Inspired by “The Tell-Tale Heart” by Edgar Allan Poe.

<dark classical music plays faintly>

Morella:

On October 27, 1846, Dr. Algernon Vautour, an esteemed professor at Harvard University, departed from the college after working late into the evening. Upon his return home, he prepared a meal, reviewed The Boston Herald, and retired to his quarters for the night. A few hours later, a report regarding a shrieking at the Vautour estate would send police knocking on the door. It was there that the grisly remains of Vautour’s body would be unearthed from the floorboard of his own bedchamber, just thirty minutes later. Welcome to “The Pendulum.”

<dark classical music plays louder>

Morella:

I’m Morella Dupin with “The Pendulum,” the true crime broadcast that swings from past to present, taking you back to the time of the crime.

<side-to-side mechanical whirring>

<clock chiming>

Morella:

Today, we’re sitting in Massachusetts State Prison, where we were fortunate enough to receive an audience with Edgar Wilson, the man responsible for the killing of Algernon Vautour.

<faint closing of steel doors>

<faint speaking>

<chains rattling>

Morella:

Mr. Wilson, it has been several months since you were convicted of murder in the first degree. Your trial reached country-wide notoriety, not just due to the violently manic nature of the crime, but because of your refusal to speak on your behalf. 

Edgar:

(chuckling)

<chains rattling>

Morella:

With your execution scheduled later in the week, I guess I just find myself curious as to why you now feel inclined to speak on this matter.

Edgar:

Understandably so. I’m sure most are confused by my choice. People are limited in their cognition; others are unbounded. It’s the requirement of the intellectually inclined to guide the feeble-minded.

Morella:

I, well, okay. Mr. Wilson-

<shifting forward in seat>

<chains rattling>

Edgar:

Oh, if I may interject, I would like to address something quickly. You referred to my actions as “violently manic?”

Morella:

I described the gruesome murder of Algernon Vautour as violently manic, yes. Was there a problem with that description? I see you’re shaking your head.

<foot quickly tapping>

<chains rattling>

Edgar:

The events that unfolded that night were anything but manic. You consider me mad? You believe this was an act of passion?

Morella:

Well, that’s what we’re here to discuss, Mr. Wilson. I’m sorry, would you mind not tapping your foot? 

<foot tapping slows>

Edgar:

I would consider it a careful act of necessity. Madmen know nothing. See, this is exactly why I am required to give this more precise confession. 

<shifting backward in seat>

<chains rattling>

Morella:

Could you elaborate?

Edgar:

I thought I would be content carrying the truth to the gallows, but that would be a disservice to my skill. My Machiavellian symphony of strategy is one that should be shared.

Morella:

Then share it.

Edgar:

After you.

Morella:

I would like to first begin with the primary question on the country’s mind: motive. Why did you reserve such hate for Algernon Vautour?

Edgar:

I never had an issue with the old man. In truth, I loved him. He was a former professor of mine, one whom taught me much about biology and the human anatomy. But you all knew him, and I think can find sympathy in my nerves. 

(inhale)

<chains rattling>

Edgar:

His eye was grotesque. Pale blue with a film over it. I could not bear to look at it; it made the blood in my veins run cold.

<pen scratching>

Morella:

You’re telling me you killed him because of his eye?

Edgar:

I killed him because I was haunted. You have witnessed the ferocity of a vulture before, yes?

Morella:

I have.

<gentle chain rattling>

Edgar:

They circle their prey in the heavens, waiting for the moment to strike-

<harsh chain rattling>

Edgar:

-and gut their pathetic, lowly victim. Imagine that a vulture followed you, breathing down your neck, waiting for you to slip. Would you not shoot the damned bird down yourself?

<pen scratching>

<faint prison doors closing>

Edgar:

Are you going to answer or write?

Morella:

I am going to listen and record. Please continue.

<harsh sniff>

<chains rattling>

Edgar:

Well, the old man was my vulture. I bore his breath as best as I could, but I am no grounded prey. I would hunt the predator. I would shoot him down myself.

