"The Tell-Tale Heart" is owned by the Estate of Edgar Allen Poe. I don't own it, considering it was written over a hundred years before I was born.
I had to write this as my final paper for my Intro to Short Fiction class last term. I eventually realized that it might make a good fanfiction, so here it is for you to enjoy:
The Vulture's Eye
(A prequel to "The Tell-Tale Heart")
I see you have come to see me, despite those rumors of my madness. Yes, I have heard of them, and I can assure you that they are all false. My eccentricities are not those of madness, but rather of a clever plan of retribution gone horribly awry. But I am getting ahead of myself. Now shall you know the truth of my past and the history of what these fools deem to be the personification of my madness: my Vulture's Eye.
I was a rather astute man in my younger years, full of vitality and vigor, with an intelligence unmatched by anyone in the city. I was well-respected by my peers and very much the subject of adoration of many a fair lady passerby. Back then, of course, I had not my Vulture's Eye, but rather two normal ones. It is not the Vulture's Eye, however, that caused me to lose this adoration, but rather the unpleasant circumstances that would lead to my being forced to possess such a marvelous, yet repulsive, orb.
It began when I was called into service in 1814 during the War. I was part of a garrison that was attempting to halt the invasion of Washington. There we were, exchanging musket-fire, when suddenly a shot from a British musket hit me in my right eye, blinding me. I was able to recover, but unfortunately, the enemy's musket-fire had so exploded in my face, the surgeons were forced to remove my eye to prevent infection. It was after this that I lost all the respect and admiration that were once mine to behold. Man and woman alike cowered at the sight of my damaged face, my empty socket seemingly staring at passersby like a dark pit of no escape.
You may think that this rejection by those I was once respected by would be the reason why some would consider me mad, but as I have already emphasized, that is simply not true. Despite the loss of half my eyesight, I remained sane, even persevered, through my tragedy. Although my condition prevented me from gaining a satisfactory job due to the horror exhibited by employers upon taking sight of it, I was eventually able earn a satisfactory pay as a landlord, selling rooms to those who were able to afford them. I was truly happy as the debtor to my tenants, despite the clear fact that they were attempting to hide their reactions to my hideousness.
It was about a year after I first started as a landlord that I met him. The youthful new tenant was full of arrogance and self-assurance in his own intelligence in a way that I never exhibited at that age. It was as though he believed himself to be superior to all those around him. He had no care for the well-being of his fellow tenants under my supervision, and did little to hide his disgust at my missing eye. The youth was so arrogant in his belief that there was nobody in the world who was a match for his intelligence that I felt it necessary to teach the lad a lesson from one who was once well-respected for his intelligence as well.
But how to do the deed? The youth may have been disrespectful, but he was intelligent as well. Any attempt to try and scare him into respecting myself and his fellow tenants under my care he was most likely to see through and mock me by. Perhaps one should consider that were I truly mad as most might believe, I might not have had the idea to try and scare his soul. For an attack on the mind is easily able to be seen through and repulsed; but an attack on the soul truly haunts those who are victimized by such an attack. Yes, a startling of the soul would definitely put the insolent youth in his place and teach him to respect those around him.
Even though I now knew that the way to teach the lad his lesson would be to startle his very soul, I was still uncertain on how to perform this deliberating task until one midday when out in the market, I saw a traveling salesman selling glass eyes. Although I had long-since grown accustomed to my condition, my attention was still caught by one eye in particular: a pale blue eye, with a film over it, resembling that of a vulture's which seemed to stare into the very depths of my soul. I immediately approached the salesman and asked to purchase it so that others would not be troubled at looking upon my missing eye. It cost me a sixpence, but it was a sixpence well-spent as it would finally teach the impetuous youth under my roof who considered himself to be better than everyone else that he was not as important as he believed himself to be.
The following morning I placed my new Vulture's Eye into my now no-longer empty socket and headed toward the youth's room to discuss paying for his rent. Upon my knocking on his door, the lad was immediately startled to see me now with not one, but two eyes, one of which looked to be gazing into the very depths of his small, hateful soul. Though he tried to hide it well, I could tell that the youth was frightened of my new glass eye and that due to this, he would most likely never trouble myself or the other tenants under my watch if that meant his soul would avoid the terrible gaze of the Vulture's Eye.
I continued to wear my Vulture's Eye for the rest of the day. As I walked down the street, those who normally had tried to keep away from me as far as possible back when my eye had been missing were now stopping to stare in horror at my Vulture's Eye as if it were staring into the depths of their souls as well. Even though I'll once again deny any accusation of my madness, I will admit that I enjoyed the feeling of power that I felt my new eye had given me over those in the city. All I had to do was look in one's direction, and that person would automatically attempt to hide their fear for their souls as they stared into the sharpness of that eye.
Night soon came, and I found myself retiring to bed, thinking of all the ways in which I had been benefited by my Vulture's Eye that day. Thinking of how I would use it to continue to terrify the souls of those who'd once been disgusted by my missing eye, I soon attempted to remove the Vulture's Eye so that I could prepare for sleep. But then, a most curious thing occurred that proves that my problem is not the result of madness: I could not remove the glass eye from its socket.
I was stunned. No matter how persistent my efforts, the Vulture's Eye would not dislodge itself from my socket. I could not get it out that night, nor any of the nights that followed. I continued to go along my days, staring into the souls of passersby as they uncomfortably hurried along in order to avoid a lengthy inspection of their souls at the hands of the Vulture's Eye. I found myself disheartened by this, as most of my tenants, unnerved by the fierceness of my eye each month they came to pay the rent, soon left the building. However, one tenant yet still remained: none other than the arrogant youth. And although I was now alone in the world, I could still delight myself in knowing that he was constantly haunted by my Vulture's Eye staring into the depths of his soul, and would not be at peace until his or my dying day.