Upon the eighth night I was more than usually cautious in opening the door. A watch’s minute hand moves more quickly than did mi
ne. Never before that night had I felt the extent of my own powers—of my sagacity.4 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 on the bed suddenly, as if startled. Now you may think that I drew back—but no. His room was as black as pitch with the thick darkness (for the shutters were close fastened, through 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 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, hearkening5 to the death watches in the wall.
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 low stifled6 sound that arises 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 welled7 up from 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, although I chuckled at heart. I knew that 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 could not. He had been saying to himself—“It is nothing but the wind in the chimney—it is only a mouse crossing the floor,” or “it is merely a cricket which has made a single chirp.” Yes, he had 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—although he neither saw nor heard—to feel the presence of my head within the room.
—Edgar Allan Poe, from “The Tell-Tale Heart”
What reason does the narrator of “The Tell-Tale Heart” give for killing the old man?
a. He disliked the old man’s vulture-like eye.
b. He felt that the old man was unkind to him.
c. He was insane and couldn’t control himself.
d. He planned to take the old man’s riches.
The narrator compares his speed of opening the old man’s door to
a. the pitch darkness of the old man’s room.
b. a lantern with its shutters closed.
c. the minute hand on a watch.
d. the sound sleep of the old man.
The narrator tries to convince the reader that
a. he is a cautious man.
b. he is completely sane.
c. the old man is very wealthy.
d. the old man is suspicious.
What caused the old man to suddenly sit up in bed?
a. The narrator made a noise with the lantern.
b. The wind began to blow strongly outside.
c. A mouse ran across the floor.
d. A cricket began chirping outside.
How does the setting of the story affect the plot?