(chuckling)

There is a freedom in the finality of a decision. Upon my settlement, I felt all my senses had sharpened, particularly that of my hearing and thought. It was thrilling. Are you familiar with such a feeling, Ms. Dupin?

Morella:

I would like to remain focused on you, Mr. Wilson. 

Edgar:

(chuckling)

Very well, Ms. Dupin. Continue, we shall.

<faint rolling of prison doors>

<pages turning>

Morella:

I have here that you visited Dr. Vautour for a week leading up to his death.

Edgar:

(scoffs)

I was never so kind to that man as I was in those days. 

<knocking>

<men laughing gently>

<dishes clinking>

<refrigerator door shutting>

<stovetop sizzling>

<pouring liquid>

Edgar:

I would bring him pastries, and we would chat for hours over breakfast before his classes.

<pen scratching>

Morella:

What about his eye? Were you not grieved by it then, as well?

<chains rattling>

Edgar:

(inhale)

That eye was a festering sore that consumed my sight. But I was a focused and determined man. I still am. Would you consider such a focus mad? 

(chuckling)

No, I would not look at that eye any more than I would look at a maggot-infested carcass. I shifted my vision to his home.

Morella:

How come?

Edgar:

Well, I could not see it in the night, could I?

<faint rolling of prison doors>

<faint chattering>

Morella:

What do you mean, “in the night?”

Edgar:

I visited him during the night, as well.

<paper turning>

Edgar:

No, no. You will not find these next few details in your notes. 

<door hinges creaking>

<slow footsteps across wood>

<gentle snoring>

Edgar:

Every night for that week, around midnight, I turned the latch of his door and opened it, so very gently, and thrust my head in the room. 

(chuckling)

Hmm. You seem unnerved.

Morella:

(clearing throat)

I-uh. No, no. Just continue.

Edgar:

Please, do not be alarmed. You likely would have been impressed if you could have seen my stealth. You were a child once, as were your listeners. Tell me, did you ever sneak something you were not supposed to?

Morella:

Mr. Wilson, again, this is about you, and-

Edgar:

Humor me.

<shuffling in seat>

<faint rolling of prison doors>

Morella:

Sure. Maybe a candy, a time or two.

Edgar:

(chuckling)

A candy? Come on, Ms. Dupin. Surely there was something more significant than a piece of sugar. 

<shuffling forward in seat>

Edgar:

Or was that simply all you could get away with?

Morella:

I-

(clearing throat)

Get to your point, Mr. Wilson.

<chains rattling>

<shuffling backward in seat>

<faint closing of prison doors>

Edgar:

Think back to that moment of pure mischief. Did that not thrill you? Doing something without anyone knowing and succeeding. 

(inhale)

<tapping foot>

Edgar:

You know you can crack a smile. We may physically be in a prison, but you can act freely.

Morella:

We’re discussing a murder, Mr. Wilson. I will not be smiling. Please, stop tapping your foot.

<tapping foot slows>

Morella:

Why did you visit him in the night?

Edgar:

Curiosity. To return to the vulture analogy, it was like gazing upon a weakened predator. Seeing it vulnerable. Seeing it nearly dead. So, I just watched. Watched him sleep. Imagined him staying that way.

Morella:

You said-

<pages turning>

Morella:

-quote, “I never had an issue with the old man. In truth, I loved him,” end quote. You spent time with Dr. Vautour. Had breakfast with him. Why did you feel no remorse over what you were doing? 

Edgar:

Make no mistake, it was not the old man who vexed me. I enjoyed spending time with him. Truly. Every morning, when the day broke, I was there, knocking. 

<knocking>

<door hinges creaking>

<footsteps>

<men laughing>

<dishes clinking>

Edgar:

We would again have breakfast, and I would inquire how his night was. But the eye, Ms. Dupin. 

(inhale)

The eye was more than him. Sure, I was disheartened to know his body would lie cold, but I was doing a greater service. Are you familiar with exorcisms?

<shuffling in seat>

<faint closing of prison doors>

<faint chatter>

Morella:

I am.

Edgar:

If a demon had taken up residence in the body of, say, your father, would you spare any effort to free him from the grip of such a creature?

