The Tell-Tale Heart by Edgar Allan Poe, Simpson version, which I wrote in high school. I found by accident, and not wanting throw it away, the result here (the internet is forever: P).
Good reading.
regard to numerous calls about a chilling scream occurred at 2:40 am Springfield Street, and I agents Simpson and Flanders, we went there. We heard most of the local residents: some told us they heard something like a desperate cry of pain, while others seemed to have heard nothing alarming.
At the end we presented ourselves at home of old Mr. M. Burns, who lived with his business partner, Mr. W. Smithers. It was the latter to become more open. After letting us in, and after having explained who we were and the reason for our visit, we told him that it was the cause of the mysterious cry. He told us that the fault was caused by a bad dream that had deeply shaken. We did check the house and as we explained that his friend, M. Burns, had left little for a long business trip. Eventually she took three chairs, and urges us to sit back and rest. At first not noticed, but we were right in what must be the bedroom of M. Burns. We sat and talked of trivial matters, but Mr. W. Smithers, a person who seemed controlled and confident throughout the inspection, he began to show signs of nervousness. At first she turned pale, but then began to speak out louder and louder, faster and with greater enthusiasm and from there to just start cursing, shaking and moving nervously in his chair. At last he rose abruptly, as if suddenly he had lost any residue of reason, and, pointing to the wooden floor beneath the chair, yelled "Les Miserables! Stop pretending! confess everything! get those aces! E 'down there! Its terrible beating heart!" At the height of his madness took a poker from the fireplace and began to hit the point that we had indicated. My two colleagues tried to stop him, but the agent Flanders remained locked in place because of the horrid spectacle that was visible between the planks of the floor broken: the body dismembered and torn apart by M. Burns.
I helped the agent to block W. Simpson Smithers, still prey to the state of lunacy. It was not easy to stun him.
Then I called the police and carried via the entity in question, leaving the experts to examine the crime scene.
personal note: The incident has greatly shaken us all, but especially the staff Flanders. I'm afraid I will not be able to serve as a time.
Good reading.
regard to numerous calls about a chilling scream occurred at 2:40 am Springfield Street, and I agents Simpson and Flanders, we went there. We heard most of the local residents: some told us they heard something like a desperate cry of pain, while others seemed to have heard nothing alarming.
At the end we presented ourselves at home of old Mr. M. Burns, who lived with his business partner, Mr. W. Smithers. It was the latter to become more open. After letting us in, and after having explained who we were and the reason for our visit, we told him that it was the cause of the mysterious cry. He told us that the fault was caused by a bad dream that had deeply shaken. We did check the house and as we explained that his friend, M. Burns, had left little for a long business trip. Eventually she took three chairs, and urges us to sit back and rest. At first not noticed, but we were right in what must be the bedroom of M. Burns. We sat and talked of trivial matters, but Mr. W. Smithers, a person who seemed controlled and confident throughout the inspection, he began to show signs of nervousness. At first she turned pale, but then began to speak out louder and louder, faster and with greater enthusiasm and from there to just start cursing, shaking and moving nervously in his chair. At last he rose abruptly, as if suddenly he had lost any residue of reason, and, pointing to the wooden floor beneath the chair, yelled "Les Miserables! Stop pretending! confess everything! get those aces! E 'down there! Its terrible beating heart!" At the height of his madness took a poker from the fireplace and began to hit the point that we had indicated. My two colleagues tried to stop him, but the agent Flanders remained locked in place because of the horrid spectacle that was visible between the planks of the floor broken: the body dismembered and torn apart by M. Burns.
I helped the agent to block W. Simpson Smithers, still prey to the state of lunacy. It was not easy to stun him.
Then I called the police and carried via the entity in question, leaving the experts to examine the crime scene.
personal note: The incident has greatly shaken us all, but especially the staff Flanders. I'm afraid I will not be able to serve as a time.
Commissioner C. Winchester
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