THE TELL-TALE HEART: Poe’s Other Scenario by Salvatore Buttaci

When I had finalized a thorough lavation, I withdrew a murderer’s hands from the rose-tinted water. The hideous deed was done, and now the chimes struck 4:00 A.M.  In haste I swaddled trembling fingers with the old man’s blue monogrammed bath towel. “V.E.,” it read, “Vincent Exeter,” who now in death could only signal to my wracked brain the appellation, “Vulture Eye,” and the blue towel, the milky blue of that hideous eye.

Hark! A pounding on V.E.’s front door. A phantasm of the mind, perchance?

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