<chains rattling>

<faint chatter>

Morella:

Mr. Wilson, I am not entertaining-

Edgar:

Answer, or I will conclude this discussion.

Morella:

(clears throat)

I would want my father to be healthy.

Edgar:

You would want him to be himself again, correct? That is the same principle. The old man was not himself. He could not be. No one else saw it, but I did. There was a demon in Vautour.

Morella:

Okay. Um-

<pen scratching>

Morella:

(clears throat)

Y-you said you would, quote, “inquire about his night,” end quote. Did you care, or were you simply seeing if you were getting away with your actions?

Edgar:

(chuckling)

I watched him for seven long nights, always right at midnight. But I was quiet. I would take a small lantern and open it ever so slightly, just to look at the eye-

<slight mechanical clicking>

<faint fire crackling>

<gentle snoring>

Edgar:

-but he never stirred in his sleep. He would have been a very profound old man to suspect that every night I looked upon him while he slept. He had no idea. I did not need to ask.

Morella:

So, what was the breaking point? What finally made you snap?

Edgar:

(sighs)

There was no “snapping.” Would a madman have been so wise as I? No. Do not insult me. I knew I would act on the eighth night, and I knew how I would do it. The only thing unaccounted for-

<shifting in seat>

<chains rattling>

Edgar:

-was the vulture awaking.

<pages turning>

Morella:

Dr. Vautour woke up?

Edgar:

This, too, will not be in your notes. Yes, the old man woke up. It was, as I said, the eighth visit. I did everything the same as I always did.

<hinges creaking>

<slight mechanical clicking>

<gentle fire crackling>

Edgar:

But the wood of the floors betrayed me.

<wood creaking>

Morella:

But you had been stepping inside his room every night. 

Edgar:

I had not walked so far in his chamber quarters. I had plenty of times during the day, but I suppose our chatter silenced the floor.

<springs creaking>

<fabric rustling>

<heavy breathing>

Edgar:

The old man sprang up, startled.

<pen scratching>

Morella:

So, he saw you?

Edgar:

Of course not. He was working with one eye already, and the blackness of the night was thick. The shadows consumed me. But he could feel my presence in the room, and that was enough.

<heavy breathing>

<low heart beating>

<groaning>

Edgar:

I remained quiet; both of us still as stone.

<low heart beating>

<quiet breathing>

Edgar:

He was listening, just as I had done all the nights before. But I was calm. Bold, even. Would you consider a madman to be calm? Would you?

<shifting forward in chair>

<chains rattling>

Morella:

I would not consider a madman calm.

Edgar:

Precisely. It was a boldness that drove me.

<shifting backward in chair>

<chains rattling>

Edgar:

I grew tired of the standing. I needed to exorcise the demon. I needed to put down the vulture.

<male groaning>

<floorboards creaking>

<slow footsteps>

<breathing>

<low heart beating>

Edgar:

The old man started to groan with what I presumed was terror. I understood the feeling, exactly. In truth, I pitied him.

(inhale)

But, I would be lying if I said I was not the slightest bit, well, amused.

Morella:

Amused?

Edgar:

Well, yes. He was likely saying to himself, “It is only a mouse crossing the floor," or- 

<mouse scuttering>

Edgar:

"It is merely a cricket which has made a single chirp." 

<cricket chirp>

Edgar:

But he knew. He knew what it was. Do you remember what I said earlier about my senses? 

<pages turning>

Morella:

Yes, quote, “My senses had sharpened, particularly that of my hearing and thought. It was thrilling,” end quote.

<foot tapping slowly>

<low heart beating>

Edgar:

Precisely. Now, what I may tell you next may seem like madness, but I assure you, it was but an over-acuteness of senses. 

Morella:

Go on.

Edgar:

I could hear the old man’s terror build in him, in his chest. I could hear his heart rising in tempo. It was like a watch covered in cotton: dull, low, quick.

<heavy breathing>

<foot tapping grows faster>

<dull heart beating grows louder>

Edgar:

It did not phase me, not at first. But, oh!

