Sunday was probably the worst day I'd ever had. Church was bad enough, and having to listen to Sister Christianson's Sunday School lesson on honesty wasn't even the worst part. The worst came that night when Mr. Alarcon himself came to our house to thank mom for the casserole she'd sent over that afternoon.
He looked at me, sitting on the stairs that led to my bedroom, with a tear in his dull blue eye. His gaze seared me to the middle of my backbone. As long as I live I'll never forget that look.
He was only there for a few minutes, but after seeing his gaunt face, his quivering hands and especially those haunting eyes, I felt so guilty that I crossed the street and sat on our snow-sledding hill for an hour and a half, crying and wishing there was something I could do to make it all better.
Monday morning came much sooner than I had hoped it would, though. That was always the case, but this particular weekend had passed much more rapidly than I ever thought one could. Before I knew what was going on, I was in Mrs. McKee's geometry class watching her explain what a theorem is.
"Are you getting any of this?"
There was no answer.
"Yo!" someone said, poking me in the shoulder. "Are you getting any of this?"
I looked vacantly to my right and saw Wooly looking at me impatiently. He was still innocently oblivious to the fact that his best friends had been the culprits in Saturday's diabolic inferno.
"Huh?" was all I could muster.
"Are you ok?" he asked quizzically.
"Yea, I'm fine, I guess. What did you ask me?" I still wasn't quite all there.
"Do you understand any of this junk she's saying?"
I shook my head. "I haven't heard a word she said."
Then came the question that rocked my little world and would change it forever. "How many pages is your report for Mr. K?"
"Mr. K?"
"Our English teacher. Seventh period. Remember? You know. The Tell-Tale Heart?"
My breath quickened.
My heart beat wildly.
My eyes widened drastically.
Poor Edgar had never told me his harrowing story, and now I was meat on a stick.
"Oh, geez!" I exclaimed. "I forgot all about it!"
I quickly took out my English book and started flipping to page 277. I began to read. "True," it said, "nervous - very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am..."
You can say that again! I was even more nervous now than I had been when Mr. Alarcon came to the house. The fire, for a moment, was all but forgotten. All I could think of now was Mr. K and the "F" I would get if I didn't hand in the assignment.
"Study Hall!" I cried, right in the middle of Mrs. McKee's explanation of analytic proofs. She stopped talking and everyone in the class looked at me. "Sorry," I said disconcertedly, burying my head behind the sweet-smelling cotton that covered Bob's back.
I had Study Hall in the library during fifth period. It was a perfect place to read and I figured I could finish the story there and then start on the paper. I could complete that in sixth period History. No sweat. We never did anything in there anyway but listen to Mrs. Weaver's ramblings. Many were the day we'd make little bird noises just to make her crazy.
There were five big tables in the library and only six of us were in the class, so I grabbed one to myself and started in on Poe's masterpiece.
"I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed him." Killed an old man? I read on.
"...at length a simple dim ray, like the thread of a spider, shot from out the crevice and fell full upon the vulture eye."
Wiping small beads of sweat from my brow, I stood and went to the window. I remembered the eyes I had seen the day before, and they haunted me.
I waited several minutes, breathing in deep gulps of the fresh air from the open window before I sat down and continued. "I placed my hand upon the heart and held it there many minutes. There was no pulsation. He was stone dead. His eye would trouble me no more."
My pulse quickened.
I gasped for air.
Sweat ran down the side of my face.
My hands shook savagely.
But my eyes were fixed irretrievably on the page.
"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."
The beating of the second hand on the clock echoed thunderously in my ears.
"They heard! - they suspected! - they knew! - they were making a mockery of my horror! - this, I thought, and this I think."
A guilt-laden agony racked my soul! I looked around, knowing everyone in the room knew I was the culprit, I stood, quivering with remorse, and walked to the librarian. "I have to talk to the principal," I said rapidly and vacantly. The last thing I remember was getting a face full of floor.
When I awoke, the principal, Mr. McDonald, and Mrs. Hogan, the school nurse, were hovering over me holding smelling salts to my nose. I remembered the awful shame and shouted, "Villains! Dissemble no more! I admit the deed! I did it! I did it! I burned down Mr. Alarcon's garage!"
Coming soon - Part V - Conclusion
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