothing was wrong with the old man. They were misled, how could they think that. Even now the eye still haunts me, makes me toss and turn in my sleep. The days seem to blur together, and one thing leads to the next with nothing in between. I start to wonder if they are right. Maybe I am insane. I fear that nobody will ever know what I think now, if they ever want to. For how can they forget a thing like this, a murder, of an old man in his home. All because of an eye, a great vulture eye.