<chair scooting gently>

<clothes rustling>

<chains rattling>

<heavy breathing grows louder>

<foot tapping grows faster>

<dull heart beating grows louder>

Edgar:

It just grew louder and louder! It just beat in my head, pulsing behind my eyes. 

<heartbeat grows faster>

<heavy breathing>

Edgar:

Then, I thought about the neighbors. Surely the neighbors could hear his cotton heart. They would know. They would hear the vulture and help the poor bird. 

<heartbeat grows faster>

<heavy breathing>

<chains rattling>

<clothes rustling>

Morella:

Mr. Wilson, perhaps we should-

Edgar:

He’d fly away, and all my work, my planning, my strategy would be for nothing. A gift of senses foiled by meddlers who knew not of the demon near their home. 

<foot tapping grows faster>

<low heart beating grows louder>

Edgar:

I could not let that happen. I lunged at the old man.

<heavy jump>

<grunting>

<violent fabric rustling>

<clattering>

<glass breaking>

<bed creaking>

<heavy breathing>

<body thudding on floor>

<body beating on wood>

<fabric rustling>

<male scream>

Edgar:

I needed to silence the beating. To suffocate the vulture. 

<body beating on wood>

<floorboards creaking>

<fabric rustling>

<heavy breathing>

<muffled screaming>

<heart beating grows louder>

Edgar:

I waited until the muffled beating ceased. Until his movement ceased. Until his breathing ceased. Until I was free.

<fabric rustling>

<sighing>

<footstep>

<heavy breathing>

Edgar:

His eye would trouble me no more.

<foot tapping slows>

<low beating heart slows>

<faint prison doors closing>

<faint chatter>

Morella:

What then of the body?

Edgar:

(chuckles)

You are asking me that as if you do not know.

Morella:

I’m wanting your perspective.

Edgar:

Yet, I am continuously refused when I ask for yours.

Morella:

This is not my interview, Mr. Wilson.

Edgar:

No, but it is within your interests, is it not? 

<faint prison doors shutting>

<faint chatter>

Morella:

I’m not sure I understand.

Edgar:

Allow me to explain. Do you consider yourself a detective?

Morella:

(clears throat)

I consider myself a journalist. Why is this relevant?

Edgar:

You want to walk your listeners through a crime?

Morella:

I want us to explore the mind behind the crime.

Edgar:

Indeed. It is the closest one can get to committing a crime, listening to someone like me describe it. Detailed, thorough, vivid. Satiating your morbid curiosity. 

<loud sniff>

<chair scooting>

<chains rattling>

Edgar:

Perhaps desires.

Morella:

Desires? Mr. Wilson, if you are insulting listeners who-

Edgar:

Your father was a detective, no?

<faint prison doors shutting>

<faint chatter>

<chains rattling>

<shifting in seat>

Morella:

How-you-Mr. Wilson, this is hardly an appropriate-

Edgar:

Well-respected man. Clever, too. I remember reading about Rue Morgue in the papers. One may say he reserved a rather acute collection of senses himself.

<faint chatter>

<shifting in seat>

Morella:

Are you implying my father was similar to you?

Edgar:

(chuckling)

Well, of course not. I did not fall victim to my endeavors. Though I am advancing toward the gallows, I am not there yet. I am simply allowing listeners to understand their host more properly.

<heavy breathing>

<foot tapping>

Edgar:

Would you mind not tapping your foot, Ms. Dupin?

<foot slows>

Morella:

I’m not understanding your point.

Edgar:

My point is, Morella, that you have been surrounded by crime. By death. You have become a voyeur of sorts, indulging in the viscous tar of humanity and bathing in it.

<shifting in seat>

<faint rolling of prison doors>

<faint chatter>

Edgar:

I shall like to ask you a question now.

Morella:

I-

Edgar:

Is this bit of investigative journalism truly an act of reporting, or is there something more?

Morella:

More?

Edgar:

I have read every one of your father’s cases. Rue Morgue, Marie Rogêt, the Purloined Letter. Fascinating work from a brilliant man, but-

<shifting forward in seat>

<chains rattling>

Edgar:

-is brilliance a measure of an individual or derived from the capabilities of the surrounding agitators?

Morella:

Get to your point, Mr. Wilson.

Edgar:

Well, something gnawed at me. Not, “How could these people do this?” but “How could they get caught?” 

<faint rolling of prison doors>

<faint chatter>

Edgar:

Perhaps there is another reason you have taken notes so feverishly.

<chains rattling>

<shifting in seat>

Morella:

I am a reporter. Nothing more. 

Edgar:

Perhaps, but overexposure to anything will imprint permanently on the individual. And who can escape tar?

Morella:

Your attempts to liken me to you are baseless, Mr. Wilson. I loved my father, and he separated his work from his family.

Edgar:

Yet, you are sitting here with me.

Morella:

I bring listeners into the work of a detective, Mr. Wilson. I don’t think it’s something to be hidden.

Edgar:

(chuckling)

Is this an act for or against your father?

Morella:

(inhale)

Your attempts to derail this interview will not prove successful.

Edgar:

Have they not?

Morella:

This is your final warning, Mr. Wilson. We can either return to our discussion, or we can conclude your interview right here.

<shifting backwards in seat>

<chains rattling>

Edgar:

Very well. Where were we?

Morella:

The body. What became of it?

Edgar:

Ah, yes.

(inhale)

Well, if you think me mad, you certainly will not after I describe the wise precautions I took for the concealment of the body. The old man was of strong stature. Carrying him would be no easy feat. I needed to make him manageable.

Morella:

You dismembered him.

Edgar:

I made him manageable.

<shifting in seat>

<faint prison doors closing>

<faint chatter>

<body dragging>

<grunting>

Edgar:

I knew where the man kept his tools from my visits, so I retrieved a saw from his workbench, then dragged his body to the tub.

<footsteps>

<body dragging>

<grunting>

<body thudding>

<water running>

<squelching>

<bone sawing>

<bone cracking>

<blood dripping>

Morella:

Let’s not talk around what you did.

<pages turning>

Morella:

You dismembered Dr. Vautour’s head, arms, and legs, then split his torso in half. Each piece was then cut to be two feet long, exactly. You were not making him manageable. You were mutilating him.

Edgar:

(chuckling)

Morella:

You find humor in this?

Edgar:

Well, there is a crack of irony running through it all.

Morella:

I fail to see it.

Edgar:

Well, it was from his classes that I knew how to be so precise. It was a beautiful crime. There was nothing to wash out. No stain of any kind. No blood-spot. Nothing. I just washed out the tub-

<water rushing>

Edgar:

-and placed the old man in bags. 

<plastic crinkling>

<wood creaking>

<wood splintering>

Edgar:

I entombed him inside the same floor that gave me away. 

<wood snapping>

<dull thudding>

<plastic crinkling>

Edgar:

An idea derived from your father’s Catacomb Carnival case.

<pen scratching>

Morella:

(clears throat)

The perfect crime. You would have gotten away with it.

Edgar:

I would have.

Morella:

Yet, here you are, sitting with me.

Edgar:

That was of my own volition. My senses betrayed me.

Morella:

Explain.

<foot tapping quickens>

<heart beats louder>

<knocking on door>

<hinges creaking>

Edgar:

The police came. Said they needed to look around the house regarding, how did they say it? “Suspected foul play.” I was not concerned. I was free from my tormentor. That was all that mattered.

<footsteps>

<men chattering>

Morella:

They suspected nothing?

Edgar:

They did not suspect a thing! I was a gracious host, and my intellect outmatched theirs. 

<footsteps>

<men laughing>

<dishes clinking>

<liquids pouring>

Edgar:

I explained the situation. It was a nightmare that made me shriek, and the old man was out in the country for the time being. I even gave them a tour.

<pen scratching>

<pages turning>

Morella:

Yes, I have here you actually brought them into Dr. Vautour’s bedchamber, standing inches above his body. What would drive you to make such a bold move?

Edgar:

You said it yourself, Ms. Dupin. It was the perfect crime.

<footsteps>

<chairs scooting across wood>

<men laughing>

<sipping>

<wood creaking>

Edgar:

(laughing)

They had no idea. Pinnacles of the police force, well-versed in the ways of criminals, but they could not imagine such an instance had occurred a few hours prior, nor that they were sitting on top of the old vulture. Ha! We just chatted. Chatted as I did with the old man.

<pages turning>

Morella:

What changed? I have in my notes you were, quote, “Deranged, frantic, and distressed. Muttering to yourself and gesturing extravagantly,” end quote.

Edgar:

(inhale)

It was him.

<tapping foot grows louder>

Morella:

Who?

Edgar:

The vulture.

Morella:

He was dead, Mr. Wilson.

Edgar:

But his godforsaken heart beat on.

<tapping foot grows louder>

<heart beats louder>

<dull, pulsing ringing>

Morella:

How-

Edgar:

It was supposed to be done, but the cops were still there. For hours, they remained and continued with their incessant drivel. 

<men laughing>

<sipping>

<dishes clinking>

<footsteps>

<wood creaking>

Edgar:

And their ceaseless chatting just drilled into my skull. This sharp, pulsing ringing vibrated in my mind.

<tapping foot grows louder>

<heart beats louder>

<dull, pulsing ringing>

<papers rustling>

Morella:

I don’t have anything about a migraine.

Edgar:

Oh, this was no migraine. It was the vulture on my neck once again. Breathing, beating, ringing. Clawing at my neck.

<scratching>

Edgar:

Sinking its talons into my flesh, tearing it as I did his own. 

<squelching>

<flesh tearing>

Edgar:

And it just grew.

<tapping foot grows louder>

<heart beats louder>

<dull, pulsing ringing>

Edgar:

And those insipid officers just stayed there! All smiles and jokes, like they could not hear the ringing. But I knew. I knew they could hear it. They had to! They were making a mockery of me. Laughing at my pain.

<pages turning>

Morella:

I-I don’t understand, Mr. Wilson. What ringing? What-

<tapping foot grows louder>

<heart beats louder>

<ringing morphs into the heart beating>

<chair scooting backwards>

<chains rattling>

Edgar:

A watch wrapped in cotton! A ticking. A beating. The vulture’s heart was still beating in the floor. And it grew louder like before! I had not finished the job. I had not killed him. The demon raged on! 

<chair scooting>

<feet stomping>

<tapping foot grows louder>

<heart beats louder>

Morella:

Mr. Wilson, can you please-

Edgar:

Louder and louder, like before! God, but there was no body to kill! No way to stop it. I took my chair, like this-

<chair dragging>

<chair banging>

<footsteps running>

<tapping foot grows louder>

<heart beats louder>

Officer 1:

Sir! Sit down!

Edgar:

And I grated it on the floor, but the beat surged in volume! It would not cease. Not like it had before. And those officers knew. They knew and were making a mockery of me!

<chair banging>

<footsteps running>

<tapping foot grows louder>

<heart beats louder>

<clothes rustling>

Officer 1:

Get down on the ground!

<guns cocking>

<footsteps running>

Morella:

Wha-Hey! Stop, my interview is-

Officer 2:

This interview is over!

<body dragging>

<footsteps rushing>

<heart beats louder>

Edgar:

Louder, and I hear it still! Still beating! Pulsing in my head! An agony I cannot escape. A demon freed from flesh to follow me. A vulture I cannot shoot down!

<shouting>

<body dragging>

<prison alarm>

<loud chatter>

<beating heart slows>

Morella:

I was escorted out of Massachusetts State Prison immediately after Mr. Wilson’s psychotic break. He has since been moved to an individual unit where he waits out the remainder of his days before his execution on Saturday. 

<prison doors rolling shut>

Morella:

To conclude this tale of madness, Wilson confessed that night on October 27, 1846, in a manner very similar to what you just witnessed. Paranoia, guilt, and, much to the dismay of Edgar Wilson, madness-the perfect storm for an appointment with the gallows. After an arduous ten years, the true story of Dr. Algernon Vautour has been shared. Perhaps, finally, he may find true peace in death. Thank you for tuning in. This has been “The Pendulum,” with Morella Dupin. Good night.

<side-to-side mechanical whirring>

<clock chiming>

<dark classical music>